Alright.

My writings and energies have been directed elsewhere, and it's been almost a year that I've written something here. This year has been surprisingly volatile. San Cristobal was warm and colorful at times and confusing and desolate at others. Our one room apartment was never lacking multitudes of travelers and friends who were passing through, and who sometimes stayed for many days or weeks. It was so nice to have a place of my own, which are few and far between on my path these days, and I tried to open it to all as much as possible, growing and adding to my sense of hospitality. It was hard to leave San Cristobal. In just a few short months I felt like I had a whole life there. Yoga classes, morning coffees, friends and music and art, concoctions in the kitchen, bicycle rides and gossiping with my fellow waitress and friend. All of those things made up for the insane workplace I had to put up with 6 days of the week, ha.

Canada. I feel like I've talked enough about Canada to folks, probably too much actually. I don't have any more to say here. Instead, I've started writing it all down in a deeply personal way, to myself, but perhaps one day it will turn into a book or at least some stories and poems. We'll see.

Michigan is giving me some much needed rest. Lots of alone time to think and wonder and plan and dream and deal with things. My body, too, is resting, and finally working out the dull and mysterious aches and pains that popped up after a couple weeks of no hard labor. I am staying semi-active but not pushing my body past its limits, like I did for most of the summer and fall. As always, it's nice to see friends and family and familiarity.

I am looking forward to Mexico, though I also foresee it as being a huge challenge. A challenge in finding balance, in living even more freely but with purpose, in bettering myself so that I can better the world. Though it certainly won't be a challenge to soak up some warm sun rays after these few weeks of snowy, blustery cold. Brrrrr.

De vuelta...

I've been in San Cristobal for about a week and a half and have found many old friends. One of the things I love most about San Cris is that phones and email aren't necessary. To find friends, a walk around town is all that a gal needs to do. Everything is left up to the moment in which you happen to find a friend that happens to be going to go play music or eat or dance. Nice.

A friend from the Casa del Pan gifted me a kombucha mama and a taste test is scheduled for Sunday.

Honey-ginger-hibiscus wine is also brewing...

...as well as many ideas swirling around in our heads about how to make next month's rent: salsas, jams, parties, tourist-aimed activities, what else?

Weeks are flying by. I did escape from Mexico City, after only a few days in its clutches. This time I just couldn't handle it, perhaps it was the timing, perhaps it was me. Either way, I went to Queretaro for a couple of days, back to el DF for my things, and then to Puebla for a few days. Lots of African drumming, fresh bread and tortillas, friends of Abraham, tired and hot days hitching south, poco a poco. In Puebla, I went through a period of mild anti-sociability, where I could only effectively interact with children. Luckily, Abraham is like a big child, but unfortunately I couldn't get to know his friends as well as I would have liked. We hitched to Oaxaca with a friendly truck driver who invited us to lunch, but from Oaxaca, exhausted and eager to get to San Cristobal, we made a deal with a bus driver and took two of the last seats on a bus at a discounted price. After about 20 minutes, going up a slight hill, the bus broke down, but they sent another, more comfortable one and in the morning we made it to Tuxtla. We grabbed a couple of tamales and a combi to San Cris. Just coming over those mountains made me remember why I love this town so much. Beauty, beauty, beauty.

Ah, San Cristobal. Things have changed, died down since I left, but at the same time everything feels the same.

Constant traffic, where are the tortillas?

Mexico City is always a monster. At times I've really enjoyed it: the museums, the art, the music, things you can't find anywhere else, lots of movement and extremity and the history and society, etc., etc.. But right now, I just want to be able to see the stars and moon, to walk to the market and come back with armfuls of fresh fruit and vegetables and warm, non-Maseca tortillas, to smell pine tree breezes, not traffic fumes. I want my coffee options to be more expansive than Starbucks on one street corner or Nescafe from the Oxxo on the other corner. 15 pesos an hour for internet?! 

I feel trapped by all the cement and steel. If I want to move around, I have to go under ground....rather than follow the sun or my intuition. If I want to find a friend, I have to find a phone card and a pay phone and a moment when a diesel truck isn't roaring by so that I can actually hear the conversation...rather than just strolling by a couple places I think they might be. 

Yep, I'm a gal that belongs in small towns. My first night venturing out of the house here in the Distrito Federal, I tripped on a dark sidewalk and fell down so hard that I ripped one of my only two pairs of pants, and both my knee caps, open. Ow. 

It's sort of funny to think back, though, to the first time I came to Mexico City and was convinced that no one should walk in the streets at night, ever. And now I'm not afraid to walk around the city on my own at night at all, realizing it's just as dangerous as anywhere else. Now I'm just annoyed and discouraged by all the noise and hardness and impersonality.

Peregrinacion, preguntas, perdidos...

