The Lamberson's Big Trip!

2008-05-02T22:30:00.008-04:00

May 2, 2008 – Good-bye Miss Kitty. Miss Kitty is the cat in residence at Casa Alvarez and she has gone through some hard times recently. Upon our arrival a few weeks ago, 3 of her 4 paws were grossly swollen and somewhat useless. They became worse throughout our stay, despite numerous trips to the vet. Every now and then she would find a hiding place and it became somewhat clear that she was probably looking for a place to discretely pass away. Between language barriers, cultural differences, and tough choices, Miss Kitty’s situation provided some new experiences (and new vocabulary) for all of us—by the way, one way to “cut” the smell of cat urine from a tile floor is to splash a little bit of gasoline in the mop water. Who knew?

When we first came to Merida two years ago, Enrique introduced us to Miss Kitty with the clarification, “Like Miss Kitty on “Gunsmoke”. We said good-bye to her Thursday morning when we hopped in a taxi at 5:30. It is doubtful that we will see her again.

Good-bye now to the amazing kids and teachers at Escuela Ruben Dario. Our little Thank You card is but a token of all the appreciation and affection we send your way.

Good-bye for now to all sorts of Mexican acquaintances, like the retired woman who was born in Chicago when her father worked for Wrigley’s. The family moved back to Mexico before she was a year old, but she managed to take English classes in school and has a pretty decent command of the language. She used to be one of Enrique’s perfume salespeople in a door-to-door enterprise. The perfume business ended a few years ago and she is now retired and adheres to some unusual health practices that would be inappropriate to post on the internet.

Good-bye for now to Gabriel, our friend who was our landlord in Playa del Carmen two years ago but who has since moved back to Merida to be with his wife and sons. We shared all sorts of aspects of our lives with Gabriel, including personal trials and triumphs, in a wonderful afternoon’s reconnection. Funny line from Gabriel in his reasonable English: “We are like brothers and sisters. We are like family. It is nice.” Moments later, “But I can’t remember your name,” pointing at Ruth. It’s a nice relationship when you can comfortably admit to things like that.

Good-bye for now to the guy on the street who started chatting us up in Spanish after seeing Miles’s jersey for a local soccer team. The guy had lived in Nebraska at one point on a 6-month exchange program. (The world needs more of these, not less.)

Good-bye for now to the guy we met working as a guard at the museum. Years ago he lived in San Francisco and worked in food service at City Hall despite not having proper documents. (I doubt he could do that now.)

And we’ll catch you next time Doña Betty(?) from Chiapas, who stays at Casa Alvarez after recuperating from plastic surgery. This round included an old fashioned face lift, with big scars between her cheeks and her ears, and some liposuction in various parts with a little redistribution of the leftover fat to smooth out some wrinkles on her forehead. She was concerned her stitches were going to pop on the airplane back to Oaxaca. (Yuck!)

Good-bye for now to the good company, shared adventures and funny tales. One road trip took us to the nearby beach town of Progresso. As often happens, reaching the final destination was an accomplishment. Miriam was looking for a restaurant that looked like a castle and had a funny name. With no Mapquest, and a seemingly inherent inability among many Mexicans to give directions, it took a while to get to the restaurant. It resembled a family’s unfinished second story, not a castle, and many folks would shudder at the lack of amenities, but the seafood was outstanding and cheap.

A funny tale: Miriam told us about showing up at the annual Rummage Sale at the Merida English Library. She saw a very attractive cremation urn, made of marble. She watched as a lady asked the retired American, who was volunteering for the day, what it was. The guy said, “I think it's a jewelry box.” “How much?” “How about $10 after I blow the dust out of it?” “Deal!”

