An Alaskan in Yucatán

Contentment: If I had a Million Dollars

2012-01-18T10:22:00.000-06:00

I told a friend in Mérida recently that if suddenly I came into a million dollars I would not change a thing about my life here.

If I received a windfall, I would not get a different house. My house is a wonderful place and it's just right for me. It sits in the heart of the city, but walk inside and close the front door, and it is a refuge. It feels like another world. The thick walls keep out most of the street noise. The quiet, tall trees and birdsong of the back yard make it feel more like the countryside than the inner city. I like my neighborhood. I know of no other place like this and suspect I will live here for a good long time.

If I received a windfall, I would not splurge on new appliances, gadgets or furniture. I have all I need, and that's not much. I don't watch TV, so I'm not craving a bigger flatscreen. Every five or six years I buy a new laptop computer, usually only when the old one has begun to show signs of imminent demise. My budget cell phone allows me to make calls and send text messages and that's it. I am happier and have more money because I don't "need" the latest or fastest, so I'm in good shape there.

I eat well, wear decent clothing, have good health insurance, receive excellent medical care, and can afford an occasional splurge. I can do that because I've learned to concentrate my spending in just the few categories of items that provide the most satisfaction, and I live in a place where the cost of living is modest.

Not that I wouldn't spend some of the million.

If I had that money, I might visit Alaska more often, and travel to spend more time with far-away friends and relatives. I like being at home in Yucatán and really don't enjoy air travel much anymore, but I do miss Alaska and my longtime relationships. These are the main thing I find travel worthwhile for now.

My ten-year-old, high-mileage car, which I use mainly for trips and exploring, has become less reliable. It hasn't left me stranded yet, but I've had a couple of scares. If I had all that money, I might upgrade to a newer and more dependable vehicle so I could continue to explore remote areas of Yucatán without worrying about getting stuck on the side of the road.

Then, if I had that chunk of money, I'd give more to a few good causes I already support having to do with providing better educational opportunities for children.

I would also devote funds to planting trees on damaged and deforested land.

So, although I wouldn't move or go on a big spending spree, perhaps all that money would change my life a bit.

I'd spend on experiences and on making the most of my time.

And I'd invest in the future.

Business: Mérida Homes For Sale

2012-01-07T15:12:00.000-06:00

Once again I've come across an opportunity for someone to own an interesting old Mérida home. Particularly for someone who loves the original antique pasta tile floor designs, this is a good opportunity.

There are two houses, actually. They sit side by side on a very quiet street in Santiago. The larger, older building has a traditional tall facade with wrought iron window details and beautiful antique pasta tile floors which will require only minor repair and polishing to look fantastic. The original wooden doors are intact and in good condition throughout. The house consists of five rooms: living room, kitchen, two bedrooms, and a large room across the back, which opens onto the patio. There is one bathroom.

The newer house next door, if incorporated into the larger home, provides space for additional bathrooms, closets and a garage, or could be partially demolished to provide additional patio space. It also is ideal for the addition of a second story for extra bedrooms or a rooftop terrace. At present it consists of a deep living room (pictured), two bedrooms, kitchen, bath and a small patio. It would be a simple project to install an automatic door in the facade and convert the large living room into a garage. Permits would not be difficult for this part of the project because the structure is modern and not covered by the same sorts of restrictions as older buildings. This house would also make a great studio or rental apartment.

The combined lots measure 15 meters (49 feet) across the front, and vary in depth from 11.5 meters (38 feet) to 19.5 meters (64 feet). The back patio areas are small, but by combining the two houses, a designer will have many options to create interesting spaces and gardens.

The houses are located near the Merida English Language Library and Santiago Park, and are close to markets, restaurants, services and the Plaza Grande. The quiet street is residential with no bus or truck traffic. Many similar homes nearby are being restored.

Although the "bones" are in good shape, these houses need a complete renovation.

All paperwork is in order. The houses have separate deeds (which could be combined upon purchase).

Asking price (both houses together): USD $79,000.

Click on photos below to enlarge.

Living Here: Contrasts

2011-12-30T09:00:00.001-06:00

Life in Mexico becomes more interesting as my social world expands. It is also a study in contrasts. One thing I have discovered is that my social life is spread over a much wider and more diverse spectrum here than it ever was in the states.

Here's what I did last weekend.

Very early on Christmas Eve, La Noche Buena, I flew from Oaxaca home to Mérida and from here drove out to be with friends in a small Yucatán pueblo. After receiving arrival handshakes from the men and kisses on the cheek from the women, I was served tacos of relleno negro and wonderful pibil-style turkey. The animal, which had been raised in the back yard, was killed earlier in the day and cooked in the traditional Mayan way, wrapped in banana leaves, placed on a bed of hot coals and rocks at the bottom of a hole, and covered with branches, leaves and earth.

At one point in the evening, a prodigal son, who in recent years rarely had visited home and was not expected, suddenly arrived, to the great joy of his parents and sisters. It was a beautiful and touching moment. The party shifted into high gear.

After eating many servings of food followed by dessert, then lingering late over a few caugamas (liter bottles) of beer, the family group, consisting of a pair of elder parents, their numerous children, and some grandchildren, nieces and nephews, slowly began to hang hammocks throughout the small house and drift off to sleep. I was given a place of honor -- a hammock hung in a corner, near one of the two fans in the house -- in a room with seven other hammocks. A few family members stayed up very late drinking and talking in the back, and only lay down to sleep when hammocks were left free by the early risers.

On Christmas morning we sat around the table and drank coffee, ate leftovers, which had been boiled -- no fridge here -- and took a walk in the monte to observe wildflowers and visit a cenote. Later I helped hang new window screens, which were my holiday gift to these friends. I received a pair of beautiful, handmade pillowcases from the "mom" of the house. After a bucket bath, more food and a lazy afternoon siesta rounded out my relaxing "pueblo Christmas."

The activities of the days preceeding this could not have been more different. I was in Oaxaca to attend the baptism of Benito Xilonen, son of the singer Lila Downs and Paul Cohen. I'd helped my friend Victoria Dehesa, godmother to Lila and Benito, obtain a few items for the ceremony and she'd invited me to visit Lila and family with her and to attend the baptism and fiesta.

It was an elegant event. After the ceremony in a small church, we walked through the pueblo, led by a brass band and announced with voladores, skyrockets, to an old renovated hacienda. As the hacienda gates opened onto a vast lawn, waiters lined both sides of the walkway, offering trays of drinks and ice cream to cool and revive the arriving throng. It was a very eclectic group: lots of local Oaxacan and Mexican folks mixed with an international crowd of family, friends, musicians and artists.

After resting in chairs placed in the shade of large umbrellas, listening to live music and being served appetizers and more refreshments, we were ushered inside the large casona to lunch. Seated at long tables we dined on a delicious mole as a jazz ensemble played. This was the first of five different bands to entertain us this day, one set each. Jazz was followed by a Oaxacan brass band, then pop music, Oaxacan dancers, and more traditional music.

At one point in the afternoon I was invited onto the dance floor by Lila. Later, I danced as she sang La Sandunga from the floor nearby. Lila Downs has been my favorite performer and recording artist of Mexican music for many years. For a long-time admirer and follower of her music, these unexpected experiences were right up there with the best of Christmas gifts.

After about ten hours of fiesta I had to call it a night in order to get ready for an early morning flight back to Mérida and my pueblo Christmas, but as I said my goodbyes at midnight it seemed that the party was just warming up. I've enjoyed few such events more and was sorry to leave.

I had two very different experiences in different parts of the country last weekend, but they had much in common: the abundant hospitality, warmth, sharing of important traditions, and genuineness of the people were all very much the same. They were both wonderful celebrations. I feel blessed to be able to walk with equal comfort here in many circles.

To all of my friends and readers, Happy New Year.

Architecture: The Colonial Obsession

2011-12-17T11:41:00.001-06:00

This is a photo of the street where I live. Interestingly, although I live in the center of colonial Mérida, there is not single authentic colonial building in this image.

I ought to clarify my terminology. To me, "colonial" is something dating from the colonial era, and built by the Spanish before Mexican independence in 1810. Anything newer might be "colonial-style," but it's not truly colonial. The houses in the picture above, including mine, were mostly built within the past 100 years or so on land that probably was a patchwork of cultivated areas and smaller, less-durable structures, such as Mayan houses, in colonial times. There are two or three buildings on the other side of my large block that might be colonials. But the houses in this picture were most likely built when the spacious lots that surrounded most early homes, sometimes called quintas, were subdivided between heirs or sold off as Mérida urbanized in the 19th and 20th centuries.

I started thinking about the obsession with things colonial when I noticed that a house on my block, which has been renovated by a foreign investor as a vacation rental and is now for sale, being advertised as a "200-year-old colonial." The fact is that although the house has a traditional facade, it is a 20th century house, with steel I-beam-supported ceilings, probably built during the 1930s-1950s. The investor had the entire structure demolished except for the facade and front room, and behind this built an ultra-modern two-story home, painted in bright colors. One of the few original interior details that was preserved, a squarish entry arch, is very Yucatecan, but the Spanish never built anything like it during the colonial era.

The same investor also bought another house nearby, which before being altered unrecognizably inside was also a nice traditional Yucatecan structure, but likely not more than 70-90 years old. Now renovated this, too, is being advertised as a "colonial."

A twentieth-century home recently turned "colonial"

Then I noticed a large crew of albañiles, construction workers, laboring on a recent Sunday. Sometimes when construction crews work on Sundays it's because they've got a deadline, but more often it means that they are working on a project without permits. Sometimes the permits are impossible to get because the homeowners want to change the appearance of downtown historic buildings that are regulated by INAH, The National Institute of Anthropology and History. So, people do what I call "Sunday projects," which are completed quickly over a weekend when regulatory officials are off work. By Monday morning everything is cleaned up and no one remembers anything about it.

This Sunday project was a house probably built in the 1940s or 1950s with higher ceilings, nice spacious rooms and a unique, very interesting facade. I saw the owner and asked him what was going on. He told me the facade needed to be "more colonial."

That's too bad, because Mérida has a lush architectural history, of which the colonial era is one aspect. To make it more interesting, many of the true colonials, often very plain structures, were modified with European and Victorian flourishes during the 1880s through the early 1900s hennequen boom when Mérida property owners had lots of money.

Twentieth century styles

Mérida also has a lot of nice Beaux Arts, Art Noveau and Art Deco buildings, along with interesting Mexican versions of these and 40's, 50's and 60's styles. These frequently are influenced by Mayan design, which preceded the colonial era and is the true native Yucatecan architectural style. Unfortunately these buildings often are not appreciated for what they are, and in fact some even show up on local real estate web sites labeled "colonial." And uninformed colonial-obsessed buyers often take the bait hook, line and sinker, thinking they are buying an authentic colonial. Then, if their new houses don't seem colonial enough, they go columns-and-arches crazy, and add the colonial touches they feel are lacking.

Traditional Yucatecan, not colonial

I have seen many lovely homes of various styles turned into fake colonials. One of the saddest examples is a very nice original art deco home with curved walls that was wrecked when all of the deco details were chipped off its facade. Then brand-new colonial-style doors and windows replaced the beautiful porthole-window originals of wood and wrought iron. A great many nice old Mérida buildings have had unique Yucatecan architectural features erased and pseudo-colonial facades added in recent years.

I can understand the interest in the colonial era. Colonial design is often very beautiful and is functional in this climate, with high ceilings, interior courtyards and large doors and windows. However real colonials in Mérida are not as common as people think. Many are more like my traditional house, which possesses many colonial-style design features, but although it is very Yucatecan, it is not colonial.

Although the colonial influence is still extremely prominent in Yucatán, this region's architectural history is a lot more diverse than that. I think it's sad that fascinating slices of the legacy are being homogenized and lost in the name of this obsession with the "colonial."

A Good Cafe on Parque Santiago

2011-12-11T18:00:00.000-06:00

I first drank a cup of coffee in La Flor de Santiago in 2003, the same summer I bought a house three blocks down Calle 70 from this historic cafe. The Mérida barrio of Santiago was already hundreds of years old when these heavy wooden doors first swung open for business in the 1920's. Now as the oldest operating cafe and restaurant in Mérida, La Flor has earned its own place in local history.

That's only one of several reasons why I was concerned a couple of weeks ago when I walked in for a session of backgammon with my friend Diane, to be told by her that there was almost nothing available from the menu. The place was getting ready to close down, according to one of the waiters. And it certainly looked that way. The baked goods display cases were empty: bakery closed. There was no espresso coffee: machine broken and not being fixed. As we ate toast, drank our cafe americano and rolled dice, workers walked back and forth carrying loads of buckets, bottles and boxes of miscellaneous junk from a storage area to the sidewalk. There, as soon as the items were set down, scavengers and recyclers scooped the items up and hauled them off.

A mesero waits for customers on a recent slow day

It was hard not to notice that we were just about the only customers. The few others were elderly regulars who drink coffee and while away the hours talking, reading newspapers and watching traffic pass by outside the large street doors. La Flor is a big place with a lot of staff, and overhead must be high. Selling cups of coffee to customers who hang out for hours, request lots of free refills and don't eat a lot probably doesn't pay the bills. Things weren't looking all that good for La Flor.

When I first lived in my house the kitchen was not functional, so I ate out most of the time. Hot mollettes, made from french baguette baked in La Flor's own wood-fired ovens slathered with refried beans, cheese and hot salsa, and washed down with fresh-squeezed orange juice and lots of hot coffee, became a frequent breakfast of mine. Or, I'd eat choco lomo across the street in the Santiago market and afterward cross to La Flor for coffee while leisurely reading the morning's copy of Diario de Yucatán.

After I got the house fixed up and started living in Mérida full time I patronized La Flor less, but it has always been a special place. And just over the past year or so I've been spending a lot more time there again.

To be honest, the coffee in La Flor is not the best in town. But there is more to a good cafe than just coffee. La Flor is a place to meet. It's part of the neighborhood and reflects local culture. It's a place for people watching. There are old timers, many of whom arrive at the same hour daily and order the same thing they have for years. The waiters are mature, professional, friendly and remember your likes and dislikes. La Flor is a real, traditional cafe. Very few exist these days.

Most contemporary "cafes," and particularly the popular chain versions, although they may prepare a good cup of coffee, just don't compare to an established, old-style cafe. I've seen a couple of the nice old cafes in Mérida centro close over the past few years. I've tried -- and abandoned -- several of the newer ones where the staff is young, poorly-trained and managed, the music is loud and apparently played for the pleasure of the staff and not the guests, and any ambience or personality that exists seems to be more superficial marketing strategy than anything else.

I've heard since that La Flor de Santiago may remain open, but that the owners are looking for new ideas to improve the bottom line. Let's hope they manage to stay in business without changing things too much. It would be a sad loss to the community if yet another tradition fades away.

Here's Hammockman's post on La Flor.

Living Here: Quiet Moments at the X'matkuil Fair

2011-12-04T16:49:00.000-06:00

I always go to the Yucatán fair held each November at X'matkuil, on the outskirts of Mérida. Typically I go during off-hours, when there aren't too many people in attendance.

I drove out to the fairgrounds Friday afternoon just a little ahead of the crowds that would mob the place on this, the last weekend before closing. I like to avoid the jostle and crush. The razzle-dazzle of lights and noise, the midway, huge crowds, and the throbbing music of the beer gardens, concerts and other attractions just aren't my style.

What I like about X'matkuil is the old-time country fair aspect: prize animals, agricultural displays, crafts and the horse-riding events. I enjoy wandering and observing in the nooks and crannies of the fair, away from the the bright lights, big noise and clamor.

One of the beautiful things I saw late Friday was this pair of lovely horses. I am not a horse person, so I can't say what kind these are or describe them in accurate horsey language. One was white with gray spots, with a deep brown-red "cap" on it head that flowed like a cape down its back, and strands of reddish mane that hung down its face. The other was a soft silvery gray, with wonderful chocolate-brown freckling all over its body.

The horses were well socialized. They both noticed me and moved closer as I began to take photos. Then, at once they moved together toward the division between their separate stalls and took turns stretching their necks across the divide to nuzzle and caress each other. All the while, they maintained eye contact with me, as if posing and communicating, "See, here's my good buddy."

I enjoy watching displays of horsemanship, roping and riding, so I moved on to the arena to see what the charros, cowboys in traditional dress, were doing. I witnessed a moment of pageantry as teams of competitors entered the arena to the rhythm-heavy clamor of a four-piece band. It was great to watch the riders salute as they rode their beautiful animals around the arena. It was moving to participate moments later as the competitors and audience removed hats and applauded for one minute in memory of a fellow competitor who had recently passed away.

I visited the butterfly exhibit, a large screened-in area full of native and non-native species. It's fun to be able to walk among hundreds of free-flying butterflies, who seem to be unafraid and go about their business. In this exhibit it's possible to observe various species up close, and also to watch butterflies hatch before ones' eyes. If you stand still, it's not unusual here to have a butterfly land on you. One perched on my forehead for a moment (leaving no time to get a picture, unfortunately) before fluttering on its way.

It is interesting to see so many exotic butterflies close up, and great fun to watch the children react to the situation. Many school groups were in attendance this day, and the younger crowd is particularly enchanted by the sight of so many of these colorful insects up close. They were equally fascinated by the fish in an artificial pond inside the butterfly area.

Then there were the pigs. What can I say? I like them, especially the native Yucatecan cerdo pelon, or hairless pig. They are small, dark and bald, and I enjoyed watching a group of them rapidly vacuum up a large container of leftover tortillas in about half a minute. This is a species utilized by the Maya and that was once ubiquitous on the penninsula, but whose numbers had fallen drastically over the years as many pork producers shifted to larger, faster-growing commercial breeds. However recent efforts to revive pure genetic lines of this native animal, which is perfectly adapted to the climate and forage available in Yucatán (reducing the need for small producers to buy expensive commercial feed), seem to be successful. The population is growing, and efforts to market products from these animals as specialty items appear to be paying off.

Those are a few highlights of my afternoon at the fair. I did get into the crowds some and enjoyed a bit of the music and high-energy activity, but these quiet moments were the ones I appreciated most. X'matkuil offers something for everyone, and tens of thousands of people attend the fair and find much to enjoy. I am completely content to forego many of the big attractions in favor of exploring the smaller exhibits and quiet corners of the fair.

Here's an earlier post about the fair at X'matkuil, Yucatán in the Snow Zone.