So, it turns out we didn't head for Morelia as soon as we thought we would, and at the end of the brief trip with Abraham, I only got a basic djembe lesson, but all in all it was worth it. I left Guanajuato one sunny afternoon, met Abraham in Celaya and after a quick lunch we headed for Queretaro to the apartment of one of his oldest friends. It was strange to be back in Queretaro, a place so familiar to me but now with very little meaning, and I hadn't expected to even pass through, let alone pass a few days there. We got in touch with a friend from Canada, who I'd worked with on a small, organic tomato/pepper/squash farm. He, like the rest of us, has completely changed all the plans he had the last time we all saw each other in Canada. It's funny how all of us had these grand plans and now, with everything completely turned upside-down, we're still all content and growing and making more plans. We had a few Noche Buenas and then left to meet up with Abraham's friend and another african percussion ensemble, the Queretaro group. It was good, not as inspiring as the Celaya/Irapuato group, but I was also exhausted and that contributed to my eagerness to get out of there. 

Saturday was a good dance party in Guanajuato and a couple days later we passed through Celaya for our things and headed for Morelia. The rides came easily and were extremely generous. The first was an older man who took us about half way, handing us a 100 peso bill as we stepped out of his mini van. I just looked at Abraham until he nodded at me to take it. Thus, our blessed luck began. Ay, gracias a la vida. Our next ride was in a pick-up with 2 young biologists. We talked with them the entire way to Morelia and they invited us to a couple of beers and horse-back riding if we're ever near the village where one of them lives. In Morelia, we headed straight for our mutual friend's house, only to find that he was in a city an hour away working (he's also an African drummer with a group and they play often around Morelia), so we waited, very tired at this point, but still very happy to see him and be received so well in his home when he did arrive. Next time, a little warning would help, I suppose.  

We wandered around the city the next day, drank coffee in the sun on Carlos' roof, watched the Morelia drummers play in a city park until the sun went down, among our wanderings through the market (wow wow wow the breads in Michoacan!!). We got information on the Monarch Butterfly Refuge, determined to head there early the next day.

And, we started off okay. We got up early, went to the market, bought tortillas and cheese and ate them on the sidewalk with some nopales we'd bought the day before. With a banana and some water, we were ready to go. We took a combi, as recommended by Carlos, to the salida towards Mil Cumbres. There are 3 different ways to get to the Refuge and by sheer accident we took the least traveled, oldest, curviest federal highway in the whole state. Again, our amazing luck came to our aid and, poco a poco, 15 minute ride after 15 minute ride, folks picked us up, surprised to see us on the side of the road. Every single ride, and we must have had at least 6 or 7 that day, warned us about the local situation, "muy peligroso," "muchos asesinatos," "la gente no esta acostumbrada que personas piden aventon aqui," cosas asi. In September of last year some bombs went off in Morelia and since then everyone assured us that the situation with the mafias and the narcos has only gotten worse. If we'd been out there after dark, we would have had to sleep by the side of the road, they told us. People are wary right now. It took most of the day and we'd advanced only a little more than half way when a vibrant, older woman who called herself La Senora Sara picked us up. She told us there was no way for us to make it to the Mariposas that day, so she suggested we stop in Tuxpan, climb a 900-something stair staircase to a top of a hill, come down and by an ice cream cone, and then head to a near by pueblo to sleep. At this point we had no other ideas so we told her that was fine and she left us near the base of the hill. With the altitude and the condition of our bodies, we made a slow ascent to the top of the hill but the view of the surrounding hills, farms and village were worth it, besides the motivation that came with physical activity. At the top we ate some fruit, rested on the ground, and, legs rubbery and shaky, made a comical descent back to Tuxpan. As Senora Sara told us to do, we got ice cream cones and the oldest ice cream shop in Tuxpan, where they offer flavors ranging from rose petal to tequila to squash to avocado. I got squash and "pasta," which I think is a mix of honey and nuts. Abraham got mamey and "chongos," which I believe is the cream on top of warmed milk (or something to that effect). 

We got to Zitacuaro, picked up by a couple of off-duty police officers (no se preocupen, vienen con la ley! they told us, laughing), one fully dressed in a soccer uniform, and the other awkwardly hunched over the steering wheel of a car that was clearly too small for him. A strange duo but at least they got us to the pueblo before dark. We found Senora Sara in the parking lot that she owns in the center of the small town and we chatted with her and her daughter for a while. She told us about how she dislikes her daughter's partner but loves her grandson, Siddhartha, and that he has that name because she's become a buddhist in the past year. She gave us a lot of advice: Take lots of water into the mountains and bananas and a dulce. Smile at everyone, it's the best way to disarm someone. Don't provoke those that provoke you. Lay down and listen to the enormity of the sound of the butterfly's wings. Watch the butterflies dance and be careful not to step on them. Avoid the hotels "de paso" if you want to sleep. Etc, etc. She appeared to be a very strong women, ready to partir la madre de cualquier pendejo that gets in her way, even at nearly 60 years old. We thanked her and found the cheapest posada we could for the night, planning on leaving as early as we could to get to the refuge. 