Good-bye for now to the time to think, to read, and to write. I had an especially interesting moment while reading an excerpt from an upcoming book by a Liberian woman who fled Liberia as a young teenager after relatives were killed in the 1980 coup. After years as a successful news correspondent in the USA, she finally returned to Liberia to try to find her adopted sister who was left behind when the family fled. The excerpt was a great read, and I was completely transfixed and transported back to Liberia in the heat, the Liberian English, the beach, etc. when the doorbell rang. I could barely figure out where I was or which language to use as I headed to the door. Fortunately it was just Ruth and the kids at the door. For a good read, check out: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/06/magazine/06Liberian-t.html

Good-bye for now to Enrique and his ability to transform the most decrepit antiques back to working order with an assortment of handcrafted parts and substitutions. He’s especially fond of a razor blade off a disposable plastic razor because it provides great flex for the pendulum to swing and it takes solder well. Watching him operate inside a 100+ year-old clock is pretty cool. (His new rear floor mat for his 1960 Peugot is pretty cool also. It is a yoga mat that some French travelers left behind.)

And finally, good-by for now to whacky geo-centrism. How can it be that an international airline flying in and out of Mexico can get away with not using any Spanish on its flights? Pity the Mexican passenger getting on a USAirways flight in Cancun: none of the announcements at the gate are in Spanish nor is any of the in-flight information, including the key safety presentations. And upon arriving a few weeks ago, the USAirways flight attendants didn’t know how to fill out a Mexican tourist visa arrival form (there are two parts, and each must be completed). Those who followed the instructions provided by the flight attendants got stuck in a hallway at the airport looking for a pen. Those who could read Spanish (and the English instructions that were provided as well) whizzed right through.

And, Hello Nature! We rolled up our driveway in Hinesburg at 12:40 a.m. after a long day of travel, but the smell of spring in the Vermont woods was outstanding. We love Merida, but it is a big, hot city with loud, smokey buses, plenty of traffic, and not a lot of silence.

And, Hello Raccoons! Mama and babies are doing well in the bottom of our chimney, ugh! Fortunately, I got the access cover to our living room shut tight before they broke through (I could hear them conniving on the other side of the thin sheet metal cover. It sounded something like, “On 3! Ready?”).

Hasta luego!

2008-04-22T13:01:00.007-04:00

April 21, 2008 – Weekend Report

Saturday started off pretty mellow. R.u.t.h, M.i.l.e.s and J.i.l.l rode around with Miriam, Alli and Sergio as Sergio delivered invoices and collected payments. Although the tour provided quality family time for the Franco family, I’m under the impression that I am very fortunate to have so many of our household and business transactions set up electronically and automatically. By the way, Sergio (Miriam’s husband, Alli’s father) and his brother own a small business that rents scaffolding and medium duty equipment like skid-steers.

By mid afternoon, M.i.l.e.s and J.i.l.l and I decided to head to the central plaza for licuados (fruit smoothies). This is a routine that M.i.l.e.s and I usually do on our own, not out of exclusivity, just because R.u.t.h and J.i.l.l are too smart to walk the 6 blocks in the afternoon heat and bus exhaust. But J.i.l.l was up for it this time, and we threw lactose intolerance to the non-existent wind, and J.i.l.l drank half of a strawberry licuado while M.i.l.e.s tried in vain to stay ahead of a quickly melting frozen watermelon bar.

And then…. J.i.l.l bent over, put her hands on her knees, and looked like she was either going to throw up or keel over after passing out. The park was full of people, and J.i.l.l was a good sport when I suggested that it would be kind of her to at least try to get closer to a big municipal garbage barrel. And bless her little 9 year old heart, J.i.l.l did saddle up to the garbage barrel which was nearly as tall as she was, and…. put her hands back on her knees and stayed bent over for several minutes. Long enough for me to start paying attention to the bees that were flying in and out of the barrel. Long enough for me to wonder where the heck my epi-pen was if I got stung. And, long enough for M.i.l.e.s to get shat upon by a pigeon. (J.i.l.l got “tagged” by a pigeon the next day, and I got nailed on a previous trip. R.u.t.h’s time is running out.)

Eventually, we worked our way across a busy intersection and J.i.l.l remained bent over strategically aiming at the gutter. It was a sad sight and certainly caught the eye of all passersby. One young lady from northern California said, “Be careful, the lettuce is awful down here.” Eventually, I scooped J.i.l.l up and carried her home on my hip like a toddler, after begging her to aim wisely should things get ugly. So, twice in two days, I had the pleasure of precious bonding time with each of my kids on Calle 62 in Merida because of gastro-intestinal adventures.