Kindness For Strangers -- Pass It On

2011-11-29T18:17:00.000-06:00

Fort Lauderdale, Florida -- A Mérida friend recently benefited from an act of kindness on the part of a complete stranger. This got me thinking about the value of kindness and other unselfish traits as we celebrated American Thanksgiving last week.

When we celebrate Thanksgiving a lot of what we are thankful for, beyond perhaps good health and the presence of loved ones, comes to us because of the unselfish actions of others. Most of these are people whom we do not know or who passed away long before our time.

I'll backtrack for a moment. When we consider the damaged economy and environment, the numerous conflicts and most of the other negative stuff that is going on around the world, it is evident that these problems exist to a great degree due to the selfish actions of a certain percentage of people. This blot stains societies, business, organizations and governments.

It all comes down to individual responsibility. Most of the good that we have is the legacy of people who have thought of the whole rather than always "looking out for number one." If the vast majority of individuals always practiced kindness, thoughtfulness, compassion and consideration in their dealings with others, many of our problems would diminish as quickly a cloud of dust whipped up by a brief windstorm.

I've thought about many kind acts I benefited from last week as I prepared for a Thanksgiving trip to see my parents in Florida, including:

My neighbor Ingrid asked about my parents' frail health. Ingrid also gave me a rosary, which had been blessed in her church, to carry on my trip. She said that even though I am not Catholic and may not share her beliefs, it would be a source of comfort and a reminder that she is thinking about and praying for us. Ingrid and her late husband Alejandro were among my first friends in my Mérida neighborhood, and used to bring me plates of food when my house didn't have a working kitchen.

Victor, the most unselfish person I know, ran my errands and brought me take-out food when I got overwhelmed with "to-dos" as I prepared to leave town.

Tony took me out to breakfast and wished me well the day before my departure.

Doña Tere, owner of the cocina economica where I often eat told me with a smile, "Don't worry, pay me next time," when I realized, after eating, that I had walked out of the house without a peso in my pocket.

Margarita woke up and drove me in the early-morning darkness to the bus terminal to catch my ride to the Cancún airport.

This is the sort of kind and thoughtful behavior that enriches the texture of my everyday life in Mérida. A part of the regular interaction between friends and neighbors who appreciate and help each other, it is something I am thankful for. However the act of kindness I mentioned at the beginning of this post, the one that my friend Debbie wrote about recently was more significant, and I think more important, because in that case someone took time to help out a complete stranger.

Most of us can learn a lesson from the anonymous man who helped Debbie. The challenge is to enlarge our circle: to treat people we do not know with the same consideration, compassion, thoughtfulness and kindness we habitually reserve for family and friends. I think that receiving this expression of respect and love from strangers prompts people to return the favor. It builds upon itself.

At the very least, these acts make us, and hopefully someone else, feel good. The truth is that in helping others, we also help and fulfill ourselves. In a world where many things are not well and the problems make us feel ineffectual, this is something positive and concrete that we actually can do every single day. Like the beads on Ingrid's rosary, one following the other in an unending loop, the acts of human kindness passed on from stranger to stranger will make a difference.

Anthropology: Urban Vestiges, Part 3 -- Abandoned

2011-11-19T20:07:00.000-06:00

When I was a kid, I was fascinated by ruins and abandoned houses. I still am. So, since moving to Yucatán, where uninhabited haciendas litter the countryside and empty mansions still dot the Mérida inner-city landscape, I am in a kind of heaven.

A friend of mine sells real estate. As a dabbler in the business myself, sometimes I tag along to take pictures for her, just to have an excuse to nose around old houses and maybe find an interesting opportunity. One day I went with her to look at a house that the owners were putting on the market. The prior owner had died years ago and left the home to relatives, two of whom met us on the street in front of the high, decorated facade of the colonial-style structure.

Many keys were produced, but none seemed to work in the lock. All the keys were tried a second time, and this time one was found to rotate slightly. A small can of oil was located, and with liberal application of lubricant and gentle force, ultimately the lock was made to open. Then the door, apparently swollen by humidity and its hinges stiff with corrosion, would not budge. Finally after some kicks and heavy shouldering, the door scraped open. A large pyramid of unopened mail from banks and utility companies had accumulated beneath the letter slot. This yellowed, wrinkled heap, which with dampness had congealed into a pulpy mass and stuck to the floor, had been partly to blame for our problem with the door. Along with this, the reek of rodents, humid, stale air and enough hanging cobwebs to furnish several Halloween Haunted Houses were evidence that no one had been inside for a long time, perhaps years. One of the owners would not pass over the threshold. He didn't say why. He peered inside while standing safely back on the sidewalk, and then returned to wait in his air-conditioned car.

The interior was much the same as in many of these forlorn old Mérida homes. There was a story here of a life, in this case of a man who had passed away years ago, leaving roomfuls of furniture, files and hoarded treasures to heirs who didn't really care to deal with the mess and did not want to live in an old, crumbling house in centro.

Another old home near mine also was uninhabited for many years. It was easy to see through cracked, uncurtained windows that it remained fully furnished in the style of the 1930's, with crystal chandeliers, bric-a-brac, old paintings and family pictures still intact. A dusty baby grand piano was clearly visible through a missing pane in the padlocked and chained front door.

In some of these cases, there are numerous heirs who can't agree, or there is no will, so houses remain locked up and in limbo for years, sometimes decades. An acquaintance of mine tried to buy a fabulous old home whose owners had died intestate in the 1920's. Their numerous children and many of their grandchildren were now also gone, leaving dozens of great grandchildren and other relatives to dispute the estate. The family feud over inheritance is so intense that no one lives in or cares for the property. Likely the dispute will continue until the house falls down or is confiscated by the government as a nuisance or for back taxes and bills. There is a beautiful old house on my block that's been in much the same situation since the owner died in 1951. The remaining original heirs, who would like to sell, are now in their 90's. I suspect none of them will ever see their money.

Occasionally, a house you might think abandoned, isn't. It turns out an ancient man or woman, or sometimes a younger family, to all appearances without funds to maintain the place, hangs on, often living in a couple of back rooms that are still in habitable condition. They may be owners, heirs, caretakers or squatters. Whatever the situation, it's interesting to see a fabulous casona still in use, but with chickens running in the gardens, laundry drying along the colonnades, and humble hammocks swinging beneath ornately stenciled, beamed ceilings.

I appreciate the restoration efforts that have brought many old Mérida homes back to life, but feel it will be a sad day when progress has eliminated the last of the abandoned and ruined old mansions. These old, un-beautified relics are romantic time capsules. They add a touch of color and mystery to the city.

These remnants also remind us of the glories and follies of the past in a way that restored and modernized examples do not. They help me keep in mind the temporary nature of everything on this planet, and particularly the fleeting qualities of wealth, status and power, which many of these crumbling edifices were constructed to symbolize.

If you enjoyed this post, you also might like Wanderings: Hacienda Dreams, Urban Vestiges Part 2 -- Stones, and Urban Vestiges, Part 1.

Blogging: Another Year of Favorites

2011-11-13T20:04:00.000-06:00

I finished my second year of writing this blog in late October, and celebrated by attending a conference with fellow bloggers in early November. The interchange of that gathering recharged my batteries and gave me new ideas. I intend to make the blog more readable, make post titles more explicit and to focus more on favorite themes.

Speaking of themes, as I look forward to improving An Alaskan in Yucatan, I've been reviewing the past year. As I did on the blog's first anniversary, I would like to share a few favorite posts from the past year.

Interesting travel experiences are among the most popular posts I write. One of my most interesting wanderings this year was to a spring, a magic place up in the hills of the Bajío in Querétaro. I wrote about this hike in a post titled Magic Places.

Also while traveling in central Mexico, I visited another magic place, a pyramid I have visited many times but whose location I do not share with others. I wrote about this in My Secret Pyramid.

Late last winter I traveled south of Mérida to visit Santa Elena, and there walked in the footsteps of the nineteenth-century explorers Stephens and Catherwood, authors of the famous work, Incidents of Travel in Yucatán. I followed the trail of these adventurers and wrote posts about their and my visit to the isolated site of the ancient Mayan city of Xcooch, which has changed remarkably little since they were here in the 1840s.

Being happy and successful living in Mexico is the theme of many posts. One entitled Language Learning: Why Bother? dealt with some of the issues and benefits of learning a foreign language. This post generated a lot of interest, and resulted in more comments that any other post in this blog, ever. Another post, Successful Expatriates Do This, was a digest of some observations I have made of foreigners living in Mexico over the past few years and why some achieve remarkable things.

I occasionally write about my observations of Mexican culture. A Moment of Joy describes a wonderful scene I stumbled upon one Sunday, an experience that revealed some important aspects of life here. In another post, titled Socializing, I reflected on simple old-fashioned hospitality and the warmth of family social gatherings.

Wonderful Moments seem to occur fairly often around here. Some happen by chance: one gray day day I unexpectedly found myself holding a tiny, live hummingbird in my hand. I wrote about this fascinating experience in a post called, Once in Several Lifetimes. Other moments are ones we create. I wrote about one of the ways I create periods of peace and contentment in The Pool At Night.

I appreciate my readers, especially the ones I have gotten to know -- those who take the time to comment or write. A number of these people have become my friends. I look forward to the coming year of An Alaskan in Yucatán. I hope you will continue join me here.

Blogging: Okay, I'll play along...

2011-11-07T11:42:00.000-06:00

Nancy and Leslie, Mexico bloggers whom I respect and follow regularly, nominated me for what's called The Versatile Blogger Award. A number of my blogging friends have been so nominated. One of these, Steve, sceptically accepted his nomination and made some interesting comments.

I know nothing about the award, except that I gather it was created as a tool for bloggers to network, get to know each other and maybe rack up more pageviews. The way it works, each nominee is supposed to tell seven things about themselves that readers don't know, and then nominate 15 favorite blogs for the award. Steve commented that it seems like a big chain letter, which is true.

I am not much of a math whiz, but it appears to me that if everyone nominated did indeed in turn nominate 15 blogs, with everyone following the rules it would only take a handful of generations to have nominated every blog in the 'sphere. Fifteen to the seventh power is something like 38 billion. That's a whole bunch of versatile blogs for each and every individual on Earth.

But that aside, it seems interesting, these bloggers are my friends and I am willing to give it a go. Despite the fact that I blog about my experiences, I haven't ever intended to make this blog about "me." But I am curious. I'll play along...

1. Once I hung out in a hotel room with '60's acid guru Timothy Leary ("turn on, tune in and drop out") and talked with him for about an hour. What I remember of his words seems even more appropriate now than it did then: "We are dealing with the best-educated generation in history. But they've got a brain dressed up with nowhere to go."

2. I worked as an extra in The Godfather, Part 2. I achieved my tiny sliver of fame -- a blurry second on screen, not fifteen minutes -- (Warhol exaggerated more than once), when I was seventeen years old. The most interesting part of that three-day gig actually was in makeup on the first day, where I sat in a chair next to Pacino while we both got our hair styled.

3. While living among native people in Alaska's arctic, I regularly ate caribou, seal and whale meat they shared with me.

4. I was born in a log cabin...well, almost. My family lived in a small log home when I was born, in Ketchikan, Alaska, but actually I gasped my first breaths in the General Hospital. Later when I was running for treasurer of the student council in third grade, my father (a PR man) suggested I begin my campaign speech by telling my fellow students I was born in a log cabin (just like Abe Lincoln). Although I did not turn out to be student council material, the myth has stuck with me ever since.

5. Summer volunteer work in rural Colombia changed my life forever when I was 16.

6. There is a file on me somewhere deep in the musty archives of the former-Soviet KGB.

7. Contrary to the advice I give to everyone who asks me about buying a house in Mérida ("rent for at least six months"), I bought my house here on my very first visit, after a total of about two weeks in the city.

Now for the difficult part. There are many, many good blogs out there and it's hard to pick and choose. Besides that, a number of my favorite blogs already have been nominated for The Versatile Blogger Award. So I am stealing an idea from Theresa, who seems to share many of my feelings about this deal. I am wiggling out of making individual nominations. I believe that all of my friends from the Latin American Bloggers Conference deserve The Versatile Blogger nomination.

Photography: Up-Close Simplicity

2011-11-03T17:24:00.000-06:00

I am finishing up a presentation on photography for this Saturday's bloggers conference. I have been looking at lots of pictures and trying to distill what I have learned about making good images into about a 40-minute talk.

What I keep coming back to is, "as in life, as in photography." If you've read this blog for awhile, you know that I value simplicity in all things.

Leaf in the garden

The most effective and striking images are typically extremely simple. In photography, the skill is in the use of angle, composition, light, focus, and camera position in order to eliminate what is unnecessary and emphasize what is important.

Hanal Pixan flower petals, fallen on the sala floor

But the easiest way to start eliminating the unwanted from images is to move in close. Closeup images by their very nature are often simple. On the surface, moving in begins to eliminate distracting trees, telephone poles, overhead wires and shadows, for instance. It also allows the photograher to observe the subject closely. I am not talking so much about zooming in with a telephoto lens, although this is often useful. I am talking about getting physically very close. I am talking about getting intimate with the subject of the photo, whether it's a living thing or an inanimate object.

My unmade bed (with apologies to Imogen Cunningham)

One of the things I am going to emphasize in Saturday's talk, where I will address an audience with photo skills ranging from hobbyist to professional, is that a good way to practice the discipline of simplification is by moving in close. As a photography teacher of mine once said, "If your photos aren't good enough, you're not close enough."

A bitter orange leaf floats in the pool

With the exception of the top photo of the church in Santa Elena, these images were taken around my house this morning with a point-and-shoot camera that has a macro mode. Expensive equipment is not required to make interesting photos. Simplicity in cameras also has its merits.

Other posts on photography.
Other posts on simplicity.

Halloween

2011-10-29T11:41:00.000-05:00

This piece, originally titled Jack o' Lanterns, was one of my very first on this blog two years ago and remains one of my favorites. Reposting it is becoming an annual Halloween tradition. I'm taking a few days off from writing to prepare a presentation on photography for the Bloggers Conference, which takes place Nov. 5 in Mérida.

Three years ago on a weekend off from teaching in the summer course at San Ildefonso Tultepéc, in the state of Querétaro, I took a hike on the outskirts of a tiny nearby pueblo named El Cuisillo. It's located close to the border between Mexico and Querétaro states. That makes it about equidistant from the towns of Amealco, Querétaro and Aculco, Mexico, along a two-lane highway that in two or three hours takes you, if you flag down and jump aboard one of the dusty buses that occasionally passes by, from this very small place to the world's largest metropolis.

The people of El Cuisillo are very shy but friendly. In keeping with that spirit, it is an unpretentiously scenic walk along roads and paths through their land. From hilltops you can glimpse distant rock formations, ravines and cliffs, and the occasional small house with cornfield, or perhaps far away a small child with a stick trying to goad a slow-moving cow out to pasture. There are some interesting pre-hispanic ruins in the area. The ruins are just there. There is no visitor center with bored security guard, you'll fend off no vendors selling fake artifacts and bottled water, and you need not heed any "do not climb" signs nor thoughtfully consider pedantic interpretive plaques of questionable interest. There is no one else around; you can enjoy the quiet and imagine yourself the explorer.

For some reason here, I suppose it's the stillness of the air and the rock formations reflecting sound waves, once in awhile I mysteriously hear clear voices and laughter but see no people. Perhaps they are hiding in the bushes and watching this strange foreigner smiling and whistling to himself, writing in a little book and taking pictures of things that seem to them very ordinary and mundane. Perhaps, as many acquaintances of mine in Barrow, Alaska will attest, the "little people" do exist, and maybe they live here, too. It certainly seems like a place they would appreciate. It may be a mystery I will never solve, and I like that. I've walked in the vicinity many times over the years and always find something new to do or see. It's a place I have visited with others, but mostly I like to wander here alone.

Many of the families in the region are indigenous Otomí, like these boys, and live a subsistence way of life near the poverty line. Besides keeping some animals and planting a small garden and milpa, or cornfield, some families make fired-clay products to produce cash income. The area produces a lot of these ceramics, such as pots, planters, platters, small replica churches and houses, sun plaques and other decorative, kitchen and garden items. Apparently someone in the area realized that with well in excess of 20 million persons living within a couple of hour's drive, there might be a market for jack o' lanterns. It seems like every clay workshop produces them. Halloween is not a tradition in Mexico, but some families do observe the day.

When I passed by their house the boys ran up to the road with arms full of "calabazas," or

pumpkins, for sale. I purchased two at the asking price of about a dollar each. I managed somehow to get them back to Mérida in my luggage without breakage. They have served me well now for three Halloweens. I have yet to receive a trick-or-treater at my door, but if one comes, I am ready.

Happy Halloween.

Living Here: Embracing Color

2011-10-22T19:54:00.000-05:00

Some foreign residents of Mérida have taken the plunge

Foreigners from cooler northern climes often comment on the uninhibited, sometimes chaotic color sense of many Mexicans. The foreigners don't always warm to it. I used to feel that way, too.

In my family home the color scheme was what I might term midwestern conservative. When I was small, our walls were always beige and furniture shades of brown. When we moved into a new house in the late '60's and my mom chose "harvest gold" shag carpet, upholstery in muted green and reddish tones and an avocado refrigerator, we thought it was pretty hip. But that was about as groovy as we ever got.

Although it's changing, where I grew up things still look pretty dull. In Juneau, shades of brown, tan and gray seem to be the predominant color choices for the exteriors of houses and buildings. I am sure these are not everyone's favorite colors. So why, in a climate where the weather is often dull and dark, do people paint their houses in dull and dark colors? And in Mexico, especially tropical Yucatán, why is it so vibrant? I suppose it has to do with culture and what we are used to, but I wonder how environment influences our feelings about color. That's something to look into.

My friend Paul, originally from the midwest, blogged about the time he allowed his maintenance man to choose colors for some accents as he painted the patio area of Paul's Mérida home. Paul was "stunned" by the choices, but they didn't seem all that wild to me.

I realized at that moment that I've changed. I have come to enjoy the cacophony of color in Mexico, and now see it as pretty normal. When I travel north on a visit, it seems like a pretty drab place. When I return to Mexico, I am immediately dazzled by not only the brightness of the sun and the heat, but by the color. No holds are barred. Rules are made to be broken. And as far as I am concerned, that's good.

When I moved here, I changed the way I did a lot of things. I wanted to be less inhibited and open to new ideas. One thing I decided to do was to paint every room in the house a different color. Now I have a red living room, green bedroom, and the kitchen/dining area is multicolored, with green and orange predominating. Tile patterns clash. Checks and curlicues abound. It's great. I love the feeling of the place.