We rose early, looked for and found the town market, and stocked up on fruit, rice, beans, tortillas and bolillo. On a little stoop we stopped and made some absolutely perfect tacos for breakfast. An old man with a bag of limes and bleary eyes asked us if we wanted a couple. We accepted and he told us he'd been "pisteando por 3 meses," as he handed us 2 limoncitos. Ay. 

Again the rides came easily, first to San Felipe, then to Angangueo (one of the funnest pueblo names I've had to say so far). Almost arriving we were stopped at a checkpoint where easily over 40 police officers were visible, and who knows how many others were beyond our sight. They only searched Abraham and, finding nothing, sent us on our way. At Angangueo we were immediately bombarded by men offering their guide services (only 450 pesos para subir y bajar! ha!). We told them we had no money and at the tourist office asked how we could walk up to the refuge. An easy 2 hour walk up the dirt highway, we should even be able to hitch easily, we were told. At the first curve in the highway, a man in a pickup truck asked us if we wanted his services as a guide. We repeatedly said no, explaining we were flat broke, and eventually the man seemed to believe us. Then he offered to tell us an even quicker way up to the refuge, through trails in the mountain rather than along the highway. Abraham jumped at the idea of this adventure, I was hesitant, knowing how many trails are often found in these types of places and how easy it is to get lost. Still, Abraham won me over with his talk of adventure and I figured walking under cool, shady pines would be better than along the dusty, hot carreterra. 

We made it easily to where the man told us there was a pozo de agua. A little stream neatly ran down the mountain and there we refilled our water bottle. We continued, slowed a little by the rapid increase in elevation and then stopped by multiple paths and the realization that maps just don't help when you're trying to find your way in the mountain. We got frustrated with one another but pressed on, eventually finding a lone log cutter with his burro and two nervous dogs, who told us to head toward the sunshine until we found the highway again and continue from there. At this point we literally had to climb, pulling at pine needles and tree branches to pull ourself up toward the sun. The forest was filled with hierba buena, spearmint, and the air was intoxicatingly sweet. Already monarchs and hummingbirds were swirling all around us. We made it to the highway, looked out at the country side far, far below us now, and headed further up, up the mountain. The altitude and weariness got to us and, after over 4 hours, we were close to giving up. A family by the side of the road told us we still had hours more to walk. Abraham and I argued and walked in opposite directions, him back towards the mountain, and me further up. In 10 minutes I found myself at the gate of the refuge and a few minutes later, Abraham was there. We talked calmly and patched things up, and finally, finally went into the refuge.

On the way up I'd had a lot of time to think about the place and our reason for going. I realized that this particular place held a lot of personal meaning for me, being that the monarchs make their annual migration from north to south, actually even many from Michigan to Mexico (though the same butterflies never make the entire trip, but rather in trips and generations), and so I felt quite close to these incredibly strong, yet incredibly fragile creatures. No one knows why they make this migration, yet it is a fact and something in them drives them. Is there any better justification for migration? If the butterflies don't need one, do I?

Another 30 minutes up the mountain and bam. A cloud of butterflies signaled that we were near. A little bit further and we found fir trees coated with quivering black and orange wings, layered over and over one another. When the sun appeared from behind a cloud, the butteflies erupted into an energetic burst of flight, first up, then down to the ground to drink water from a trickling stream. They danced and landed on people's heads and legs. Their shadows and wings in the corners of my eyes were dizzying. We were inside of a living, breathing Monarch cloud, no end in sight. 

We gave many thanks, ate a bolillo stuffed with rice, and headed back down the mountain, knowing we had to get a ride back to Morelia before dark. And we barely did. Just as the sun went down and we were standing outside of a Pemex gas station, a man in a fancy car pulled up. "By chance are you going to Morelia? Could you give us a ride?" The man looked at us suspiciously at first, but to our surprise said yes! I fell asleep in the back seat while Abraham happily talked with the man the entire ride back. "You saved our life!" But the man was modest, and clearly happy to have helped us. 

And so, our adventure in Michoacan ended. It had elements of magic to it that I can't explain. I really felt that every person we ran into was intended for us, a true blessing and guardian for us, especially given the difficult situation in the state right now. There was also the strangeness of seeing 3 dead horses in separate places. I never felt that they were any type of omen, though, but more of a sad indicator of the area's condition. And there were other things, small details that I have to consider more. We were lucky, though, that's for sure.

Un nuevo ciclo...