And, 15 minutes later, J.i.l.l was good to go and was bouncing off the walls at Casa Alvarez. Hummm? I suspect a similar blood sugar issue as my own. (I once passed out in a bar in Pavillion, Wyoming after moving cows all day, forgetting to eat, and then wolfing down pizza.)

J.i.l.l certainly had enough energy for our Saturday night plans: Ice skating at the mall. It was a pretty good time considering the location. The ice was a little wet, but considering it was 8:30 p.m. on an ice rink in a shopping center in southern Mexico, it wasn’t too bad. They even had a Zamboni.

And then, Burger King for a late evening meal. Burger King, complete with Play Castle and “High School Musical, II” complete with Karaoke lyrics in English on several flat screen televisions. Hoo-doggy, we never party like that in Hinesburg.

Sunday found us on a road trip/exploration of Izamal. It is an interesting small city dating back to the 1500’s with a giant monastery that the Spaniards built on top of Mayan ruins (naturally). Pope John Paul, II gave a mass there in 1993, right across the street from the “La Esquina del Prestamo” (the corner of the loan). It looks like you can hock your grandma’s crucifix to the pawn shop and get cash 7 days a week, but you won’t be able to get it back out on Sundays. (I’d love to hear the explanation for that.)

Sunday evening found us wandering the central plaza in Merida once again. Sundays in Merida are special, and the police cordon off numerous blocks for plenty of outdoor eating, entertainment, vending, etc. We walked through an interesting art installation next to a huge old cathedral. Other than the fact that Jill left the bottom half of her legs behind in Izamal, it was pretty cool. The modern art installations, next to the centuries-old cathedral, with evening hymns being sung as a young nun in full white habit tended the door. It was an interesting mix that offered a great summary of all the coexisting cultures that come together in Merida.

(FYI, I just added some photos to the bottom of the entry about M.i.l.e.s's birthday, a couple of entries down.)

2008-04-19T17:26:00.001-04:00

April 19, 2008 – Another First

We had another “first”, which is common when we travel in Mexico. Equally common, is the fact that these “firsts” usually have as much to do with American culture as Mexican culture. On our first trip, we saw our first Brittany Spears music video and our first Lindsay Lohan movie. What could possibly compare this time? We saw our first episode of “American Idol”. (Casa Alvarez Guest House has 60+ channels on cable T.V. Casa Lamberson in Hinesburg has none.)

American Idol: What an interesting event. The opening production had the 8 finalists belting out a paean to Jesus Christ. It was a song I recognized from churches I attended in Mississippi and it is a hit in the mega churches where the lyrics are projected on the walls, (no need to look down and cramp your output capacity). Bear in mind, I knew the lyrics, I’ve sung the song, but considering the show’s global reach, I just wish the Unitarians had something jazzy to offer.

Enough of that. What’s going on around here? Well, J.i.l.l has been having some excellent days at school and wishes she could stay here for the rest of the school year. Whoa! As a parent and school board member, I’m paying attention. We can’t quite zero in on all the factors at play, but the school here seems to be free of the burdens that plague 3rd and 4th grade girls in Hinesburg. Lots of love, lots of connections with teachers and other students, and tiny classes. I think there are 4 other kids in J.i.l.l’s class here. You do the math: Tuition is $25 a week, and there are only about 40 kids spread across grades 1 thru 6. I’m surprised the school can pay its bills. Here's a picture of J.i.l.l and Alli:

How’s M.i.l.e.s? Just fine. The residual gift shower continued for a few days after his birthday reaching the point of semi-embarrassment. We capped off the birthday “day” the other night with a visit to one of our favorite parks, Parque de las Americas. It has 4 quadrants split by an intersection. It also has some great vendors selling street food.