Oh yes, although it still wears the same coat of paint it did the day I bought it, the front of my house is pink. One of these days I'll do something about that, but I am not in any hurry.

I am just one of a crowd of foreigners who've moved here and have taken the plunge into color. Embracing color is a simple way to break out of a routine and celebrate the unlimited possibilities of life. It creates energy. It's a manageable form of chaos.

In any case if you later have regrets, paint's not all that expensive.

Home sweet home

Wanderings: La Barranca

2011-10-16T12:15:00.000-05:00

San Ildefonso Tultepéc, Querétaro -- Every time I go back to La Barranca, I have a different kind of experience. I teach at a summer school in this pueblo, where, on my time off I sometimes walk down the barranca, Spanish for a ravine or small canyon, to relax and explore.

One July day I took an afternoon hike here with two fellow volunteer teachers, my friends Yulma and Antonietta, who hadn't been before. We walked down a side street in the pueblo, passing little stores and a group of men drinking beer and pulque, to where the corn fields begin, only a block or so from the highway. What looks like the results of simple erosion, tiny rivulets that can be stepped over, quickly deepens as the terrain suddenly drops. We walked and slid down a steep but passable crevice in the rock, and in moments found ourselves in a different environment, completely hidden from the houses of the pueblo just a couple of minutes' walk away.

Cactus, maguey and other plants adapted to arid lands loom over the rim of the barranca above our heads, while around us on the damp bottom, water flows even in parched weather. Ferns and moss luxuriate in the shade of verdant trees, which keep the temperatures noticeably cooler than in the dusty, sun-baked open spaces above. In places, water seeping out of overhanging cliff faces drips in a perpetual shower onto hikers passing below. Dark algae contrasts with orange and lime-green lichens that grow in the microenvironments of shaded rock faces. There are many organisms living here that are not seen just a short distance away, straight up.

As we descend, the high cliff walls spread apart and the view expands. Here the floor receives more sun, beginning a slow transition back to the drier state of the environment outside of the barranca. As we mount a trail that hugs the right side of the widening gorge, suddenly a yawning, black cavern, overhung by the cliffs, comes into view. Under this roof we enter an ancient potters' workshop. The cavern is stacked with hundreds of half-finished clay comales, flat platter-like utensils used for heating tortillas over a fire.

I once met an elderly man working here. He digs his own clay from the walls of the cavern, hauls water from the stream below to moisten the clay to the right consistency, and forms his comales on the dusty floor of the cavern. When the clay has dried out, he then fires the ware in a rock kiln, using brushwood he has cut in the nearby forest. This man hauls the finished products on his back, up the narrow trails to the rim of the gorge and back to the highway. I've often wondered how many generations of local clay artisans preceded him. The thick accumulation of discarded, time-worn pottery shards on the paths approaching this place indicates to me that people have worked here for a very long time.

Although the scenery is beautiful, I usually find the most interesting things to be the small or unexpected. I have seen at least three species of hummingbirds in this place. The wildflowers are fabulous. I've noticed evidence nearby -- scatterings of artifacts -- of an ancient settlement.

On several occasions over the years I've been startled as I suddenly find myself looking into the dark faces of solemn, silent Otomí women as we cross paths, I with my high tech daypack, bottled water and digital camera, they with their herd animals, dogs, many children and enormous bundles of firewood. The realities of our different worlds brush past each other for a moment, but just barely intersect. In the evening I will be in a dry, clean, cozy house, uploading photos online in order to write my blog post. They return to the laborious and sometimes grim business of survival.

Antonietta, Yulma and I had a meeting of this type, although we'd heard a dog barking down the path so weren't completely surprised when a pair of indigenous women appeared as we rested in the shade. After glancing furtively our way they looked at the ground as they walked silently, which is normal behavior unless the stranger says something first in greeting. I think Yulma spoke, wishing them a good afternoon, to which they replied in kind, in accented Spanish, "buenas tardes." To my surprise, they slowed and made further eye contact. Perhaps this was because, accompanied by these women I was no longer the lone, foreign male on their path. I'm not sure.

The women took a breather as they shifted their loads. The older one who was in the lead did not smile, but her expression softened as she looked at us. After a few seconds, she tilted her head up and directed her gaze ahead, as if to say, "goodbye, we've got to get on with it," and they started up the steep trail.

Living Here: Taking the Bus

2011-10-08T18:27:00.000-05:00

I was the only passenger on a long-distance bus Thursday. I had the entire first-class coach to myself. It was just me and the driver. This was surprising to me considering the high level of bus ridership here, and is an experience I have never had before in Mexico, even though I have traveled a lot by bus.

I make a lot of trips between the Cancún airport and Mérida. This typically has entailed a half-hour shuttle between the airport and the Cancún downtown bus terminal, and the four-hour bus ride between Cancún and Mérida, or vice versa. Recently I have been able to use a newer ADO (Autobuses del Oriente) service that takes passengers directly from the Cancún airport to Mérida, skipping the shuttle and bus station segments entirely. In Mérida it stops in Alta Brisa and at the Hotel Fiesta Americana.

This is a great service and although it costs a little more, if it dovetails with one's arrival or departure schedule, it will save an hour or two. However, I have been on this bus route several times now and have never had more than one or two fellow passengers. At this time there are only a couple of departures from the airport per day, both in the afternoon. From Mérida there are only midnight and 10:00AM departures. With the kinds of flights I've been taking lately, I've only been able to take advantage of the Cancún airport to Mérida run and not the other way around.

The novelty of riding alone in the big bus this week prompted me to recall past bus experiences. When I first traveled by bus in Mexico nearly 20 years ago, I was amazed by the habit of Mexicans to close all the curtains in order to sit in the dark and watch movies or sleep. As a curious traveler, I always prefer to enjoy the beauties of the countryside and see where I am headed. It frustrated me on several occasions, as we passed through spectacular countryside I'd never seen before, when a fellow passenger asked me to close the curtain to eliminate glare on the video monitor so they could watch a vapid, violent movie. Even after making the trip dozens of times, on these cross-Yucatán runs I still often prefer to watch the countryside pass by, monotonous as it may appear along the toll road, than to watch a movie or read. There is always something interesting to see.

I also recalled my surprise, some years ago, at seeing a Jalisco bus driver hurling his cola bottle, junk food wrappers, plastic plate and bags out of the bus window one by one after finishing the various courses of his on-the-job lunch. No one said a word.

I remembered a couple of long, long rides, when a combination of winding mountain roads, those always-closed curtains, heat and questionable roadside food led to the most disagreeable travel experiences I have ever had. Despite those bad trips, I enjoy taking the bus.

I thought about my very first Latin American bus rides, when in the early 70's I did volunteer work in rural Colombia -- the romantic heart of Gabriel Garcia Marquez country. These were true pigs-and-chickens buses. The surplus early 1950s American school buses were painted bright colors and had beads and bangles hanging in the windshields. All of our baggage was piled on the roof, accompanied by a few passengers, young men whom we later suspected of having passed the trip reviewing the contents of our luggage. We sat eight abreast on closely-spaced wooden bench seats as the buses slowly ground along muddy, potholed dirt roads. As we reached a stop, people would swarm on and off the roof, passing down boxes and bundles, and despite the fact that we wanted to watch this process in order to make sure our bags were not stolen, we remained seated in order to not lose our places in the crowded interior. We once waited hours in line at an isolated sun-baked, steamy ferry crossing on the Magdalena River. My most vivid memory of that experience is the very poor campesino family who offered to share their meager food, thick tortillas and some overripe fruit, with me as we waited.

Modern long-distance bus travel in Mexico is a far cry from that long-ago trip and is vastly superior to similar services in the United States. Buses are safe, run frequently, generally run on schedule, and make connections to small towns and pueblos. Buses here are for everyone. Middle-class families and even business executives take the bus. The deluxe buses, such as Platino here in southeast Mexico and ETN in the central part of the country, are more comfortable than first-class airplane cabins, offering roomy reclining seats with full leg rests, snacks, cold and hot drinks, comfortable, clean restrooms, and for those who like that sort of thing, movies -- with headphones -- so the rest of us don't have to listen to movies we have no desire to see.

Second-class and country buses are more interesting, but slower and less reliable. However the people on these buses are wonderful. I can't count the number of times seat mates have offered to share food and drink with me, just as that family did decades ago in Colombia.

I love the bus system here because you can easily go just about anywhere without a car. Taking the bus often costs less than driving, and although it may take longer, it is certainly less stressful. It also affords the chance to really look at the countryside (most of the time), and sometimes to meet interesting people. It's my preferred mode of travel in Mexico.

A Lesson from Xpakay

2011-10-01T19:33:00.000-05:00

It started out as a normal August afternoon.

Late in the month I drove out to spend a couple of days with my friend Jonathan at Hacienda San Antonio Xpakay. It was hot, and as well as Jonathan, who'd been in town on business, my friend Victor was in the car as we drove out Mérida's Calle 42 and trundled along the back roads, through tiny pueblos and haciendas, out to Xpakay.

I've mentioned this hacienda many times. It's one of the magic places in Mexico that have taught me a great deal about the country, its culture, and about greater things.

We'd thrown hammocks, machete, water, food and extra clothes into the car. We stopped several times along the route to observe sights that caught our interest, buy cold drinks in a tiny mom-and-pop store, and later to attend to the necessities of nature after consuming the cold drinks. It was a pretty typical drive in the country.

A typical drive, that is, until we got to the hacienda road.

There are butterflies, mariposas, all year here but the population hits its apex in summer. When it is hot, the butterflies often stop to drink in damp areas around sources of water. The rainy-season puddles in the ruts of this road must provide the most accessible water source in the area. Anything that disturbs the resting butterflies, a wandering cow, a person, or a passing vehicle, scatters them.

There were plenty of the multi-colored insects fluttering around as we entered the 3.5-kilometer dirt track to the hacienda, but we noticed nothing remarkable. Then we rounded a curve in a low spot. Startled by the car, dense waves of the insects began to rise in front of us. It was a breathtaking sight. We slowed to a crawl. As they fled the car, the tendrils of escaping insects seemed to curve into the distance like smoke.

The rapid opening and closing of wings made the swarms of butterflies seem to sparkle jerkily, as if this real-life scene was a primitive film animation. A swarm -- also known as a rabble -- of such magnitude must contain many thousands of insects. Perhaps tens of thousands. This day they were mostly white, yellow, orange, and shades of light green. These are not large, ornate, showy species, but the types with wings of one solid color.

I'd seen butterflies along the back roads of Xpakay on a number of occasions, but the numbers I'd viewed here in the past were nothing like what we saw this day. We must have hit the very height of the season for several species. The sight made me think of other species that mass together in impressive numbers: the salmon, for instance, of my home state of Alaska. Although still numerous in some areas, the populations of these species are mere shadows of what they once were.

I thought of the American buffalo, slaughtered by the tens of millions for meat, hides and target practice in the 19th century. I thought of the Passenger Pigeon, once so numerous in North American that their flights darkened the skies for days as they passed overhead. It led me to consider other vital parts of the natural world we have lost and continue to lose by daily increments. Many are not as spectacular or attention-grabbing as these examples, but important still in the overall scheme of things.

I suppose that such masses of butterflies were once much more common all over the world, but due to destruction of habitat, contamination and the use of pesticides they now are rarely seen. Because the destruction has taken several human generations to occur, we have become accustomed to their now-meager numbers. In most cases, we don't know anything different, so we don't realize what we've missed.

We've lost a huge amount and we keep losing more due to our tremendous fascination with consumption. The incredible numbers of butterflies here in Yucatán make me think. There are things we can still save. What are we doing about it?

My regular readers will ask me, "Where are the pictures?" The truth is that it happened so quickly, and I was so enchanted by the sight, that I took no pictures of the butterflies, preferring to enjoy the moment as I experienced it. Here's an earlier post on butterflies at Xpakay.

Contentment: The Pool at Night

2011-09-24T16:30:00.000-05:00

An outdoor pool in the dark is one of my favorite things. I float on my back, ears under the surface to drown out sound, and watch the night sky.

On warm Yucatán nights, when the water temperature feels neither hot nor cold, after a few moments I cease to notice any separation between my skin and the liquid that cradles me. I float effortlessly and lose sense of the water. I bend my knees. Sometimes, arms extended, I bend my elbows and entwine the fingers of both hands across the back of my head. My respiration falls into a rhythm at which, although the buoyancy of my body drops and rises slightly as I breathe in and out, my face never dips below the surface.

Having reached this equilibrium, I drowsily observe the scene; moon, stars, clouds. These objects all have their own motions, but I add to the dynamic once in awhile by moving hands or feet, which sets the upward view slowly whirling and shifting.

Sometimes during this quiet repose I witness a lot of action. High winds aloft set clouds scurrying across the sky. The overhanging branches and fronds of the garden fidget in response to the breeze. Or bolts of lightning from a distant storm create a strobe-light show as they reflect off the thick atmosphere. I always hope to see falling stars. I see satellites.

But this isn't all.

Here in Mérida, owls come out at night. Often they announce themselves with a loud screech. Then a white silhouette glides against the black sky like a paper cutout suspended on a wire in a grade-school play. The bird of prey is patiently searching for its supper, maybe a careless opossum, rat or other small animal.

There are other flying night visitors that actually interest me more than the owls. These are the bats.

Certain bat species eerily pollinate the banana and pitahaya flowers when they are in bloom. It seems strange because although with their broad, quickly-beating wings they appear to be sizable, active creatures, they make no appreciable noise as they flutter around and back again to visit different blooms.

The bats drink in mid-flight by swooping low enough to skim the water's surface with their mouths as they quickly pass by. For me, floating as I do, this is interesting to witness, especially when a bat takes this flying sip only a foot or two away from my face. Bats make a slight, wet, swooshing sound as they touch the surface, and leave a tiny wake. I have felt the breeze of their wingbeats on my cheek.

When not engaged in observing the nighttime environment around me as I float, I simply relax and let my thoughts drift along with by body. Sometimes I make decisions, solve problems or come up with ideas for blog posts. Other times I lock my gaze on the stars and attempt to quiet my mind and have no thoughts at all.

I suppose there are people who think it all a little odd, or maybe something to try once, but for me frequent sojourns in the pool at night are another of the little pleasures that make life here fascinating.

The idea for this post germinated after I read and commented on a post by my friend Lynette, The Big Ass Belle.

Living Here: Socializing

2011-09-18T20:03:00.001-05:00

Juchitán de Zaragoza, Oaxaca -- My Mexican social life has gone through an evolution over the past eight years. When I first came to Mérida, my group of friends consisted mostly of other foreigners. Now, although I have expatriate friends and continue to make new acquaintances among that crowd, mostly I socialize with Mexican people. The reasons are varied. An experience a few months ago prompted me to think more about the subject.

I was invited by my friend Victoria to visit her home pueblo of Juchitán, out near the Pacific coast in southern Oaxaca, not terribly far from the border with Chiapas. It is a tiring, winding five-hour bus ride from the city of Oaxaca through the mountains down to this area, where traditional Zapotec culture and language is still an active influence on daily life.   I took a cab from the bus terminal to Victoria’s house.

This old house was first inhabited by her great grandmother, and has come down through the matrilineal line of the family ever since. Roots run deep here, and although Victoria lives in Mexico City where she has pursued a career in music and acting, she identifies herself first and foremost with this place and as a Zapotec woman.  

Not long after I arrived, we rode with Victoria’s nephew and his family out to visit relatives who live a little outside of the town. When we got inside the wall that surrounds the large yard, a dog barked once or twice in welcome, and I could hear the sounds of children playing. We were led to a kitchen-dining area that adjoined a roofed patio.  

This was an extended-family gathering of maybe 25 people, consisting of mature brothers and sisters, some of their children, grandchildren, and assorted aunts, uncles, cousins and friends.   The eldest men and some of the women were seated around a long table in the large kitchen. I was provided a chair amidst this group.

The table was scattered with heaping platters of seafood, bottles of beer, and an open bottle of mezcal. Over the next several hours, my plate was never empty for more than a moment before another course was served. The fish soup was followed by caviar and ceviche, shrimp, clams, conch, fish cakes, smoked filets and a variety of salsas and other dishes. My beer was never allowed to warm or become empty, nor was my double-shot mezcal glass. People drank, slowly, but no one appeared drunk or became loud.

I noticed the background sounds of talk and laughter. There was no knot of kids sequestered in a room staring like zombies at a big flat screen, X-Box or computer. The children were all playing together outside. No one was checking their cell phone or sending text messages. The music we had came from one of the older uncles who crooned and played the guitar. At times the others stopped conversing to listen or join in the singing, which was sometimes in the Zapotec dialect. Lots of applause and appreciative cheers followed favorite songs.

For cool-blooded, less-demonstrative northerners who have not pariticpated in these kinds of gatherings, they may present a challenge to notions about personal space. There is plenty of hugging, kissing and touching going on. There are lots of people around, and they like to be close together. And being together was the entire purpose of this afternoon. There was nothing to get in the way of that goal.

I have gravitated increasingly toward this type of socializing as I live longer in Mexico and meet more people. I think in part that is because the Mexican parties are gatherings of family and old friends, and most of the foreigner parties are given by people who do not have family or life-long friends around. For this reason and, I suppose for reasons of culture, the foreigner parties are of a different sort.

At "mix and mingle" foreigner parties I occasionally attend in Mexico, I sometimes feel like the goal is to talk to an individual for a couple of minutes, make a good impression, and then continue to "circulate" in order to chit-chat with everyone else before the evening is over. It seems as if my job is to do a little personal PR presentation to each one I meet. In this environment, only superficial interactions are possible. My wallflower tendencies and dislike of small talk have always inhibited me at these types of social events.

In comparison, the Mexican gatherings are leisurely and more relaxed. People don't arrive punctually, but once they've settled in they tend to hang out for a long time. The importance of family and long-term relationships is obvious in the affectionate way people interact. There is a group spirit. Hospitality and manners are integral and highly-refined arts. And often, cultural roots and history are living participants in the here and now.

These are people who know who they are. Here you encounter them among the folks who know them best. Falseness and superficiality are just about impossible.

In these gatherings, there is plenty of time for an in-depth conversation or to listen in on an intricate discussion between others. People may sing or quote snatches of poetry. There is time to not talk and simply enjoy moments, savor the good food, listen to the words of a song, or to soak up the friendliness. There is time to sit in the garden and watch the children play.