Wow, I had a great time in Texas, mil thanks to Angie who made my stay not only enjoyable but pretty amazing. Salsa dancing was fun, even though there was no one to dance with who actually knew how to dance. Thrifting and ice cream and tearing up the garden was all made even better by the sweet, warm Texan air. I found that with the sun and warmth, I didn't even consider needing a cup of coffee in the morning. Even though I missed my city bus that was to take me to my Greyhound bus, a friendly bus driver and Greyhound attendant later I made it to my bus just as the last boarding call was announced. I should be more careful, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to take a picture of a "washateria" a few blocks from Angie's house and that's exactly when the number 4 rolled on by. Ah, well, things work out.

The bus trips were long. 14 hours from Fort Worth to Monterrey, typical Greyhound nonsense, mainstream media in dirty, overcrowded stations, dehydration, no stop at immigration, comical border crossing, all that. Another 11 hours from Monterrey to Leon and then a short 50 minute ride to Guanajuato, where both Abraham and Jonathan were waiting. I tried defying the exhaustion and dehydration (me vale!) and went with Abraham to Bar Fly. But after 2 beers, I just couldn't anymore and we went back to a friend of Abraham's place to crash. Still, it was nice to be received with hugs and kisses from my very favorite bartenders in all of Mexico.

My tongue is still trying to wrap itself around Spanish words. It's a process, but it's going well. At least I'm confident that there's no going back into not understanding and speaking just requires practice.

Yesterday Abraham and I hitched to his house in Celaya. My, I love Mexican families, everyone joking with each other but in very loving ways, a complete sense of security and warmth, beautiful. Mom made us rice and picadillo and Dad was curious and asked me a lot of questions about the food in the United States. One sister kept talking about my eyes and the little brother showed me a new trick he learned with some magnets he bought at school. After a completely necessary nap, we went to Irapuato with a friend of Abraham to their african percussion ensemble's practice. I was practically muerta of exhaustion but the music was great. It let me meditate for a while, made me even more intrigued by rhythym, tones, the songs. I met a Saudi Arabian fella at Bar Fly last night who gave me a necklace with a little clay djembe on it. I told him it would be my inspiration to actually learn some drumming. So, today I called Abraham and told him if he would give me classes, I would take him to Morelia to visit some other drumming friends and it looks like we'll go tomorrow. Good, good. Todo va bien.

Resolute.

One day all the snow in Kalamazoo just up and melted. This year I didn't get to go sledding. I did, however, discover new and old friendships, dance a whole hell of a lot, conspire, derive epic poems from our lives, capture some images, listen to my friends play beautiful and silly and loving music, bang on a drum, eat breakfast at the Blue Dolphin not once but twice, experience multiple slumber parties even at the age of 24, free wrestle until I couldn't anymore, and become reacquainted with a town I wasn't sure I loved anymore. I spent a lot of time at the new coffee shop Dino's, as well, and felt quite at home.

I met so many new, great folks and I am looking forward to developing even more meaningful friendships with them. Old friends are everything that poets say of them. How can a gal be so lucky to know so many talented, lovely, damn cool folks? Of course, no one's perfect but in my friends' faults I see the things I want to change about myself and if I can't change myself, I've got no right to tell them so, no?

My family was also amazing and frustrating and I am happy I stayed longer than I had intended. All of my friends from Mexico were saying, "How can you just leave your family if they want you to stay?" They were right, of course, another lesson from the south. One thing I've noticed among travelers is a disconnect, whether by necesity or choice or simply neglect, with their families. I don't want that and in fact, I consider it an abuse of the privilege of coming from a culture where youth are not expected anymore to maintain ties with their family, especially if they might compromise one's "freedom." Chale. If I'd listened to my own, selfish desire to take off, disregarding the folks who gave me a life and home, I never would have gotten to dance polka with my grandma. How silly I can be sometimes.

My last night in Michigan was spent with some truly incredible folks in a yurt on a farm in Bangor, MI, a very nice transition from the city to the solitude of traveling alone on the train. Thank God there was a guitar and the dinner was amazing, the poems and the stories and the smiles and the laughs and our dear little Forrest.

The train ride to Texas went surprisingly fast. Now I'm wondering if I need to find an even slower way to travel. Hitching, I suppose.

I did have a bit of time to think, though, and I'm getting close to a clear formulation of my resolutions for the new year. They involve a continuance of last year's theme "honesty," a new theme related to assertiveness or being very aware of exactly what I want and how to communicate it, and investment in people and places. Many other things, too.

Now I'm in Fort Worth, Texas with Angie, who I met and lived with in San Cristobal. We caught up on our ever-dramatic lives, ran around the FW Botanical Gardens, drank margaritas and rode bikes, played tag (normal and freeze) and danced- all in one night!