Considering that the previous night, M.i.l.e.s and I had eaten some tacos at a place downtown that didn’t count as a “hole in the wall” since there were no walls, just a wide spot on the sidewalk (we agreed it was best not to pay attention to how the dishes were being washed in a drywall bucket), our birthday “dinner” at Parque de las Americas should have been a breeze. Except, that sometimes fathers play clean-up, and I got all the leftovers. Those, combined with my own bad choices, resulted in a lead balloon.

Before you try it yourself, do not combine 3 tacos with jalapenos, a beef, bologna and cheese sandwich, a fried banana drizzled with sweetened condensed milk, a Fanta orange soda, and a marquesita filled with Nutella and cheese. The results will be disastrous and long lasting. (A marquesita is kind of a rolled waffle/crepe that is often delicious by itself.) However, even in the darkest moments there are bits of light. There is a tedious line in “My Friend Flicka” (since we don’t have any TV channels at home, and I am a tightwad, we have maxed out the video collection at the Hinesburg library). The father says something to a young Roddy McDowell (did he do anything between “Flicka” and “Planet of the Apes”?) like, “Son, there’s a special way that a father talks to his son.” I abused that line for years, but I’ll tell you, it aptly described the special moment yesterday while M.i.l.e.s and I walked downtown for an afternoon licuado. M.i.l.e.s: “You know, it kind of hurts to walk a few blocks when your pooper hasn’t been working right for a few days.” P.a.u.l: “Yup.” (I’ll spare you the rest of the conversation. It would fall into the OMG, TMI category.) Here's a picture from the happy evening that started it all:

On a different note, although we’re no experts on Mexico, we’ve been coming for 2 years and are witnesses to change. One thing we’re watching is the prevalence of inefficiency for the sake of job creation. The number of staff in a store is an example. We went to the electronics shop yesterday to buy a new power cord for Enrique’s desktop PC (we’ll probably be back soon for a video card). As is common, one employee handed us the merchandise and prepared a bill ($2.50) and then handed everything off to a cashier. Then the cashier rang us up. There’s a reasonable chance this will all be a thing of the past in the near future as Office Max and Wal-mart spread their reach. The “jobs program” versus efficiency is also evident in the street maintenance department (though many of us probably raise the same question in the States at times). There is something to be said for giving a guy a broom and a cart and a few assigned streets to clean versus having a machine come through and do it quickly and efficiently.

Time to put this stuff on the web and get on with all that surrounds me.

2008-04-16T19:07:00.004-04:00

April 16, 2008 – Happy Birthday M.i.l.e.s!

M.i.l.e.s is a cool kid. At 12 years old, he is a comfortable traveler who has had the luxury and challenge of having 3 of his past 4 birthdays away from home. Numbers 10 and 12 in M.e.x.i.c.o; number 9 in London. He’s missed out on a bunch of traditionally camaraderie at home as a result, but he easily drops in to wherever he ends up, and is a budding diplomat. (Don’t worry. I don’t treat him in the same detached way that I just wrote about him.)

Planning M.i.l.e.s’s birthday was an adventure. The last time we were here, a classmate had a birthday and the family bought pizza, cake, and drinks for the class: 7 kids. However, last week another kid had a birthday, and the parents poured it on for the whole school: 40 kids. They provided a piñata, drinks, loot bags full of candy, birthday cake, and hot dogs with a slew of condiments. M.i.l.e.s and J.i.l.l were blown away at how much their classmates could wolf down at 9:30 in the morning. (Future Mexican President, Eduardo, managed to eat 4 hot dogs. By the time he gets to Los Pinos (where the President lives in the D.F.) he won’t be able to fit through the door.)

There was plenty of conversation and thought among ourselves, and with Miriam and Alli’s advice, regarding how much we should provide for a birthday party. We didn’t want to appear unappreciative and stingy, but we also didn’t want to meet or raise the bar regarding crazy birthday standards. It isn’t an unfamiliar debate at home either (though few have accused us of pushing the outer limits at home when they see my crafted-from-paper-bags piñatas in Hinesburg: one of them looked like a bad day at the wrong end of Shrek).