On this particular occasion, in a situation where I was a stranger, I was treated like a long-lost relative. I was told with complete sincerity that I was "in my home," and I was made to feel that way.

That's what makes the difference.

Learning and Friendship with Bloggers

2011-09-15T08:28:00.000-05:00

I am not much of a joiner, and prefer to socialize and work in small groups. So last year when I was invited not only to attend, but to present to the Third Annual Latin American Bloggers Conference, I didn't immediately jump at the chance.

However I went. I had a great time, learned a lot, and formed some new friendships.

All interested persons are invited to attend the fourth installment of this event, which in the past has attracted people from all around the Yucatán Peninsula, other parts of Mexico, Canada and the United States.

The meeting takes place in Mérida, Yucatán on Saturday, Nov. 5. The main session begins at 9:30AM and will run until about 6:00PM, with lunch scheduled from 2:00 to 4:00. Optional social events are scheduled Friday and Saturday nights.

The agenda includes presentations and roundtables on various aspects of blogging, and special sessions for those working in Blogger or Wordpress.

There is no cost to participants. The event is run by volunteers and the venue and technical support is lent or donated.

The Mérida area has a lot to offer out-of-town conference participants who choose to make a long weekend or vacation out of their visit. A variety of music and cultural events, great food, archaeological sites, museums and beaches are all easy to come by around here. Comfortable, reasonably-priced accommodations are plentiful near the conference site in the heart of Mérida's centro historico.

You can view the conference blog here, and email your reservation or ask questions at the email link on the blog or at:

latambloginfo@gmail.com

I hope to see many of you there.

I Still Miss Alberto

2011-09-09T13:39:00.070-05:00

The Yucatecan painter Alberto Castillo Ku passed away last year on Sept. 14. He was a true original and my good friend. In observance of the anniversary I am repeating a post I wrote last November in tribute to Alberto.

* * *

I saw an enchanting painting, a colorful and mysterious portrait of a woman, hanging on the wall of a house in Mérida a few years ago. I asked my host where it came from, and learned that the artist lived not far from me, and although in his eighties was still busy working. Not long afterward, I met the man at a social gathering. His whispy hair was windblown, his precariously-perched glasses held together with adhesive tape, and his clothes spotted here and there with paint. The artist handed me his card. The black on white card pictured an artist's palette and brush and said simply, Alberto Castillo Ku, Pintor.

A few weeks later I called the phone number on the card and Alberto Castillo invited me over to his house in San Sebastian. As we got acquainted that afternoon we touched upon many subjects. We looked at paintings and photos and slowly wandered through his ancient, eccentric house and extensive garden. He cooked, and while eating the lunch we shared a couple of large bottles of beer. Over the next several years, visits like this one to Alberto's house became a regular and unforgettable part of my life.

Alberto Castillo was born in Mérida in 1920, and even as a child he liked to draw. When Alberto was about ten years old, his father bought the old colonial house in San Sebastian where Alberto lived off and on for the rest of his life. As a young man he was passionate about art, and against the advice of his father, decided to go to Mexico City to find work and study. There one day he wandered by a studio where Diego Rivera, probably the best-known and loved Mexican artist, was teaching. Alberto started talking with Diego, and was invited to sit in on the class. This began an exciting time in Alberto's life. He was a young man from an isolated provincial capital, suddenly immersed in cosmopolitan Mexico City of the 1940's. Communists, Nazis, spies, artists -- a fabulous mix of interesting figures -- were part of the scene there. Alberto lived near Diego and Frida Khalo, with whom he began to socialize. Included in this social set were the Mexican artist Miguel Covarrubias and his wife Rosa, the American writer Alma Reed, who was once the lover of executed Yucatecan socialist Felipe Carillo Puerto, and many other figures in Mexican and international art, intellectual life and politics of the era.

After many years in Mexico City, Alberto married and was living in Acapulco, where he had a studio and small restaurant. Acapulco then was a trendy hot spot, with foreign tourism just taking off in the area. Movie stars, the rich and the famous all made appearances in Acapulco, and Alberto's place was right in the thick of things. Then suddenly, after giving birth to their two sons, Alberto's wife became ill and quickly died.

At this point in the story there are gaps in my knowledge, partially because I never asked a lot of questions when Alberto began telling stories, and perhaps because my memory for the details a few years later is not all that good. After leaving Acapulco, Alberto made a living mostly from art and his culinary skills, working in Mexico, many years in the United States where he made many lifelong friends and became fluent in English, and finally returning to Mérida to live with and help his aging parents. For many years Alberto ran a restaurant out of the Mérida family home. And always, always, until unable to during the last few years of his life, he painted.

All of the images in this blog post are from paintings sold to me by Alberto Castillo. Most are works completed in the later years of his career, when his skills, due to arthritis and deteriorating vision, were past their peak. I have seen a number of examples of work from the height of his abilities that would have made his old teacher Diego proud. The sense of light and energy, the sensuality, presence and fine techinque in some of these works are witness to the mastery Alberto achieved in his art, thanks to talent, passion, hard work, and to teachers like Diego. Although most of my "Castillos" were painted in the later years of his career, I have a couple examples of earlier work. Below is a detail of a 1970's painting of a woman from Chiapas "in the style of Diego," as Alberto put it, which hints at the life he could project and attention to detail that he was capable of in his prime.

Alberto painted original religious and Mexican subjects and to pay the bills in later years also made copies of paintings for churches and individuals. Yucatecan daily life and Chiapas were favorite subjects of paintings. Above, a late painting of Chiapanecan musicians that hangs in my living room. At right, a portrait of a young man from Chiapas. Above, near the top of this post, a Chiapanecan woman on her wedding day.

His Catholic faith was important to Alberto, and it was a significant influence in his art. This portrait of Jesus and the Sacred Heart is one that he painted for his mother and which hung in her room for many years.

Alberto's painting of a Mestiza preparing tortillas over a wood fire hangs in my kitchen

Alberto's studio was located in a roofed patio area at the back of the house. It was a hodge-podge of paintings, sketches and sculptures, memorabilia, tools, bundles of canvas and wood for stretchers, works in progress, paint tubes and containers of other liquids, brushes, and many years' accumulation of bric-brac and found objects that one day might be useful in a project. The area was bright and airy, which made it a good place for working. And like the rest of the house, the studio leaked like a sieve in the rain.

I recall an afternoon in the dining room. We were seated at the table, which was always set with a complete service for eight, plates on metal chargers, cloth napkins, wine glasses and other service items,

along with a collection of unrelated objects that over time had accumulated here. The afternoon was darkening as a storm approached, so our meal was illuminated by the chandelier, which had been manufactured from an artificial Christmas tree, complete with decorations and lights, hanging upside down over the table. Alberto opened a bottle of beer and toasted the meal amidst rolling thunder. Just as we started to eat, the heavens opened and in a moment rain began to pour through cracks in the roof. One cascade began to fall right in the middle of Alberto's bald head. Alberto grabbed a baseball cap that just happened to be hanging on the back of the next chair and put it on. Then he looked at me for a second or two and laughed. "C'est la vie," he commented. We continued eating without further talk about the weather. After finishing, we walked through the house gathering the various buckets and pans, strategically situated under the worst leaks, and emptying the accumulated water in the garden.

I regret not having photos of the house. During the period I was spending a lot of time with Alberto, I was not doing much photography. I always said to myself that I ought to photograph his house, but

preferred to enjoy his company in the moment rather than try to make images. The cluttered house and

garden were a museum of more than a century of family life and his interests that included art by his father, son and many friends, photos, antiques, stained glass, valuable religious art and artifacts, various collections, and furniture manufactured by Alberto himself. There were dining rooms whose roofs had gone years ago, but which were still furnished with tables and chairs from the long-closed restaurant. In one corner of the grounds lay a huge mound of wine bottles, the accumulation of decades in the restaurant business and enjoying fine drink. In the back grew a large ceiba tree, which is the sacred tree of the Maya people, with a bench underneath. Once Alberto told me that there was a baby buried in that spot, apparently the dead infant child of a young relative or family friend who stayed with the Castillo Ku family when she got "in trouble," many, many years ago.

There are more stories I could tell about Alberto Castillo. We went out drinking at his favorite bar, the expat hangout Pancho's in downtown Mérida. We took the bus and rode on errands in the city. We went out to dinner. I bought large paintings and before I had a car carried them across a good piece of Mérida centro to my house in the heat of the afternoon, prompting interesting conversations along the way. One painting, the large oil of Saint Michael with which Alberto poses in the photo of his studio above, was once lost when a hurricane-tossed tree landed on and collapsed the roof of Alberto's house. The storm then sent his possessions flying all over the neighborhood. The painting was later returned to Alberto by a friend who had found it. It now hangs in my front room.

Alberto loved fruit and knew a lot about plants, which he was always giving to me. Roots from plants growing on an outer wall of the house broke through the wall and hung down inside the bathroom. Alberto didn't cut them. Instead he painted a woman's lips and eyes on the wall and incorporated the roots as the hair in a new piece of living art, which happened to be right over the toilet. Every so often when I used the bathroom I noticed how the woman's hair had grown.

There was the story of the son whom Alberto had never met, the product of a love affair with an American woman years ago. His obvious pride in his grandson in France, also an artist, who had come to visit. Stories of friends who'd passed on, of whom there are many when a person reaches his late eighties. Through it all, Alberto's attitude seemed to be to enjoy life as much as possible. He was always saying with a smile, "such is life," as if to shrug off the problems and sadness that we all deal with at times. His other favorite saying, whenever someone thanked him, was, "don't say thanks, say more."

One of the last times I was with Alberto he suddenly looked at me, gave me a bear hug, and told me, "I love you." I could only reply, "I love you too, Alberto." About that time Alberto stopped painting and was having more pronounced health problems. He was no longer taking care of the house and was less able to handle his own personal care. I offered to help in the house but he mostly refused. Not long after this, one of his sons, who for some time had been trying to convince Alberto to move in with him over in Puerto Morelos, moved Alberto to a nursing home where his needs could better be taken care of.

Earlier this year a 30-year-old bonsai flamboyant tree that Alberto had given me suddenly dropped its leaves and dried up. I felt guilty because I had been gone a lot and feared that my lack of attention had been the cause of the loss. Then, when I heard belatedly of Alberto's passing, I thought again of that tiny, gnarled old tree that Alberto had started from a seed and taken care of for 25 years before he gave it to me, and I thought, "C'est la vie. More, Alberto, more."

Culture Shock

2011-09-03T12:51:00.000-05:00

Palm Beach Gardens, Florida -- More and more now, when I go north to visit the 48 contiguous United States I experience culture shock.

I guess it's due to two things. First, I spent a lot of time living in small-town Alaska, in itself very different from a lot of what you find in the rest of the U. S. Add to that the fact that I have lived in Yucatán full time since 2005.

I just spent a week in this well-to-do area of South Florida, living for that time much as a resident there might. I woke and got ready each morning, climbed into a car and merged with commuters on eight lanes of highway traffic. I negotiated congestion, a great many parking lots, and chilly, air-conditioned malls. Later each day I returned to the highways for the commute home.

Oh yeah, how about the Kardashian sex tape?

What I can't stop noticing in areas like this is that much of the human-made environment puts the convenience of automobiles before that of people. Public transportation is not very good. In many areas it's hard to be a pedestrian. At one point I decided to walk over to a nearby mall, craving exercise and thinking it was silly to drive the car only a few blocks. What I discovered in an area that looked like an inviting and likely area for footpaths, with luscious greenbelts and plantings all around, is that there were not always sidewalks, crosswalks or pedestrian signals.

...of course you know the latest on Justin and Selena...

I found that because cars are king, it is difficult and a little dangerous to walk in this neighborhood. I began to wonder why. Is it because, in this area where Bentleys, BMWs and Mercedes seem to be typical family cars, no one walks? Or is the intention to keep pedestrians (read: poor people) out? I noticed that a lot of people stared at me from their cars as I walked in the greenbelt alongside the "parkway." I would not have been surprised if a police patrol had stopped and told me that pedestrians are prohibited there. I guess, in this area where even the lawn maintenance guys seem to be driving shiny new $50,000 pickups and the whole environment and culture is designed for the convenience of motorized transport, that someone walking along the street seems a little strange.

...and everyone's talking about Beyonce's "bump."

Despite the beautifully-maintained greenbelts and some lovely natural areas and parks, what I cannot stop seeing everywhere here is huge expanses of intentionally-created desert. I'm mostly talking about pavement, but even some of the green part, that which is sprinklered, fertilized, mulched and beautifully manicured, is apparently largely devoid of wildlife. It's all remarkably clean. Clean to the point of sterility.

...Tiger's house is behind that wall...

I feel a bit out of place here. The car and shopping culture is something I never embraced, the facades of ostentatious wealth are something I don't really understand, and since I don't watch television or read celebrity news I feel pretty much like a foreigner to much of the pop culture up north.

I arrived home in Mérida two days ago. I am always relieved to return to the human-scale, less ordered, and much less artificial world of Yucatán.

Wanderings: My Secret Pyramid

2011-08-27T13:28:00.003-05:00

Somewhere in Mexico -- There are thousands of these places all over the country. No road signs point the way and there are no gates, guards or visitor centers. No maintenance crew keeps things neat and trimmed. Few tourists ever find them. And in most cases, these places remain much the same as they have been for centuries.

I have a secret pyramid. When I visit, it's all mine. I will tell you about it, but I am not going to say just where it is.

Of course it's not really a secret. It's located close to a highway and people live nearby. They drive cattle past it every day, and work in their milpas, cornfields, which dot the surrounding area. However few who live here give the pyramid much thought. It has always been there. Just like the sky and hills, the rocks and the trees, it's part of the landscape.

The government knows about it, and apparently official archaeologists once came out and took a look. But in a country with limited funding for such things and countless ancient sites scattered over tens of thousands of square miles, this one has probably never been thoroughly surveyed, and is unlikely ever to be excavated, restored and developed as a public park. To be truthful it's small, not awe-inspiring when compared to other well-known Mexican pyramids, and represents a lost and little-understood culture.

When I visit this pyramid, I normally have the place completely to myself. I always feel that I am the only one who cares about it as much as I do. I guess that's one reason why I like it so much.

I first came out here about a dozen years ago, and since I pass through the area from time to time, have visited the pyramid six or eight times since.

On my very first visit I went with a couple of locals who offered to show me around. The pyramid is actually one of several pre-Colombian structures in the complex, but the others are in such ruinous contition that it is hard to make out what they were. That day I enjoyed the hike. I climbed to the top, admired the view, and took a few pictures. Then afterward I found myself thinking about the place and felt the need to go back and spend more time there.

So I went back by myself. From where I normally stay when in the area, it is about an hour's hike through a pueblo, down into a small canyon full of pillar-like rock formations, jumping the stream at the bottom, and up the other side into another small pueblo. As I walk I occasionally pass traditionally-dressed indigenous women, often accompanied by children, carrying bundled firewood or tending small herds of animals. It's hard to get lost on these trails; foot traffic over many hundreds of years has worn deep grooves into the rock.

Passing through the pueblo only takes a couple of minutes. On the far side, an expanse of corn fields on both sides of the road opens a vista of the hills and valleys in all directions. Soon you climb a rise. As you come over the top, a hill comes into view. It is covered in shrubs and small trees, and at first looks like just another hill. Then you notice a level row of stonework near the top, and the design of the structure becomes apparent.

Sometimes, local children come out of their houses or materialize from the brush to shyly peer at me. The braver ones may approach and try to sell me artifacts they have found in their fields. I politely look at what they have to offer, shards of pottery, blades and points of translucent obsidian, and small objects of clay or stone. I then explain to the children that although they are very nice, it's illegal for me to possess artifacts like these, so I can't buy. The children speak Spanish poorly, having grown up speaking an indigenous dialect, so I am not sure that they understand exactly why I won't purchase their treasures. They are disappointed. They are reluctant to have their picture taken. After this exchange, the kids wander off and leave me to myself.

A local child displays obsidian points found near the pyramid.

From this point I am left alone, free to feel the wind, sun and rain, and enjoy animals, plants and the scenery. No one comes near as I wander, kicking at pottery and obsidian fragments scattered in the dust, the abundant litter of an ancient civilization. No one accompanies me as I eventually climb the ruins and sit on the top of this former spiritual center of a long-forgotten culture.

Nothing much happens at the pyramid. Sometimes I take pictures, write or sketch there. Mostly I just sit and watch my surroundings. It's a beautiful and quiet place with a solidity about it that few others in my experience possess. That's what it has to offer and that, it seems to me, is its great value.

The secret pyramid is a touchstone, a pilgrimage for me. It has become one of a small number of very special places in the geography of my life, places where I feel connected, content, and at peace. I suspect I will keep returning to it, from time to time, as long as I am able to do so.

Living Here: Getting Things Done

2011-08-19T20:17:00.004-05:00

I had a plumbing problem a while back. After about a week it was fixed. Below is an image of the crew on the patio in the midst of a critical phase of the project.

You might say, "It took a week? No wonder, it looks like those guys just sat on their backsides drinking Coke and eating chips!"

Actually, the photo was made in the afternoon, normal time for a break, and the adhesive on the newly-installed PVC fittings needed to set before we could crank up the pump and check for leaks under pressure. So actually the guys timed their rest break to coincide with this halt in the work. This scene was all in a day's work, and fine by me.

While waiting for this crew to show up one day, I started thinking about the issue of efficiency and getting things done in Mexico, and a few thoughts came to mind.

The issue of time is a frustration that most expatriates here experience. To be quite frank, sometimes you arrange for a service and the people come hours late or simply don't show up. You sit around the house watching the day slip away, and the guy who you are waiting for to fix the fridge or paint your cabinets probably doesn't think it's a big deal.

Many foreigners move here because the way of life is less stressful, more casual, and "laid back." Americans I know here especially like the "laid back" part -- for themselves -- but some of these same people then want everybody else to stick to a schedule and for things to to happen on time. To those I would paraphrase an old saying in English, "you can't have your flan and eat it, too."

It is possible to find conscientious, punctual workers, but people don't operate in a vacuum. Sometimes there is a domino effect and people will be late, no matter what their intentions, because others on whom they depend hold them up.

Another thing that foreigners who've moved to Mexico may not take into consideration is that culturally we're the oddballs here, living as many of us do as singles or couples without a lot of extended family around. In most Mexican households there are mothers with children, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, so someone is usually around. In addition, even middle-class families may have a household employee around during the day. For most Mexican families, a worker being late for a service call or repair job is not the big inconvenience it is for someone who lives alone and has to wait around "wasting time" when a worker doesn't keep an appointment.

The best strategy is to expect a wait, and then plan to do something useful or fun with that time. Prepare to work on projects or hobbies around the house that day so that staying home won't be a big inconvenience. And, if the washing machine repair guy says he will come at 10:00AM, don't commit to a lunch out with friends at noon. Invite your friends over and be ready for interruptions, or reschedule something for another day. And by all means, get the cell phone number of service people so you can check in with them if necessary.

Another way to deal with waiting is if you have a trusted house cleaning person, try when possible to schedule repairs or other services when that person is working. That way you can go about your business while someone else is home waiting for service personnel to show up.

I find that generally although services here are not always as timely as is expected in the U.S., they usually are effective, especially considering that the cost of getting things done is often much more economical. I think it's important to examine your expectations. Define what result is needed. If you want everything to be the same as north of the border you will be unendingly frustrated. If you put the lower costs and more personalized service into perspective, you'll likely find that usually you are getting a pretty good deal. Get recommendations, and once you find good crafts, repair and technical people, stick with them. If you communicate effectively with those working for you and develop a relationship, you'll find that you generally get what you need and that the time factor is manageable.

In the case of this plumbing job, I waited for the crew to get around to me because they have worked for me for years, know the house well, and are trustworthy. I paid 400 pesos or about 33 U.S. dollars to have a check valve at the bottom of my well (which entailed disconnecting and raising a long section of pipe), a damaged valve and a cracked fitting replaced. It took a few days to get it done (they are busy), but the quality of the work is good, and I suspect I would have paid at least several hundred dollars in labor to have the same work done in the states.

Did I wait around some? Yes.

Was it inconvenient? That depends upon your point of view. I've adjusted my expectations a bit. Overall it worked out fine, as far as I'm concerned.

The Coast

2011-08-13T07:44:00.005-05:00

One of the things that most attracts me to Yucatán is that there still are long stretches of beach that look and feel just as they must have when only Mayan people were here, living in small villages along this coast, fishing and producing salt for trade long before the arrival of Spanish conquistadores on the Peninsula. In other words, there are areas still with no houses, no powerlines and very few people. When you are there you feel the sun and wind and see just birds, waves, miles of light-tan sand, and not much else. Occasionally you might encounter a family that appears magically as they quietly walk up an unseen trail through the dunes, or a skiff full of fishermen, or a boy on a horse. But just occasionally.

The ocean and beaches have always had a powerful allure to my family. When I was born our home was a log cabin on an Alaska beach, and with the exception of a few shorter periods of time, I have lived my entire life very close to the sea. I can't imagine living any other way. When I am away from a coast for very long I feel its absence and long to be near it.

As a small child, I viewed the beach as a barrier, a very real limit beyond which it was difficult to cross. We would wade carefully in, splash and swim in the waves at waters' edge, but could not venture farther. We cast in fishing lines, intruding just a little deeper into this mysterious space, waiting for something to take the bait on our hooks. I remember always trying to imagine the creatures out there, but it was difficult to clearly picture that other world just beyond reach. In my childhood days before technology made high-quality underwater films and television programming relatively easy to produce, the deep, dark underwater world did truly seem as vast and mysterious as outer space.

As I grew I learned to swim and dive, operate small boats and handle a kayak, and began to view the beach as an open entryway to a vast, three-dimensional world rather than a barrier and a mystery.

Back in the mid-sixties, we took vacations along Florida's Gulf Coast, primarily on Sanibel and Captiva Islands. Lazy hikes down the long, pristine stretches of beach, swimming, surf fishing and collecting huge bags of shells along the edges of the warm Gulf waters are my fondest memories of childhood family vacations. There were at the time still a few old families around there living off the sea; that culture was still alive.

Unfortunately, when I go to those places now, changes caused by the intervening decades of development make a nostalgic visit difficult. Big hotels, condominiums and the presence of lots more people have changed the very nature of the places. The beaches themselves, as you stand and gaze out to sea, look the same, but to your back the congestion, commercialization and crowds make everything else different. The tranquility and old ways are pretty much gone, replaced by timeshare condo and vacation culture, which utilizes the beaches and water mostly as a backdrop against which to seek pleasure, and appreciates little of the important things that the environment has to offer.

A trip along large stretches of the Yucatán Peninsula Gulf Coast can be almost like a time-machine journey. Two-lane highways and sand roads predominate. There are sections of coast with no roads at all. Villages, still largely authentic Mayan fishing ports, here and there sprinkled with modest vacation homes, still exist. Most of these places offer rustic seafood restaurants, but there are large chunks of the coast where tourism is modest and hotel rooms are scarce.

In the places where there are rooms, they are often basic, as are the prices. This is great for those of us who are happy in simple quarters and have little interest in "luxury vacations," viewing the real luxury simply as access to big stretches of quiet, unspoiled coast. Things are changing, though. More development is happening. Highways to the coast have been modernized. On the outskirts of my favorite small coastal village an American contractor has bought a long strip of beach, stretched barbed wire and "for sale" signs across beach access trails, and is constructing enormous, million-dollar beach houses. These will probably never be permanent residences for anyone; more likely just occasional vacation getaways for the privileged few with little connection to the environment or local people.

Change is coming here, but I hope it happens slowly. I don't write in any great detail about my very favorite places because what I enjoy about them is destroyed when they become popular. Some things are better left alone.

Business: Mérida Home For Sale

2011-08-06T09:09:00.000-05:00

And now a word from our sponsor.

Don't worry friends, I am not about to commercialize this blog. It's just that I have a house for sale, and I suddenly realized that since the readers here are a pretty select group of people seriously interested in Yucatán, it might be worthwhile (both for me and maybe for one of you) to post the information.

And after all, this blog is about life in Mexico and Mérida, Yucatán. The buying and selling of old houses is a part of life here, so actually this falls in with the general drift of my posts.

Last fall I bought this small house not far from my home in Mérida's centro historico with the idea of renovating it as a rental, but I have since found a different sort of project outside of the city. I already have my place in town, so I decided to concentrate my energies on the new opportunity instead of this house.

This could be the perfect lock-and-leave residence for someone living in Mérida seasonally. It also would be great for a beach or rural resident wanting a place to stay when in the city for shopping, doctor visits, or a weekend on the town. It's an ideal option for someone wanting to downsize and live economically but with style. It could also be a mother-in-law or guest house for someone already living in the neighborhood.

Old floor tiles in front room

The house is located on Calle 70, about three blocks from Parque Santiago and seven from Parque Santa Ana, with their well-known markets and restaurants. There are no buses and little truck traffic on the street. A movie theater, supermarket, and hardware, paint, dentists, doctors, auto mechanics and all manner of other services are available within a few blocks' radius. The Mérida English Library is practically around the corner. Mérida's main plaza is nine blocks, or about a ten-minute walk away.

The traditional thick-walled mamposteria (rock and mortar) structure consists of three rooms, plus kitchen, bathroom, and a cement-block storage room. Doors and windows are sturdy metalwork with glass. Beamed ceilings in the two front rooms measure about 4.5 meters (14.7 feet) in height. The lot measures 97 square meters (1044 square feet) with 83 square meters (893 square feet) of construction. The original floors (photos) in the first two rooms are in good shape and just need polishing. The roof is in good condition and there are no structural faults that I know of. Although everything is in functional condition, the house needs updated wiring, plumbing, fixtures and finishes to meet modern standards.

Some of the benefits:

Front room

Economy: Property taxes on the house last year were $77 pesos, or about six and a half US dollars -- that's the tax bill for the whole year. Garbage collection (three pickups per week) costs less than three dollars per month, and many other costs are similarly affordable. This truly is a place where people could manage well on a small pension. More on the economy of living in Mérida in this post.

Easy redo: For someone who wants to renovate the existing structure without making huge changes or adding rooms, it could be a very economical remodel. I estimate that it is possible to rewire, replumb, renovate the kitchen and bathroom, repair and paint, build a small dipping pool in the patio for under USD$20,000., and have a fantastic urban retreat. It is also possible to build up (the house next door was recently enlarged this way) to add bedrooms and a rooftop terrace.

Security: I have had my home just down the street since 2003 and to my knowledge there has not been a single home breakin, robbery or assault in this neighborhood during that time. It is possible to walk around the area, even late at night, without worrying about safety. Police patrol cars roll down the street on a routine basis and police headquarters and a fire/rescue station are located just a few blocks north. Clinica de Mérida, a high-quality medical center with emergency room, is just a few minutes drive away. The neighbors are nice people, the sort who still put their rocking chairs out on the sidewalk at night to talk and visit with friends. The area generally is quiet, and there are few businesses in the immediate vicinity. More on safety and security in Yucatán in this post.

Here's one more post on some of the nice things about living here.

For more details, comment below or email me: marc_olson@hotmail.com

Sale price: USD$42,000. SOLD

Middle room

Third room with bath

Kitchen

View from front room looking towards back of house

Patio and storage building

The first two rooms have high, beamed ceilings

Old pasta tile floor in bedroom

Living Here: A Tabloid Moment

2011-08-04T10:50:00.007-05:00

It was an evening out of the tabloid press.

As I walked out of baggage claim in Mérida's airport Monday night following a return flight from Mexico City, crowds of young women began to holler and mob several of the younger men from my flight who'd stepped into the reception area just ahead of me.

Back in the boarding area of Terminal 2 in Mexico City's Benito Juarez Airport, I'd become aware that what I assumed was some sort of pop music group was waiting with me for the Mérida-bound flight. I didn't recognize them, but from the garb and talk I assumed they were on their way to Yucatán for a performance. This deduction was more-or-less confirmed when I was pressed in the crush of autograph seekers and picture-takers as I tried to wheel my bag through the arrivals area in Mérida.

I had to wait for a minute or two while my neighbor Margarita (who was there to pick me up) jostled to take a photo of her teenaged daughter with a lead cast member of La Academia, actually a television program that is a Mexican combination of Big Brother and American Idol. The cast and production crew visit different states of the republic where they shoot a series of programs in which local young talents live together in a large house and then compete with each other by performing, with the obligatory drama of social friction and weekly eliminations, all of which is documented and edited into program segments. This apparently garners a large national following. Winners are given recording contracts and some go on to become well-known performers or recording artists. The program was to begin casting in Mérida the following day for its next series of shows based upon Yucatecan talent. My friends were very impressed that I had been on the plane with this famous TV cast. They were even more impressed, or should I say incredulous, that I had no idea who these TV stars were.

Margarita told me she had also just taken her daughter's photo with a famous plastic surgeon who had arrived. I guess he's a guy who does lots of stars and famous people in Mexico. Her suspicion was that he was in Yucatán to "botox" a certain key political figure with rumored higher political ambitions.

Speaking of politicians, my neighbor mentioned that while waiting she'd noticed lots of party operatives hanging around in the terminal, apparently there to greet a few prominent pols who got off my flight. This was due to the fact that the governor was giving her annual report to the people later the same night, and obviously important people were arriving to attend the event. Margarita had recognized some, and had shaken hands with a number of them.

One of these, she said, looked like the brother of ex-president of Mexico Carlos Salinas de Gortari, and she indicated a small cluster of men in dark slacks and white guayaberas against one wall. She'd said hello to the man and shaken his hand, although she didn't continue the conversation to confirm his identity because she felt out of place wearing a T-shirt, shorts and sandals, having just driven in from the beach to pick me up.

Well, when I opened the newspaper the next morning, I discovered (and Margarita later confirmed) that she was wrong. It wasn't Salinas' brother she's spied. It was the ex-president himself. Carlos Salinas apparently had been on my flight.

So I'd jet-setted with them all: reality-show stars, the celebrity botox-and-boobs surgeon to the rich and famous, and an ex-president of Mexico.

I had a tabloid moment, and I'd had no idea.

Wanderings: Magic Places

2011-07-30T13:02:00.013-05:00

Shrine at los manantiales of San Pablo

As time passes, I travel far less and yet gain more from each experience. I log fewer miles, and do them more slowly. I often explore closer to home. I take fewer pictures as I go, preferring to use all my senses to gather impressions and memories of a place.

In addition, now when I visit a place I spend more time there. What I find as a result of this simplification is that I see, feel, hear and sense more about the places I do visit, and take much more home with me from the experience than I used to.

Anyone sensitive enough to the surrounding environment occasionally stumbles across special places where there is an atmosphere, a presence, a spirit, perhaps an aura, that lends them a magic quality.

Conseulo and son Marco

During my July visit to Querétaro, I took an afternoon hike in the hills above the tiny pueblo of San Pablo, Amealco, located near where I teach summer school.

I went with a small group of other teachers, led by San Pablo resident Consuelo, who is an indigenous Otomí woman, a local teacher and our co-worker. Also walking with us and helping us gather firewood along the way were her young sons Carlos and Marco Antonio.

Our goal was los manantiales, or the springs, which supply water to the pueblo. The flow is divided. Part of the water runs in its natural course. The rest is confined by pipe and in a narrow, old rock and concrete channel from the source, at the top of a valley, down past fields where small sluice gates allow its diversion for irrigation, and then into the pueblo itself.

We climbed above San Pablo on a rocky, sometimes muddy path, which follows the channel up through tall old trees that cast a deep shade on this cloudy afternoon. Along the trail and in clearings, large spiky maguey plants and clumps of yellow, pink and blue wildflowers occasionally relieved the gloom. Under the dense forest canopy the ground is covered by a thick matte of brown leaves which makes the place seem soft despite the presence of rocky outcroppings.

As we climbed, a sudden chill and dark clouds threatened an imminent downpour, but beyond a few errant drops, the enveloping walls of the small valley held the storm just far enough away to keep us dry. The shelter of our valley notwithstanding, the deep bass rumble of distant thunder was powerful enough to vibrate our insides from time to time.

As we approached the spring, there was no mistaking that we had arrived. In the clearing around the water source, the people have constructed a tiny shrine, painted sky blue and adorned with crosses and strings of starlike decorations which extend into the surrounding trees that arch overhead. It is a protected, intimate and refuge-like place.

It is wonderful after the climb to kneel down next to the shrine where clear, cool water burbles from the ground, and drink from this ancient water source. Countless beings have done this before me. Ruins of earlier civilizations in the vicinity date back close to 2000 years. From the presence of the small, fertile cornfields and pueblo of San Pablo directly below los manantiales, I suspect that this spring has been a special place and a source of life since ancient times, perhaps for thousands of years.

When I travel, I still enjoy the occasional experience of a city, a show, or a noisy night on the town. However now I mostly concentrate on quieter, more contemplative visits to places like los manantiales. These places don't shout out at you, don't demand your attention, and are not always easy to find. Some people do not notice them at all. But those who do sense the meaning of these places definitely experience something that surpasses human-made attractions.

Above all, places like los manantiales possess a strong sense of self. They resonate with life, the passing of time, the seasons, the spirits of people, animals, plants and venerable trees long ago dissolved and reincarnated in the cycles of life. The reverberations of past events still linger in these locations because it is so evident in them that although everything over time changes in form, it all is still here.

Living Here: Successful Expatriates Do This

2011-07-09T18:25:00.003-05:00

I passed a small milestone pretty much unnoticed this week. In early July I completed six years of living full time in Mexico. I have never been one to make a big deal out of anniversaries, so I didn't even mark the day. However I recently visited Alaska, my birthplace and the lifelong home I departed from to begin a new life in Mérida, and that has prompted me to reflect on the transition.

Mine's been a successful venture, in all categories. I am happy I moved, feel invigorated in late middle age by a new way of life, and do not seriously think about moving permanently back up north.

However I have seen others move to Mexico, full of excitement and hope, only to experience disillusion and disappointment. Some try it for a year or two before deciding to move back to where they came from. Others stay, but adapt by cocooning themselves within a small crowd of other expats, their air conditioning and their cable TV and live isolated from much of the beauty of life here. Some also mix in booze, drugs, and obsessive sexual behavior.

Although living as an expatriate in Mexico proves difficult for some, in many of the others who remain, it brings out their best.

There is something particular, or maybe peculiar, about the foreigners who move here, find community, stay and are truly happy. There are those who find themselves happier than they have ever been, their lives blossoming as they meet the challenge of exploring new relationships, places, ideas and interests.

I've thought a lot about why my move was successful, and taken a look at other happy and successful foreigners living in Mexico. Obviously, for each of these their move goes well for individual reasons. But there are more common threads than differences.

Happy expats who stay on for the long haul usually started out by doing their homework. Although no quantity of research and trial visits can fully prepare one for what it's like to live here all the time, these things certainly can assist with identifying obstacles and help with the decision-making process.

Successful transplants usually are flexible, open minded and have a sense of adventure. They don't expect things to be the same as they were where they came from, and accept, or better yet enjoy, the differences. They adjust to a slower rhythm of life. They appreciate new experiences and thrive on the challenge of figuring out an unfamiliar culture and living in a place where most people don't speak their language. Through it all they generally manage to remain positive. These are not the kind of people you hear talking excessively about how great things are "back home."

Patience is very important. It takes time to adjust to different ways of doing things, different food, weather, and really just about everything else. Most people go through an initial euphoric period, a time when everything is delightful, exciting and exotic. This often is followed by a period of reevaluation, when they find themselves confronting unanticipated difficulties, realize that a new country didn't make old problems go away, and feel homesick. At this point they may wonder if they made the right choice. Some manage to use this time as an opportunity for growth, but it usually takes a couple of years, and patience, to work it all out.

Finally, many successful expats break out of old patterns and reinvent themselves to some extent. I am not talking about people who are running from their past and try to create a fictitious self. The fractures in these fairy tales usually start to show pretty quickly. What I'm talking about are those who find themselves with time to do what they really want to do, things like volunteering to teach, support environmental causes or care for abandoned animals, pursuing new careers in art, writing or other fields, or opening a new business. Foreigners here usually feel a lot more freedom to experiment and try out new roles than they did where they came from. Moving to another country is a chance to forge a new identity by taking risks and accomplishing things they never had time to do before.

I think Babs, in the "about me" section of her blog, sums up perfectly the key attitude of many successful expats with a quote from Helen Keller: "Life is a daring adventure or nothing at all." Expatriates with this attitude have the time of their lives.

Language Learning: Why Bother?