We finally settled on a cake for the whole school, little bags of munchies for everyone, a small juice bottle each, and a bolley (long o). A bolley is plastic bag/tube of flavored water that is frozen before a person bites one end and sucks on it. (We screwed up and didn’t put ours in the freezer soon enough, but they were slushy.) And Coke and Diet Coke for the teachers. Settled.

Except that Miriam and I ran into the hot dog parents the other morning as we were leaving school. We compared notes on birthday planning, and despite his best efforts, the dad was full of advice. We could buy hot dogs and pancake batter and make our own pigs in a blanket and then put little flags in them, and numerous other ideas, but I zoned out, and Miriam reaffirmed our earlier plan once we were back in the car.

Next level of cross cultural experience in Mexico: Ordering a school-sized birthday cake at the bakery at Wal-mart that met Mile’s expectations for flavor, color and design. Sizes are by the kilo, not solely by dimensions, and then there is “dry” cake versus “tres leches”. Dry is closest to what we serve in the States. Tres leches is delicious but is a mess once you get bigger than a piece. We placed our order a few days in advance, and hoped for the best and prepared for the worst. We picked up our other supplies at various locations throughout Merida, more than offsetting any cost savings with time and fuel consumption. By the way, in Mexico, Wal-mart is not the low quality discounter it is in the States (they own a separate chain for that). Wal-mart in Mexico is at least a level up, more along the lines of Target in the States, except they always have a supermarket inside. (Miriam had offered us Costco and Sam’s Club as well, but I’m short on cash and long on credit, and preferred to use my credit card at Wal-mart, which likely wouldn’t have been an option at the other two.)

Today was the big day. Miriam and I dropped the kids off at school and hung around the customary little while. Hot Dog father asked Miriam what our plans were, and when he heard he said to his wife, “Why didn’t we do that?! Remember all the food that ended up in the garbage?!”

Before Miriam and I left the school, the principal gathered all the kids in the courtyard to sing Happy Birthday to the birthday children. “Children”?! Oh, it was Abram’s birthday today also. Oh crap! There was either going to be a sugar and fat bonanza times two later in the morning, or a completely uncomfortable imbalance between how the birthday kids were treated. We immediately witnessed the latter, not the former.

(Oops, I was just interrupted by the telephone. Yup, once again Enrique and Miriam have left their operation to my inept hands. The phone call? An automated message asking me to press 6 if I wanted my eyeglasses repaired.)

The entire school sang Happy Birthday to Miles in English and Spanish, completely ignoring Abram even though the poor kid stood next to M.i.l.e.s. (Remember, M.i.l.e.s is a sweet kid with a deep sense of diplomacy and fairness. We were going to have to come up with something.)

Ruth, Miriam and I headed off to Wal-mart to pick up the cake (along the way Miriam shared gruesome stories of well publicized drug trafficking assassinations and decapitations--well publicized to better intimidate people.) At Wal-mart, Ruth wisely veered off to buy something for Abram, while I headed to the bakery with my fingers crossed. A beautiful cake was waiting with “Feliz Cumpleanos Miles!” on top. No room to add “Abram” but at least they spelled Feliz with a “z”. When they had taken the order, Ruth had to remind them how to spell “feliz” after they initially spelled it with an “s”.

Off to school, and though I could offer all sorts of thoughts and observations about how kids treat one another, a wonderful party was had by all. (Even though we arrived to find Jill nearly in tears. Today was P.E. day at school. The gym teacher was trying to teach the kids how to do handsprings(?) and had some small pieces of foam on top of the concrete. No spotting was offered and Jill took a dive. Our little skin and bones gal was in some serious pain, but she pulled it together.)

The gringos made sure Abram got some attention and a gift since it was evident his parents had not attempted to compete in the Grand Party Competition. And Ruth held future President Eduardo at bay when he asked for more food. Not a whole lot of food got wasted, though there was enough that one teacher brought a bunch of plate scrapings home to her 5 dogs. (We didn’t want to think what would happen if our dog ate that stuff.)

Happy Birthday M.i.l.e.s, you’re a cool kid!

2008-04-15T18:59:00.002-04:00

April 15, 2008 - The Chicken Place where everybody knows your name.