2011-07-05T18:58:00.001-05:00

I don't know many foreigners living in Mexico who speak really good Spanish. Because I started studying the language as a kid, continued in college, and used it from time to time as an adult, I had a good basis in Spanish when I moved to live in Mexico full time a few years ago. As a result, becoming proficient enough to comfortably socialize with Mexicans and handle all of my own business affairs has not been the huge step for me that it is for many.

Of course there are plenty of foreigners who move here, work on their Spanish, and do very well. But it is amazing the number of people who come to live in Mexico and never, even after many years, learn Spanish. Many of these folks are perfectly happy this way and see no need to make the effort to do so. Others would like to learn, but think that it's too hard or they are "too old," so don't put forth much effort.

From what I've seen, these people live isolated within a limited social group of people who speak English. Many live happily enough within this circle, but in some ways remain perpetual tourists in the society where they have chosen to live, and forever dependent upon others to interpret and assist in day-to-day living.

Expats who live in Mexico and don't learn the language often count upon bilingual go-betweens to get things done and keep up with what is going on. Many make purchases and use services based upon whether the provider speaks English rather than the quality of the service or products. When it comes to goods and services, non-Spanish speakers often pay a stiff premium for the need to do all transactions in English. These types of services are necessary for short-term visitors and people in transition, but dependence upon them can be limiting for those who live here for the long term.

Why bother with Spanish? Here are a few good reasons I can think of:

Social and cultural: For most people, the biggest benefit of being able to speak the language is access to a vastly larger and more diverse social circle and a greater appreciation of the culture. A Spanish-speaking expat will meet many more possible friends among the locals and among foreigners from other parts of the world who although they may not speak English, likely will speak Spanish. In my case I know French and Italian residents here who don't speak English; we communicate in Spanish. Speaking the language also increases depth of understanding and appreciation of the arts such as music, theater, poetry readings, and all manner of public and cultural events.

There is a lot of cultural information that is transmitted by language, and it's very difficult to understand the real meaning of much that goes on around you without it. This background is not something one absorbs through beginner- or mid-level language classes or by learning a lot of vocabulary. It takes time and immersion in Spanish to get to this stage, but it is well worthwhile for those who choose to live here permanently. When you get to the point that you understand the background cultural context of certain words and expressions, and begin to understand and make jokes, puns and wordplays, you finally are approaching a level of language knowledge in which you can begin to understand the nuances of culture.

I find that among expats there is a fairly dependable correlation between being critical of Mexico and Mexicans and not understanding much Spanish. I think the basis for this attitude is the lack of understanding of the culture they are living in and not knowing any Mexicans beyond a superficial level.

Efficiency: If you speak the language, it is much easier to get things accomplished efficiently and effectively, whether that's shopping, explaining a problem to a police officer, banker, computer tech, plumber or mechanic, or dealing with functionaries in businesses and government offices. If you need medical attention, you can go to the best specialist or doctor of your choice regardless of language issues, and communicate your needs clearly without needing a translator.

Independence: If you speak Spanish, you can go out driving or take buses with much less concern about getting lost because you can always ask directions. You confidently can go exploring in the countryside or look for an address in an unknown area. Most importantly, you are able do these and many more things by yourself and on your own schedule.

Involvement: If you can talk with the locals, it's easier to keep up with happenings in the neighborhood. If you love to chat, you'll find neighbors who will enjoy helping you practice your language skills, and at the same time fill you in on what's going on on your street. You'll also get invited to more neighborhood events, and probably find neighbors willing to help out when you have a problem. In addition, you can keep up with what's going on in the region and country without relying upon someone else's version: you will be able to read the paper and watch or listen to local news.

Intellectual: Studies have shown that language learning, at any age, is good for the brain and memory. Research also shows that it is possible to learn a new language even at an advanced age, so being "too old" is a weak excuse.

Speaking Spanish has enriched my life in Yucatán in so many ways it would be hard to include them all in a blog post. At this point I go for days at a stretch without speaking English at all. I can't imagine living here without being able to participate as fully as possible in the life and culture around me.

Read earlier posts on language learning:
Making it Memorable
Live the Language

Contentment: Fishing Days

2011-06-28T10:43:00.004-05:00

When my longtime friend and fishing buddy Brian invited me to go wet a line during my recent visit to Juneau, I expected to write about it. Of all the activities that engaged me during a lifetime in Alaska, a day of fishing is one that bears closest resemblance to the kind of day I work toward having more and more of now in Yucatán.

Why? Fresh salmon is soul food to me, but the experience is more about having a day than getting a fish. In fact, Brian and I have a way of talking about going out fishing. We don't say we're going to go out and catch a bunch of fish. We just casually say that we ought to go and "have a look around."

Years ago I heard various Alaska Native elders talk about going out hunting. In some cultures tradition says that the hunter needs to be humble, because the animals sense human arrogance and will not give themselves to someone who is not respectful, not "right" in heart and mind. The hunter who says something like, "I'm going out to have a look around," or, "I'll just take a walk down river," might come back with meat for his family. Someone who offends nature -- "let's kill us some fish" -- will come back empty handed.

So we have a routine: I bring all the food, Brian gasses up his boat, and we head out for the day and start "looking around," with carefully-prepared bait trailing in the depths behind us, of course.

And there is always plenty to look at: varieties of birds, fish, innumerable eagles, seals, sea lions, and often lots of whales. Interesting things float by. It is a day in which moment succeeds moment.

The wind shifts, and we're in a chilly mist. I am sipping coffee as the tide ebbs. The sky changes and the day evolves. Clouds thicken and briefly a shower drenches us; the sun finds an opening and highlights the snow-capped Chilkat mountains and a distant glacier.

As the overcast dissipates, I warm up and begin to shed layers: raincoat, halibut jacket, wool shirt. I trail my hand in the water, and taste it as it drips from my fingers.

The peace and calm of observing nature and weather is punctuated occasionally by the quiver of a fishing pole, and sometimes that leads to the capture of a nice salmon or halibut. But more often than not, bait is snatched away and something down there has got a free meal on us, or we carefully release an undersized or unwanted fish.

Or nothing at all happens.

Although not always a lot of it, there's talk. After about twenty-five years of fishing together we've shared a lot of experiences, so at times we retell old fishing stories: long hauls in his small skiff before Brian got the bigger boat; getting caught in bad weather; monster fish that got away; the time we hooked halibut and several species of salmon all in one day. We laugh about the time I got seasick on the brand-new boat and my trip to the ER with a hook in my thumb. The conversations range through many other subjects. Talk flows easily.

There's also the music, always jazz or rock oldies. And food. I habitually bring fat prepared sandwiches from the deli counter of a local store, apples, other snacks, drinks and Snickers bars. It's become a tradition. I only eat them when fishing, but for fishing you've gotta have Snickers.

Breaking out the food used to be a good luck charm. It seemed that for years, no sooner would we have all the lunch goodies spread out than we would hook something. Inevitably some of the food would end up dropped and trampled on the deck, a casualty of the action. We've continued to try the "get out the sandwiches" ploy when fish aren't biting, even though it hasn't worked in years. Fishermen, like baseball players, are superstitious. Speaking of superstitions, there's my fishing hat, but that's another story.

We don't always connect with fish, but as things went on this recent day, we were watching some "rock jockeys," beach fishermen on North Douglas Island, when suddenly one of the poles started vibrating. It wasn't long before we reeled in a magnificent gift from Mother Nature in the form of a medium-sized King. As I looked into its eye and felt its fat but sleek body I felt truly blessed to be who and where I was and in the company of a good friend.

I could not have wished then to be any other place nor to be doing anything else on earth. What more could one possibly ask from a day than that?

Every fishing day is different, but each "look around" is also a nostalgic repetition of something that could not be improved upon and that I wouldn't change in any way. Catching fish is not the main point. For a whole list of other reasons, every fishing day is a perfect day.

Living Here: I'm Cool

2011-06-17T18:22:00.002-05:00

A few days ago, I walked home across downtown Mérida when the temperature was 37 degrees Celsius, or nearly 100 degrees F.

I noticed when I got home that I had barely broken a sweat. That's very unlike me. What's going on here?

Ever since I began living in this climate I've done a number of different things to stay cool, like wearing a hat, keeping to the shade, and avoiding the streets and strenuous activities during the hottest hours of the day. But that is not always enough. The high temperatures can get to me, and I end up overheated, shirt dripping, and on the borderline of dehydration if I am not careful.

What was the difference the other day? How am I managing to keep cooler in the heat?

I think what has happened is that I am losing what I'll call my "northern gait," for lack of a better term. I'm doing what the locals know to do without thinking about it. I'm slowing down in the heat.

We all know it's a good idea to take it easy when it's hot, but sometimes slowing down is easier said than done. Any day here you can spot northerners, especially tourists from the northern U.S. and Canada, simply by the way they walk: a "purposeful stride," males with arms swinging and sometimes hands closed, gaze directed ahead, bodies inclined slightly forward, and moving right along down the street. It's as if they are hurrying from air-conditioned building to air-conditioned building, which may in fact be what they are accustomed to doing. The truth of the matter is that if they just slowed down, they wouldn't need the AC as much.

Contrast that to many Yucatecans who move a lot more deliberately down the street.

Of course I am generalizing here. There are plenty of slow-moving foreigners, and by the same token quick Yucatecans. However I think that the climate we grew up in can affect the rate at which we naturally move around. Where I grew up in Alaska, for a good part of the year moving quickly has the advantage of keeping you warm. I am sure that if I had grown up in Yucatán my natural rate of moving around would be adapted to the hotter climate here.

Anyhow, it looks as if I have lost my "northern gait" to some extent. Instead of stepping off the curb to pass the phalanxes of slow-moving pedestrians on Mérida's narrow sidewalks, like I used to do, I now fall in and flow with the current. I also stop to chat with friends I meet, or to cool down for a few minutes in one of the many parks or cafes in the downtown area. It's a natural and healthy adaptation to living in the heat.

I still sometimes find myself walking at a quicker "northern" pace and have to tell myself to slow down, but I have to think about this less and less.

I'm slowing down. And I'm cool.

The Rains are Here -- Almost

2011-06-10T18:01:00.002-05:00

This was the scene on my street yesterday afternoon. After several hours of humid-smelling breezes, rumbles of thunder and darkening skies, the clouds finally turned loose just a little and we had about an hour of moderate spinkles in my neighborhood. It wasn't really much of a rain by local standards, but it was a start and a hopeful sign that more is on the way.

We haven't had a significant rain in months. Rainy season normally runs from late May or early June until about November. So the rains are a little late. In nearby pueblos and in the outskirts of Mérida people report some recent squalls but in the city and many parts of the region, we haven't had such luck. Right here in centro the few very light afternoon drizzles we have had evaporated as they hit the ground and did little more than make the streets feel like a sauna.

The Wednesday Diario de Yucatán featured an article stating that 40 percent of the country is experiencing the worst drought in 70 years. Things are pretty bad for a lot of folks. A good thing about Yucatán is that most of the peninsula pretty much floats on a huge fresh-water aquifer. Just about anywhere you can drill a well and come up with abundant water. My well here in Mérida, on the coastal slope and fairly near the Gulf of Mexico, is seven meters or about 23 feet deep. The water I pump for my garden and topping off the pool is cool and crystal clear. We're in the city so I wouldn't drink it, but it is perfectly safe for swimming. If a situation ever arises in which other sources of water fail, I could easily treat my well water and use it for drinking.

So although it is very dry, in Yucatán we're doing better than many other regions.

Although it wasn't a big rain, yesterday's fall was enough to qualify as the season's official first at my house: I always discover a new roof leak during the first significant rain of the season, and yesterday was leak-day around here. I was walking through the bedroom after the shower when a drop hit me in the forehead. A good-sized puddle had formed on the floor.

I went up on the roof and looked at the spot. Sure enough, I found a hairline crack in the waterproof coating I thought I had thoroughly checked about a month ago. Today I climbed back up with a glob of thick roofing tar and a spatula and sealed the crack.

The work didn't take long, and I was happy to be doing it. The annual roof-leak ritual marks the imminent end of the hot, tedious final weeks of the dry season and the beginning of the rains. It's a sign that we will soon be enjoying lower temperatures, less dust, fresher air, and will witness a rapid, lush greening of gardens, parks, and all of the Yucatán countryside.

Childhood Dreams

2011-05-28T00:26:00.005-05:00

Not long ago, a reader of this blog told me, “I want to be you when I grow up.” This was in response to a post I wrote about an interesting experience I had exploring ruins in a less-visited corner of Yucatán.

My thought after reading this and some other similar remarks was, "All I really am doing is the kind of stuff I dreamed about doing when I was a kid." I've realized it's not about "growing up." In fact, just the opposite. It's about throwing off the weight of inhibitions and expectations society places upon us as we mature. It's about going back to the sense of fun, discovery and adventure in daily living that we had as kids.

Children live in the moment. Relationships are incredibly important. They don't search fruitlessly for fulfillment in the accumulation of status or possessions. They give little thought to others' opinions about what they are doing. And primarily for these reasons, kids live more intensely and have a lot more fun than adults.

These thoughts returned to me recently. I sat, half dozing, aboard the Alaska State Ferry Fairweather, sailing from Sitka to Juneau, when suddenly the vessel’s horn blew. The weather was calm and the trip uneventful. Thinking that there must be another vessel or an obstacle ahead made me curious, so I got up and walked to a forward window to see what was happening. Another passenger, who’d moved to the window at the same moment, stood briefly by my side. We gazed together into the distance. There was nothing visible. We looked at each other, both shrugged, and went back to our seats.

A few minutes later the other passenger came up to me, smiling. He’d talked to a crew member. “A little girl wanted to blow the ship’s horn, so the captain let her do it,” he explained.

Immediately I remembered an occasion some years back when I was in Skagway, Alaska, shooting footage for a video production aboard a working steam locomotive of the White Pass and Yukon Railroad. After I had finished, impulsively I asked the engineer if I could toot the whistle. He laughed, gestured to the handle, and said, "be my guest." For a moment I again was a kid of five scooting along the floor in a cardboard-box locomotive, wearing a blue-and-white-pinstripe "engineer" hat and hollering "Woooo-oo-WOOOOOOO."

It was a childhood fantasy fulfilled, and probably the experience that first prompted me to think about the virtues of acting less like an adult and more like a kid.

Looking back at the most engaging activities I have been involved with in my life, it occurs to me that many of these are exactly the things I most wanted to do at the age of eight or ten. Unfortunately when we hit our teen years we often get distracted from these childhood passions as social pressure and then school, family responsibilities and having a job further distance us from the things that really toot our horn, so to speak.

I think that we can enjoy life more and find more meaning when we decide stop acting so grown up, and feel freer to live out our dreams. I guess I will never be an astronaut, but I have managed to incorporate several of my other childhood passions into my life. And equally important, I think that the process has helped me recover a little of the childish sense of wonder and adventure that makes even the mundane and everyday seem worthwhile.

In Stephens' Footsteps: "The well" at Xcooch

2011-05-22T13:04:00.011-05:00

The ancient mound at Xcooch

As I wrote in my last post, in the Yucatán there are places where little has changed over the centuries, and there are lost cities still to be rediscovered. On my own quest of rediscovery, I’ve been following in the footsteps of well-known Yucatán explorers John L. Stephens and Frederick Catherwood, real-life Indiana Joneses, who visited the region in 1841.

Stephens wrote that they had heard stories of "...an ancient poso, or well, of mysterious and marvellous reputation, the fame of which was in everybody's mouth. This well was said to be a vast subterreneous structure, adorned with sculptured figures, an immense table of polished stone and a plaza with columns supporting a vaulted roof, and it was said to have a subterranean road, which led to the village of Maní, twenty-seven miles distant."

"Not a white man in the place had ever entered it, though several had looked in at the mouth, who said that the wind had taken away their breath, and they had not ventured to go in."

After exploring the ruins of Xcooch, Yucatán, accompanied by Mayan guides, the duo turned their attention to the nearby cenote, or “well.” I intermingle my own observations and comments from 2011 with Stephens’ narrative of the trip from his book, Incidents of Travel in Yucatán.

1841: “…we entered a thick grove, in which we dismounted and tied our horses. It was the finest grove we had seen in the country, and within it was a great circular cavity or opening in the earth, twenty or thirty feet deep, with trees and bushes growing out of the bottom and sides, and rising above the level of the plain.”

2011: A beautiful grove of trees still exists here. As Stephens and Catherwood had done 170 years earlier, we employed a local Mayan guide. Abel Gutierrez, from the nearby pueblo of Santa Elena, known as Nohcacab in Stephens' day, led us down a footpath from a nearby dirt road.

1841: “We descended to the bottom. At one corner was a rude natural opening in a great mass of limestone rock, low and narrow, through which rushed constantly a powerful current of wind, agitating the branches and leaves in the area without. This was the mouth of the well, and on our first attempting to enter it the rush of wind was so strong that it made us fall back gasping for breath, confirming the accounts we had heard in Nohcacab.”

“…It was one of the marvels told us of this place, that it was impossible to enter after twelve o’clock.”

2011: We sat down on boulders near the entrance and Abel began to tell us about the wind, which exhales like mildewed, gusty breath from the lungs of the earth. Abel says it is calm in the mornings, but strengthens throughout the day. My assumption is that the effects of convection, temperature and pressure differences and other natural phenomena create the powerful cool air current that blows out of the cave every afternoon and calms at night. Abel could only say that the cave system is huge and has never been fully explored, and no one is sure why air blows so strongly out of the earth in this spot.

Stephens commented that although it was past noon and the wind from the cave mouth blew fiercely, equipped with ropes and torches, they decided to descend into the "well."

1841: "The entrance was about three feet high and four or five wide. It was so low that we were obliged to crawl on our hands and feet, and descended at an angle of about fifteen degrees in a northerly direction. The wind, collecting in the recesses of the cave, rushed through this passage with such force that we could scarcely breathe."

"In the floor of the passage was a single track, worn two or three inches deep by the long-continued treading of feet, and the roof was incrusted with a coat [of soot] from the flaring torches."

2011: At this point I admit that due to the reputation of this cave system for being dangerous, and the fact that the opening was barred with a metal grating, we did not descend into the well. Stephens' narrative is lengthy, so in the interest of brevity I summarize sections from this point.

They descended steeply for a long distance, discovering caves branching in various directions and, instead of a "plaza" with man-made columns and a hand-polished table, they found an equally-fascinating natural formation.

1841: "It was a great vaulted chamber of stone, with a high roof supported by enormous stalactite pillars, which were what the Indians had called the columns, and though entirely different from what we had expected, the effect under the torchlight, and heightened by the wild figures of the Indians, was grand, and almost repaid us for all our trouble."

2011: From here, Stephens' narrative sounds like a descent into hell. They again climbed, again descended, squeezed through dark, tight passages, and lowered themselves through narrow, perpendicular holes, all the while panting and dripping sweat in the stale atmosphere and choking for breath on the smoke of their own torches.

1841: "We decended with some difficulty, and...came out upon a ledge of rock, which ran up on the right to a great height, while on the left was a deep, yawning chasm. A few rude logs were laid along the edge of this chasm, which with a pole for a railing, served as a bridge, and with the torchlight thrown into the abyss below, made a wild crossing place."

A typical hand-made ladder of the type
probably used by Stephens and Catherwood

2011: As the descent continued they were forced to crawl on hands and knees. The heat grew "insufferable." Stephens realized that if any member of the party had become ill or faint, it would have been impossible for the others to carry him to the surface. They passed through more caverns and dropped down more perpendicular holes. At long last, they came to a rude ladder, which led to a deep basin of cool, black water...but there was a catch.

1841: “…the sight of it was more welcome to us than gold or rubies. We were dripping with sweat, black with smoke, and perishing with thirst. It lay before us in its stony basin, clear and inviting, but it was completely out of reach; the basin was so deep that we could not reach the water with our hands, and we had no vessel of any kind to dip it out with."

2011: Tortured by thirst, the team only managed to dip a few droplets, barely enough water to moisten their lips, by using some ancient pottery shards they found in the cave. They were forced to return arduously to the surface before finding a stagnant puddle of water, with which they quenched their thirst.

Stephens also found that the purported underground tunnel to Maní was blocked by a rockfall in the cave. Interestingly, if you go today to Maní and talk to locals there about their cenote, which is located in the center of that pueblo and has a similar history of being both an important source of water and of fascinating legends, you'll hear a similar story of lengthy underground passages. Yucatán contains the longest documented cave systems in the world. These particular legends of underground highways have yet to be thoroughly investigated.

Despite his disappointment in finding neither an underground "plaza" nor a 27-mile, "subterreaean road" to Maní, Stephens concluded:

1841: “As a mere cave, this was extraordinary; but as a well or watering-place for an ancient city, it was past belief, except for the proofs under our own eyes. Around it were the ruins of a city without any other visible means of supply, and...with the Indians it was a matter of traditonary knowledge."

"And a strong circumstance to induce the belief that it was once used by the inhabitants of a populous city, is the deep track worn in the rock. … It could only have been made by the constant and long-continued tread of thousands. It must have been made by the population of a city."

2011: Our guide Abel confirmed that indeed, according to the oral history of this place, the entire population of Xcooch once obtained all of its water supply, at least during the long dry season, from this deep cenote. I doubt I will ever attempt to explore this place as thoroughly as Stephens did, but I will continue to dream about the marvels deep in the well at Xcooch.

In Stephens' Footsteps: Xcooch

2011-05-06T13:32:00.005-05:00

The countryside of Yucatán has a timeless quality. There are people living on land and in houses where their families have lived for generations, even centuries. Although the rate of "progress" has quickened, some things still change slowly here.

As a teenager I obtained a copy of Incidents of Travel in Yucatán, a well-known account of explorations in the Yucatán Peninsula in 1841 by John L. Stephens and the artist Frederick Catherwood. When I first read them, the travels documented in this book seemed no more than colorful adventure tales out of the distant past or adventure films.

It wasn't until I moved to Yucatán much later that I realized people still do hack through the untracked jungle with machetes; there are still lost cities out there waiting to be rediscovered.

In my travels around Yucatán I also found that many of the places visited by Stephens and Catherwood have changed so little in the 170 years since they wove their real-life, archetypal Indiana Jones tales, that I can carry my well-thumbed copy of their original book as a guide. Recently I visited the ancient Mayan city of Xcooch (shk-oh-sch), near Santa Elena, Yucatán, which was explored by Stephens and Catherwood in 1841. Looking around the area one gets the distinct feeling that nothing much has happened during all the years since they walked here.

Here I share Stephen's words, as published in that 1843 edition of Incidents of Travel in Yucatán (which is fortunately in the public domain), interspersed with my own observations made in 2011.

The "narrow path" is now a road.

1841: "Following...by a narrow path just opened, we again found ourselves among ruins, and soon reached the foot of the high mound which towered above the plain..."

2011: Stephens and Catherwood rode for some time from the pueblo of Nohcacab (now Santa Elena) to reach this spot. A couple of weeks ago, we drove out on one of Santa Elena's main streets (probably the same route taken by Stephens) which quickly turned to dirt and passed through a series of fields and then into trees. We parked when the going got a little rough for my car, and continued walking on a dusty path. Suddenly we became aware of a looming white mass ahead.

2011: "The great cerro," or rocky hill, which once was the great pyramid of Xcooch.

1841 engraving of the pyramid from a drawing by Catherwood.

1841: "The great cerro stands alone, the only one that now rises above the plain. The sides are all fallen, though in some places the remains of steps are visible. On the south side, about half way up, there is a large tree, which facilitates the ascent to the top. The height is about eighty or ninety feet."

2011: The ruins look much the same as they appear in the 1841 drawings by Catherwood, although not surprisingly the structure appears to be more eroded. This is especially noticeable at its peak. Only a few fragments of the steps mentioned by Stephens are visible, and the large tree is long gone, but a series of wooden posts and railings have been set into the east side of the structure to help climbers safely reach the top. We were told by our guide that parts of the area were recently cleared because archaeologists have been making a survey of the site.

The view to the west from the top of the structure reaches to Uxmal. A fragment of wall, possibly the "corner of a building" mentioned by Stephens, still stands.

1841: "One corner of a building is all that is left; the rest of the top is level and overgrown with grass. The view commanded an immense wooded plain, and, rising above it, toward the southeast the great church of Nohcacab, and on the west the ruined buildings of Uxmal."

2011: A small section of wall that appears to be the corner of a structure still stands on the level top of the ruin. The view remains nearly identical to that which Stephens and Catherwood appreciated 170 years ago. The nearby church of Nohcacab (Santa Elena) and the buildings of distant Uxmal still predominate the wooded landscape. Nothing has been constructed in the intervening years to mar the vista.

1841: "The ground in this neighborhood was open, and there were the remains of several buildings, but all prostrate and in utter ruin."

2011: Because the vicinity of the pyramid has recently been partially cleared of trees and brush, ruins of a number of structures are visible. Today we probably can see more than Stephens did, because in addition on one side local ejidatarios, (communal land holders) have been clearing the area for planting.

The ruins, such as the one pictured at left, look like nothing more than piles of rock. Close examination, however, reveals that many of the stones have been shaped or carved. The ruins will be harder to spot when regular seasonal rains begin in June, prompting the leafing of trees and growth of rampant summer vegetation.

Our guide, Santa Elena resident Abel Gutierrez, descends.

Stephens did not explore unaccompanied, but always found local Mayan guides to show the way. I don't often use guides, but since this is a remote site not often visited, I hired Abel Gutierrez, a Mayan man from nearby Santa Elena, to show us around. We wouldn't have been able to find the place, and would not have enjoyed the day or learned so much, without his assistance. I'll share more explorations with Abel, in a place where, in the words of Stephens, "not a white man...had ever entered," in my next post, In Stephens' Footsteps: The Well at Xcooch.

Wanderings: A Quiet Getaway at The Pickled Onion

2011-04-30T07:57:00.003-05:00

I am sometimes a bit contrary and often find myself swimming against the tide. During the two weeks' vacation for Semana Santa, a large part of the population of Mérida goes to the coast to escape the heat and relax. The result is that all accessible beaches are jammed with people. Tens of thousands of people. Many of these folks' idea of relaxation conflicts with mine. While many here enjoy the Easter vacation with music, food and liberal quantities of beer, accompanied by large numbers of family and friends, I am much more able to relax and "vacation" some place where it is quiet and uncrowded.

In pursuit if my idea of vacation, this past week I put some distance between myself and the crowds-and-loud-parties beach holiday scene. I chose Santa Elena, located a bit more than an hour from Mérida between Uxmal and Ticul, in the interior of the Yucatán, as the site for a peaceful two-day retreat. I stayed at The Pickled Onion B & B and restaurant. In sync with its un-Yucatecan name, the place is a little bit different.

If you are arriving on the Mérida - Uxmal - Ticul highway, when you get to Santa Elena you need to follow the signs that direct you to Campeche. Just on the outskirts of the pueblo on the Campeche highway, at a tricky three-way intersection, you'll see the giant red onion sculpture that marks the entrance. What you'll find is not fancy, and not plain. It's just right. The modest, slightly-quirky Mayan-style cottages are new, clean, and nicely appointed, with beds and hammocks, fans, fresh linens, and clean, modern bathrooms.

The pool is new and long enough to swim laps in, with a nice view of the gardens, planted with palms, neem, flamboyants, flor de mayo (plumeria), blue agave, maguey, cactus and other native and drought-resistent trees, shrubs and plants. My favorite feature of the pool is the hammock strung above the water under an arbor full of maracuyá vines. It's a great spot to keep cool, and one of the beauties of this place is that there are only three cottages, so you'll rarely have to wait to use it. It's always pretty quiet. If you can't quite manage to stay disconnected from the outside world for a day or so, there is WIFI, although when I was visiting, service was sporadic. [There also is free public WIFI in Santa Elena's plaza.]

The Pickled Onion is the creation of Valerie Pickles, an Englishwoman who lived many years in Canada before moving to Ticul, Yucatán a few years ago to teach English. When the job was over, she didn't want to leave, so she bought this land in nearby Santa Elena and opened her restaurant. Over time, she says, she has gained a great respect for the Mayan people of the area and their way of life. She commented to me that she feels very fortunate to live in the area and have her business here. On the About section of her blog, she writes, "There is a more connectedness to nature, people, a way of life far different from the big city. The word magical has been used so many times with the tourists that pass by the restaurant and stay a few nights."

Expanding: Owner Valerie PIckles supervises work on a new guest house at The Pickled Onion.

The restaurant menu features Mexican and Yucatecan specialties, plus American-style sandwiches, burgers, fries, and delicacies such as berry cheesecake, home-made banana bread and coconut ice cream. It also serves iced and hot espresso drinks, beer and liquor. If your tastes on a hot afternoon run to Cuba Libres or gin and tonic, Valerie can probably whip one up for you. My favorite restaurant offering is the breakfast, which is included in the cost of a room. It includes liberal servings of fresh fruit, plus juice, coffee, banana bread, toast, granola and yogurt. Eggs and other hot breakfast dishes also are available.

The rental cottages idea took hold when restaurant customers began asking where they could spend the night. Now it has become the kind of place where folks sometimes arrive planning to stay one night, and find they like it so much that they decide to stay over a day or two. And there are many reasons to stay. Santa Elena is nestled right in the heart of the Ruta Puuc, known for its numerous archaeological sites including the famous and unforgettable Uxmal, caves, haciendas, and for its many opportunities for contact with traditional Mayan culture.

Santa Elena's church and plaza. The blue sign announces recently-installed wireless internet.

Santa Elena itself, although not the largest attraction in the area, is worth looking around. This is a very traditional and ancient Mayan town, whose imposing Spanish church looms over the landscape from atop a rocky outcropping. It's worthwhile taking a little time to walk around the centro, where the church, colonial-era buildings, some with Mayan carved stones visible in the facades, interesting locally-crafted sculptures of traditional Yucatecan dancers in the square and the mummy museum are the chief attractions. I tried to see the mummies, found in the church crypt some years ago, but both times I stopped by the museum the attendant was asleep at her desk. It was very hot that afternoon, and I didn't have the heart to awaken her. It's a small pueblo. The mummies have been there for a few hundred years, at least. I decided to visit them another time and headed back to The Pickled Onion for a swim and my own siesta.

The Pickled Onion is a comfortable and convenient, economically-priced base for exploring a fascinating region of Mexico. It's also a restful destination in itself. Valerie and her friendly staff do what they can to help their guests have the experience they are looking for. Valerie can also recommend a reasonably-priced local guide (more about this in a future post or see the website) for those interested in exploring off the beaten path or visiting with a Mayan family.

View The Pickled Onion website here. View Valerie's blog here.

Nature: The Tree

2011-04-18T22:06:00.010-05:00

Near Xcanchakan, Yucatán -- After you've driven about three kilometers on the rough ejido road through rocky, scrubby Yucatán monte and passed by one pyramid, one small planted field and through two cattle gates, the tree comes into view. You walk back to your vehicle after closing the final rusty gate behind you and tying it securely with the frazzled piece of rope that dangles from its bars for that purpose. If you know where to direct your gaze at that moment, you will glimpse the top of the tree's canopy, spreading high above its neighbors.

It's fairly wild country. As you look in the tree's direction, you are likely to glimpse the local vultures and falcons high in the air above. You'd be well advised to keep one eye on the ground, too. A variety of serpents, including boas, rattlers and coral snakes, not to mention tarantulas, scorpions and innumerable thorny plants, make a comfortable living here.

After passing through the second gate on the vantage point of a rocky cerro, the track again descends, but from this spot forward, because of its height the tree is always in view. Now, if you tap the horn, the hacienda's owner, Jonathan Harrington, still half a click away, will probably hear it, and may start walking down his grassy front drive toward the dirt road to greet you. If he walks briskly while at the same time you drive slowly and carefully to avoid splitting open the crankcase on one the many large rocks in the way, you might just meet Jonathan in the vast welcoming shade of the tree, which stands a couple hundred meters directly in front of the columns and arches of his front terrace.

Likely as not, if Jonathan has heard the horn and meets you by the tree, he will direct you to drive under the high arches of its branches and continue on just a bit further, where there is a second driveway, the old worker's entrance, that brings you right up to the side of the house.

This tree is known locally by its Mayan name as pich (pronounced "peach" by English speakers). Scientifically it is called enterolobium cyclocarpum. Commonly it is also known as an elephant ear tree, ear pod tree, monkey ear tree, devil's ear tree, monkeysoap tree or guanacaste.

In doing a little research, I discovered that this is not a terribly large example of the species, which is known to reach an altitude of 35 meters, or more than 110 feet. This pich, if not a youth, is no more than comfortably middle-aged. I suspect in this region that the biggest obstacle to longevity for these trees is the occasional hurricane. But so far, this tree has managed to weather storms pretty well. Jonathan tells me that an elder in a nearby pueblo, who was about 90 years old, once asked if the tree, remembered from his childhood, was still alive. Apparently this pich was already a looming presence on the hacienda nearly a century ago.

It is hard to appreciate the size of this organism without spending some time hanging out under it. Coming into its shade you first notice the dark and the pleasant coolness. The lower branches, which arch high in the air where they leave the massive trunk, eventually come low enough at their extremes to be touched by a person walking by. The roots, looking like the gray, scaly tails of living dinosaurs, have as they've grown pushed large rocks upward to the surface.

Interestingly, the tree's doubly-compound leaves, which grow in clusters, are feathery and tiny, but that does not keep them from creating the remarkably dense and cool shade beneath the branches. Many types of organisms, including orchids, epiphytes, and various species of lizards, birds and insects take advantage of the temperate micro-climate of this umbrella.

If you follow this blog you probably are familiar with the legend of La Princesa (part 1, part 2). You might be interested to know that during the period of my investigation and rumination on this story I always envisioned her ghost languishing in the twilight gloom of this very tree. It fits the role perfectly.

The other day I told Jonathan, a serious poet, that I was going to blog about his pich, and jokingly started quoting the famous Joyce Kilmer poem that I had to memorize as a kid in school. At this, Jonathan rolled his eyes. All of the information I have shared above is interesting, but to me the fascination of this tree is something more. The magnificent creation that is this tree is not something that approaches poetry... to me it far surpasses poetry. And so Kilmer, as overused, tired and trite as he may be, is appropriate. Therefore, if you will excuse me (with apologies to Kilmer)...

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a pich.

Jonathan Harrington poses under the massive pich that marks the driveway into Hacienda San Antonio Xpakay.

Friends from the Blogosphere

2011-04-11T20:40:00.005-05:00

Blog friends on a Yucatan beach outing

I have been participating in a phenomenon for some time now and it took me a while to realize it.

I've been e-dating.

Well, not really. It would be more correct to say I have been e-socializing.

To backtrack a little, I was invited to many parties and met quite a few expatriate residents of Mérida when I first came here about eight years ago. Although many were nice people, few of my initial acquaintances from those days became long-term friends. The expat population of Mérida is equivalent in size to a very small town. The pool is limited. Finding others with common interests or attitudes is not always easy if you want a relationship that extends beyond discussing the ins and outs of living here and restoring and decorating old houses, which is the topical lingua franca among expats in this area.

Actually, I have never been the type to hang out with a drink in my left hand and a little napkin cradling cheese on a cracker in my right and make easy conversation with strangers. My stock of small talk is not large, so at these events I tend to hug the wall and observe. That's not the best strategy if your purpose is to "meet and mingle." I now have a full social life with Mexican friends and a small handful of foreigners, so quantity of social contacts is not an issue. But I have at times longed for more of the type of friend with whom I have a lot in common, who always knows where I am coming from. That's not easy to find across cultures and languages.

I never considered the internet as a way to make friends (I am not talking about "friends," as in Facebook, here). However through blogging I have discovered a new way to get to know people and develop new friendships.

Steve, whom I met through blogging, has mentioned from time to time visits with people he has met via the world of blogs. Steve has traveled a lot throughout Mexico, and in many places he goes is able to visit with people he has gotten to know first through their blogs. It appears to me that Steve has made many interesting acquaintances, and some real friends, through his years of blogging. It looks as if I am on that same path.

What usually happens is that I start reading a new blog because the author has begun to make comments on An Alaskan in Yucatán. Or, I notice an interesting blog and begin making comments there. Occasionally that begins a dialog, which may lead to emails or other types of communication. Often we focus on a common philosophy or interest, usually having to do with Yucatán or Mexico. Some of my contacts are people who live here, and others are travelers, visitors or dreamers who hope one day to live or visit here.

Following a good blog for a while allows you to learn quite a bit about the author, who may be someone you've never met. If you read and comment back and forth a while, you get a good feeling for shared interests and attitudes. If you finally meet the blogger in person, the need for "getting acquainted" small talk has been dispensed with, and there is usually a lot to talk about.