Miriam took me to a place to pick up a roast chicken the other day. For a little more than $5.00, we got a very tasty roast chicken fresh from the grill, a small bag of chopped cabbage, and a large bag of freshly made chicken soup.

The operation was set up in the large front room of a woman’s ramshackle house. It was not particularly on the beaten path, but it was a very popular place. In fact, we had to wait about half an hour for the next chickens to be ready from the grill. While we waited, we learned a lot about another man who was waiting. He was 84 years old, he brought his own pot for the soup because he didn’t like getting scalded when he opened the plastic bag, and he’d just had a malignant tumor removed from his abdomen that weighed more than 3 kilos, and he didn’t want any chemo or radiation treatment. (He didn't look like he needed it either.)

Another old man had grown up in California and lived in Massachusetts as well. He spoke fondly of New England.

And of course, there was the hand lettered sign above the counter that was reminiscent of small shops in Liberia. Loosely translated: “We don’t sell pollo pavos (or was it pavo pollos?).” Basically, “We don’t sell big birds.” (Guinea hens?) “We don’t work here for fun. Be prepared to pay.” (In Liberia one version was, “Mr. Credit is dead!”)

And of course, there was the woman who was working her tail off by herself because various members of her family were not helping.

A different day in Merida: I was hanging out in the front room at the Guest House where the wi-fi signal reaches. As is not uncommon, Enrique and Miriam were off running errands and had left the place to us. In the course of about 30 minutes, I answered the door 4 times. Once for the drinking water man (17 pesos-about $1.60 U.S. for 20 liters), the newspaper man, the housekeeper, and the garbage survey man. Then I answered the phone and spoke with Enrique and Miriam’s elderly Tia Carmen. (Miriam is her power of attorney and collects her social security for her about this time of the month.) I was even ready for the taxi driver who didn’t show up. The poor guy had arrived on two previous occasions looking for his 40 peso tip for delivering some guests. Unfortunately, each time he only found me and I didn’t know Miriam had left the money in the bottom of the pencil holder. But now I’m ready should he ever return.

And, what does an occasional afternoon look like at Casa Alvarez? Well, it doesn’t happen every day (and it hadn’t happened in a while!) but R.u.t.h and Miriam excavated Enrique’s kitchen the other day. I joked that I wanted to take a picture of an archeological site.

And J.i.l.l introduced Alli to Webkiz.

2008-04-14T11:24:00.001-04:00

April 14, 2008 - R.u.t.h's Thoughts

It’s funny to read what tidbits of our Meridian life enter P.a.u.l’s brain and stick to it like gum in your hair. The tidbits that stick to me are images such as Miriam stumbling out of her kitchen with a shot glass in her hand full of maple syrup. Her eyes lids kept fluttering as she repeated deeply and slowly, “Miel de maple, ahhh, miel de maple.” (“maple syrup, ahhhh, maple syrup”) I guess we are the concubines from the north.

What else? Most days I spend riding around with Miriam in the morning while she runs her daily “diligentes” (errands). I swear we spend most of the time just driving around in circles but it prolongs my Spanish lessons, which is a good thing. And she teaches me where to get the best deals. She bought a little boy a backpack for $2.50 for his birthday and then we went to the school for the party. Luckily we had some extra goodies we had brought with us from Vermont -- a children’s book in Spanish. Miriam said that it was sufficient for a gift.

The whole school was invited to Juan Alberto’s 8th birthday. So, 40 kids, all the teachers and some loafer parents like Miriam and I were there. I met Juan Alberto’s mom but I never figured out who Juan Alberto was. But, his mom served us hot dogs at 10 in the morning with tomato, onions, mayonnaise and ketchup on them. The kids got to destroy a huge piñata and eat the contents (Miriam and I got there after the piñata had been attacked. M.i.l.e.s and J.i.l.l say it was a major free-for-all with candy everywhere and kids grabbing candy off M.i.l.e.s’s back that had fallen on it in the mayhem.) Our kids managed to fill their small plastic goody bags.