Some months ago I met face-to-face for the first time a blogger whose point of view I appreciate and with whom I had communicated for the better part of a year. He'd been reading and commenting on my blog for some time as well. In a final email before he came with his wife to Mérida for a seasonal visit, he wrote, "I feel as if I already know you." I felt the same way. And when we sat down for the very first time to talk, the feelings were proven to be correct. We dove into a conversation that rambled as if we were picking up where we'd left off on a previous meeting, and we continue to get together on a regular basis when he is in town. The rest of the time, we keep in touch through our blogs.

If you read this blog you probably are interested in the Yucatán or Mexico. I encourage you to browse through some of my favorite blogs, listed in my blog roll, "Mexico Blogs I Read," to the right of this post. Some are informal and chatty like letters to family, and some are of professional quality or approach the status of literature. All have something interesting to offer. Take a look. Offer a comment. Who knows...you may make new friends.

Pool Time

2011-03-31T14:49:00.001-06:00

This is the one time of year when the weather forecasters in Yucatán can't go too far wrong. They could all take the next couple of months off and just send in the same report each day: It will be very, very hot.

Few would suspect they hadn't been checking instruments, satellite images and making observations because the prediction would invariably be right.

It is getting to be that season in Yucatán. It's pool time.

Earlier this week we had a couple of days in the 38 - 40 Celsius range, which for Fahrenheit people, is 100 degrees and above. As I began writing this yesterday afternoon, the temperature officially crept to 41.6C (nearly 107F). Although I don't think it reached quite that level at my place, it was pretty warm here.

Everything gets hot. Walls, furniture, clothes in the closet, toilet seats, the shower, drinking water...everything. A glass of iced tea left on a counter is no longer "iced" after about 20 minutes. A teacher friend of mine yesterday complained about how hot his classroom whiteboard was. Everyone is talking about it. Even the life-long locals have gotten into the act.

The newspaper notes that the temperatures this week have been abnormally high for the time of year. It also predicts a long run of high temperatures in April and May, which will be probably the hottest months of the year.

Mérida's principal daily newspaper, Diario de Yucatán in yesterday's front-page headline story predicted, "waves of heat." It is anticipated that in April we will to see 20 - 25 days above 40 degrees centigrade (above 104F). Spring typically is the hottest time of year here because daily rains, which cool things down, don't kick in until about June. This year the experts see little chance of rain until then, so the next two months will be particularly sweltering.

I wrote last year about living with the heat, and am putting into practice all of my regular strategies for dealing with the high temperatures. But it's early in the season. I'm not quite with the rhythm of the weather yet.

My solution to this situation? Pool time. I jump in at the break of day to shake away the sleep and get a fresh start. The heat of the afternoon is the most important time to cool off. And, a cool dip before bed eases me more gently into sleep.

It's nice to share pool time with friends. Yesterday I invited my friend Alondra and her not quite two-year-old daughter Aurora to stop by and cool off. Aurora has no fear of the water, so she is making great progress toward being an early swimmer. She enjoys a dunking and knows how to close her mouth and blow bubbles to keep from taking in water. Aurora loves to get wet and splash the adults -- which at these temperatures is a great pleasure for us.

I think I wrote last year that when I renovated my house there was only enough room left in the budget for a pool or for air conditioning. I opted for a pool, and after about five years now still have not gotten around to putting in the AC. The pool has worked out wonderfully.

Once in Several Lifetimes or, Vecinos Silvestres (Wild Neighbors), Part 4

2011-03-25T14:02:00.003-06:00

It was a marvel I could not expect to experience again, even were I to live several more lifetimes. A tiny hummingbird, its heart racing, the large, clear black eye staring into mine, snuggled in my hand.

The bird had exhausted itself as it frantically bumped into the ceiling and screened doors of the house after mistakenly flying in through an open doorway. I tried to help, but wasn't able to do much until the little bird dropped, exhausted, into a catch-all basket that sits high on a kitchen shelf.

I thought the bird was dead. It lay there on its side, eyes closed, feet curled and motionless amidst the miscellany of candles, bug dope and small parts that accumulate in this container. But the moment it felt the touch of my left hand, the tiny creature startled from its swoon and began to struggle.

The reddish-orange and green bird calmed as soon as I had closed my fingers around its nearly-weightless body and held it upright. The bird actually closed its eyes again, I suppose either from shock, fear or resignation. I picked up my camera and carried it and my charge to the back patio. In a matter of a minute or two, the bird had revived and began staring unblinkingly at me. I noticed a few lost feathers and a bit of white dust on its head, probably the result of bumping into the ceiling. Other than that, the tiny bird seemed OK, but I decided to hold onto it for a few more moments in order to give it time to regain strength. And to pose for a portrait.

Later I sent the photo to my blogging birder friend Bev, who helped with identification. This is a Cinnamon Hummingbird, Amazilia Rutila, one of the most common species of hummingbirds on the Yucatán Peninsula. It is the largest hummingbird native to the area. According to guidebooks, they usually are found in arid scrub, pastures and brushy forest edges. This species lives year-round in the gardens of my urban Mérida neighborhood, and is particularly attracted by the flowers of nopal cactus and yellow mandevilla in my yard.

Figuring on getting a full-length photo of my guest as it took off, I readied the camera and slowly opened my hand. I was not quick enough. Instantly the bird rocketed over the back wall, trailing behind only the sound of its voice, a rapidfire, scolding, "tsit-tsit, tsit-tsit" that persisted in the air for a moment after this tiny neighbor disappeared from view.

Read about another animal close encounter here.

Images: Conservatism or Simplification?

2011-03-22T10:58:00.002-06:00

As I occasionally do, this week I selected a few recently-made images to share. As I looked through picture files, I was surprised by the formality of the compositions. The images follow traditional rules: lines are often straight and direct the eye, forms geometric, spaces neatly delineated.

Oaxaca, Oaxaca: The red striped shirt and white hat popped out against a rectangle of shadow. This man was sitting alongside one of the buttresses of the La Catedral de Oaxaca. Directly above him was a large swath of pale green paint that had been used to cover political graffiti, which has become ubiquitous in the city over the past few years. I had one shot. The guy jumped up and walked away as soon as I had made this exposure.

It is sometimes the case as people get older that we become more conservative. We like structure, are less interested in novelty, and as the energies of our minds, bodies and health wane we take comfort in the routine and the predictable.

Skylight in old house, Juchitán, Oaxaca: I was attracted by the quality of light and the geometric shapes, especially the tiny triangle of light framed between handrail and balusters. I stayed two days in this house, which belongs to a friend of mine, but I didn't really see this stairway until the morning I left, when I noticed the shapes made by sunlight shining from a side window.

Looking at these images I began to think that in my photography perhaps I have become more rigid or conservative. These do not look much like the photos I took in my younger days, which many times were more immediate, off-balance and less composed.

Valladolid, Yucatán: I visited the Palacio Municipal, city hall, on the main square, and upon entering a gallery on the second floor was struck by the view of the church outside. The church has been beautifully lighted. I had taken some pictures of it outdoors, but when I found the frame of this balcony window I made my best image.

In most areas I am definitely not more conservative. Given the way things are in the world today, I cannot accept that the old social, political and technological approaches that have gotten us into a lot of these messes are the best way to creatively deal with the complex situations we find ourselves in.

However, as I get older I do find myself appreciating routine more and novelty less. Perhaps creating more structure in my photography is a way for me to feel secure by controlling what I share with others about my environment.

Hacienda San Antonio Xpakay: I fell in love with the landscape of this hacienda, owned by my friend Jonathan, when I first saw it a few years ago. The ancient and gigantic Pich, or Elephant Ear Tree, is a landmark, and the first visual sign, approaching on the long and winding access road, that the old casona is near. Visiting last weekend I was struck by this view of the Pich, seen through the hacienda gates, other trees and red bougainvillea. If I were a landscape painter, I would spend a lot of time on the hacienda with my sketchbook, canvas, brushes and paints.

After spending time working on this post, I have come to the conclusion that more than anything else, I am simplifying, eliminating the superfluous, making my life more straightforward. Is this conservative? I guess so, in a manner of speaking.

Another sign of the change is that I am not nearly as interested in travel as I once was. Often I am happy to stay at home and enjoy reading, creative projects, the garden, and getting together with friends and neighbors, often without leaving a few-blocks radius of the house for quite some time. I leave home less often, but when I do go I enjoy it more.

I and another friend stayed Friday and Saturday nights at the hacienda, a bit over an hour's drive from Mérida. The old house is large, and although comfortable, mostly unrestored and without electricity. Wandering in a side room I discovered this badminton raquet and a small religious print, hung casually on nails, not for effect but to keep them off of the unfinished floor. I like the haphazard arrangement against the nail holes and peeling colors of the wall.

One thing I enjoy about San Antonio Xpakay is that I have visited many times and feel right at home there. A couple of times (including the recent visit) Jonathan has not been at home when I arrive. He leaves the door open and food on the table. It is an uncomplicated place. It is easy to feel at ease there and enjoy the present moment.

It's possible I'm getting more conservative as I age, but what I am doing primarily is simplifying. I hope that this is a result of having learned a few things about priorities. I like to think that I am making wiser choices that enable me to enjoy more while needing, expending and consuming less.

Mexico Blogs: The Mexpatriate

2011-03-16T15:01:00.000-06:00

I had the pleasure of meeting Steve Cotton, an Oregonian living on Mexico's Pacific coast, last November at a gathering of bloggers in Mérida.

His posts about Mexico are interesting, sensitive and very well-written. He's a great wit, too.

I highly recommend Steve's blog to anyone interested in Mexican history, culture, or the ins-and-outs of being a foreigner living here.

Today's post was particularly thoughtful. It is too bad that stories and analysis like this are not often found in the media north of the border.

Not Up, Not Down, Just "Here"

2011-03-12T23:15:00.006-06:00

You Are Here

A poem by Jonathan Harrington

It happened on the Sunshine State Parkway in Florida

somewhere between Orlando and West Palm Beach.

A young woman, well dressed, attractive

but obviously unbalanced,

wandered around the rest stop food court

where travelers fumbled their snacks and soft drinks.

I overheard her mumbling

as she stopped the elderly, sunburned gentleman

in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses

his finger poised on the button for M&M's.

I was buying Doritos from the vending machine beside them

as she asked the man, confused, babbling…

"Why are we here?"

The elderly gentleman cleared his throat

but did not back away,

looked at her oddly but without disdain…nodding.

"Where am I going?" She pleaded, nearly in tears.

"Where am I?"

The gentleman pointed to the map on the wall,

touched his finger, almost lovingly,

to the bright red arrow showing our position on the highway

and in a soft and kindly Southern drawl

read her the bold, black print beneath:

"Ma'am," he said gently, "You Are Here."

When in Alaska, I've always listened with interest to people who, when talking about the place, keep referring to "up here." As in, "Up here, it's really cold," or "We eat a lot of salmon up here." Statements like that.

This is often a sign to me that the speaker has moved from somewhere else, and in spite of perhaps having lived in Alaska for quite some time, their "center" still exists on an important level somewhere "down" south where they came from.

When someone says, "up here," I figure that the person is either new to the state, has never really become Alaskan at heart, or is living in the area to take advantage of an opportunity but will one day be heading back "down" to the center of civilized life somewhere in the lower forty-eight states.

What makes them feel that where they live is "up?" Why aren't they just "here?" It's as if they haven't fully taken to the place where they live; they have failed to put down life-sustaining roots. They still are deeply, and probably permanently, centered somewhere else.

The same phenomenon happens in Mexico, among the foreigners, at least among expats of U.S. and Canadian origins. Except, of course, in Mexico we are all "down here." Folks live somewhere away from the psychological center of their lives, or where they came from --"home"-- and have left enough of themselves behind that they forever feel the separateness, and don't feel completely "here" anywhere else.

A well-known geographer named J. B. Jackson offers this explanation:

It is place, permanent position in both the social and topographical sense, that gives us our identity.*

This certainly makes sense and explains a few things. People unwittingly signal with their choice of words something about their identity and sense of place in the world. Given the conventions of how we look at a globe, with north up on the top and south down on the bottom, it's not surprising that people use these terms to describe where they are on earth, using the position of "home" as a point of reference.

An interesting thing is that some people never talk in this way, and I am a member of that group. When I am in Mexico, as I am at the moment, I don't feel like I am down here. I just feel here. When I am in my birthplace and longtime home in Alaska I don't feel like I am up there. I am just there.

Which beings me back to a favorite poem by my friend Jonathan Harrington, You Are Here. It poses three questions. The first is, "Why are we here?" Well, I am not going to attempt to tackle perhaps the biggest philosophical question in all of human history in the space of this post. But I can easily answer the other two questions.

"Where am I going?"
Where is not nearly as important as the quality of the journey.

"Where am I?"
I'm not up. I'm not down. I'm just here.

You Are Here reproduced with permission of Jonathan Harrington

*Jackson, J. B. (1984). Discovering the Vernacular Landscape. New Haven: Yale University Press: 152.

Contentment: A Do-Nothing Day

2011-03-04T15:00:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was a Do-Nothing Day. That does not mean it was unimportant, uneventful or worthless. I didn't spend hours numbing my brain by staring at a TV or computer display. I actually accomplished a lot yesterday.

Here I often spend those days

Do-Nothing simply means that I do not start with an agenda. There are no concrete goals. I just concentrate on the moment and find out what the day will bring. Do-Nothing Days are luxurious. Usually a Do-Nothing Day is the best kind of day.

Do-Nothing Days are not only a luxury, they are a great privilege, not to be wasted. With so many people around the world struggling every day of their lives with survival, or demanding jobs, social and family obligations, being able just to exist for a few hours or a day without worrying about food, shelter, health, safety, appointments, or taking into consideration others' opinions of what you are doing, is a blessing and a responsibility.

And others' opinions -- criticism -- is what you sometimes will hear if you tell people you are "doing nothing." You're a good-for-nothing, lazy, a bum, a slacker. In our culture, the standard wisdom is that you should always be doing something: you must accomplish. It's your social and patriotic duty to have a job and earn money so you can contribute to the economy by going shopping, and by doing so to create jobs and keep the whole, increasingly precarious house of cards that is the world economy standing. Idle hands are the devil's tools. You must be productive.

Frankly, I think one of the best things one can do for the planet is to have a Do-Nothing Day. It is peaceful; you are not destroying anything, polluting, contributing to global warming or wasting resources on superfluous and silly things. And if you like, it's free, without cost.

A Do-Nothing Day consists of simply appreciating the good there is in the world and enjoying without consuming, without wasting. How does one do that? Here are some things that I try to do:

Be in the moment, here and now. Be constantly aware of your surroundings and of what you are doing. Try to silence the inner critical voice, the internal dialog that goes on inside your head. If you just asked yourself "what internal dialog?" well, that's the voice I am talking about. Don't fret about problems or unfinished business. Do not plan or think about tomorrow. Do not criticize yourself. Just observe and be self-aware in the current moment.

Concentrate on the gifts nature has given us. Use your senses to appreciate what is around you: colors and textures; air movement and temperature changes; aromas and tastes, natural and human-created rhythms and sounds. This is easier to do at first if you concentrate on one sense at a time.

Breathe and smile. No further instruction needed. This makes you feel good.

Dedicate time to think about the good things, all of the positive things you have in your life.

If you talk with friends, really listen. Practice listening, making contact and focusing on that person.

Do-Nothing does not mean you have to stay home and sit in a chair, although for me spending some time alone in a pleasant place is important. These can be good days to work on creative projects, or mop the floors for that matter (but you shouldn't do those things unless you feel like it). Many of the things I list above can be done while you are involved in other activities.

Do-Nothing Days often turn out to be days of pleasure and accomplishment. They are days of full living, because to-do lists, obligations and "work" take a back seat to just enjoying being a sensitive, thinking animal alive on this planet.

A Moment of Joy

2011-02-27T14:12:00.016-06:00

It's Sunday. This morning, as I often do on Sundays, I went down to Mérida centro to enjoy a delicious traditional Yucatecan breakfast with a friend, followed by leisurely conversation in a cafe on the Plaza Grande.

On my way home I walked through the plaza, crowded with vendors, food stalls and hordes of tourists and families on a Sunday outing. Suddenly I became aware of loud, rhythmic drumming coming from the vicinity of the cathedral, located on the east side of the square.

A more staid event in front of the Cathedral, on a different day.

Curious, I walked over to see what the ruckus was about. The area in front of La Catedral de San Ildefonso, the oldest cathedral in the Americas, was jammed with families and youths carrying colorful balloons and cheering. A large, varnished wooden cross, supported by a handful of young men, rose in front of the main door of the building. Next to it a priest, sprinkling holy water, was blessing the crowd. There was lots of laughing and cheering amidst the smoke of incense.

The atmosphere was infused with a sense of fun, happiness and joy.

Having been raised in the much more somber atmosphere of Protestant churches up north, and never having seen anything like this before, I was curious and decided to hang around to see what would happen.

The blessing over, the drum corps began to beat a fierce rhythm and the cross was lowered onto the shoulders of a group of bearers. The happy roar increased. Amidst the noise of the drumming, laughter, chanting and the bobbing of hundreds of balloons, the cross was slowly borne into the church. I joined the throng.

This is an immense stone building full of echos. It magnifies sound and resonates like a monstrous speaker. The tattoo of the drums inside was deafening. Beneath blessed statues of the Saints, whistles blew. Passing in front of sacred, serene images of The Virgin, people cheered. Everyone was smiling. The church was full of young people and families all watching as the procession slowly worked up the aisle to the altar. The priest began to speak, but instead of calm, scripted responses or "amens" on the part of the congregation, they erupted in cheers and whistles. The priest smiled broadly at the noise. This began to sound more like the crowd at a hotly-contested football game than a group of faithful at the beginning of a church service:

"Viva Cristo Rey!" [Long live Christ the King!]

"Viva Cristo Rey!"

Despite the cacophony, the atmosphere somehow remained respectful and reverent.

Now, I am not Catholic and not the most devout Christian, but I can appreciate the enthusiasm demonstrated by this group. The overall feeling was one of intense joy and happiness. It was a very Mexican obsevance of faith, and quite different from a regular mass or the serious and quiet forms of worhsip I remember from my childhood days attending churches in the north.

The event seemed to exemplify for me some key aspects of Mexican culture, like the importance of family and children, the true heart of Mexican society. And in a country where several hundred years of oppressive and authoritarian government has not always been kind to the average person, emphasis on celebrating life and enjoying the moment whenever an opportunity presents itself. It was an interlude of intense joy. A moment purely Mexican.