The birthday party ended with cake from Sam’s Club and bottles of tamarinda flavored juice. What IS tamarinda, anyway?? It tastes good, whatever it is. During the festivities I made the mistake of telling the teachers that M.i.l.e.s’s birthday is next week. They immediately wanted to know what super hero he’d like for the piñata. We’ll report on the party next week. M.i.l.e.s really doesn’t want the whole school to be there. He’s a bit of a celebrity at Ruben Dario as it is and he would like some normal kid time while there. However, Miriam wants to invite all the teachers over to the guesthouse to celebrate. They haven’t seen this place since Miriam and Enrique put in two new bedrooms. I suppose a birthday party is a good excuse to have them over.

Miriam and I left the birthday party at about 10:45 to continue running errands. When Miriam and I returned to school at 12:30 to pick the kids up Jill actually asked if we could get candy from Senor Lucerito the candy man. I looked at her candy bag and at her and I didn’t have to say anything else. And this was before I had done my candy research.

We came home and I typed into google “ploma en dulces mexicanas” and “lead in Mexican candy”. A friend and neighbor at home had warned me about this two years ago and I had done research back then on it. But it seems the Mexican candy makers still haven’t dealt with their lead issue (at least not as of May of 2007) and Miles and Jill weren’t happy when I showed them pictures of the alleged criminal candies. “But, Mom!” My response, “But J.i.l.l-J.i.l.l, lead is bad for growing brains. ” She interrupted my lesson on the hazards of lead and held up a marshmallow looking plastic wrapped candy between her thumb and forefinger and asked disbelievingly and challengingly, “So, how many brain cells will I lose if I eat this?”

Despite the candy, their brains seem to be doing okay. Their Spanish is coming back to them. M.i.l.e.s is starting to speak in the correct tenses and J.i.l.l is reacquiring her basic vocabulary. She speaks in Spanish with Ali more than before so that’s a good step.

It’s now time to get a snack and then off with Miriam, Ali and Sergio to swim in some cenotes.

2008-04-12T16:02:00.004-04:00

April 12, 2008 - Keeping up with the Garcias

Well, we aren’t exactly a mainstream American Family when we’re at home, so it is interesting to watch so many Mexican families aspire to something that we haven’t quite accepted.

For a Friday afternoon’s entertainment (and to seek out air conditioning), we went to one of Merida’s newest malls. Malls in Merida are pretty indistinguishable from American malls, and Friday’s mall was probably nicer than many in the states. It had a Sears, Radio Shack, Crabtree & Evelyn’s, Chili’s, Office Max, etc. Not to mention, numerous customers walking around sipping on their cold drinks from Starbucks.

We made our mark when M.i.l.e.s accidentally unplugged the theft prevention cable on a MacBook at Office Max (the alarm was loud and continuous), and when we took goofy pictures of ourselves on the Macs using Photo Booth (I doubt any employee will find them for weeks—we weren’t the first clowns to do this). We also hopped on to the open wi-fi signal coming out of Chili’s and showed Miriam and Alli headlines from the Burlington Free Press and pulled up the web page for the guest house. Cheap thrills.

More indicators of a rising middle class: Most of the kids at school have cell phones. The entire 5th grade (6 students) came over for an afternoon to work on an English language project. There aren’t many opportunities for the kids to get together, so there were the classic challenges of a small group try to get its act together. One of the popular ringtones that distracted everyone was “Bebe Reggaeton”. (You’ve either heard reggaeton or you haven’t: Think Daddy Yankee.) It was a baby’s gurgles, chirps and cries to a reggaeton beat. Otherwise, there was mixed success labeling a furniture diorama with English vocabulary.

However, as part of “P.a.u.l’s English language program” I tried to engage the kids in conversation. I learned that the kids liked Hannah Montana, High School Musical, and the Cartoon Network. Sweet. Here are pics from the kids working on their project. By the way, the kid with the shoe box, Eduardo, is top notch and wants to be the President of Mexico someday. You heard it here first!

Additionally, as part of the incredibly generous shower of welcoming gifts that rained down on M.i.l.e.s and J.i.l.l when they arrived at school, M.i.l.e.s received a High School Musical digital watch. I can’t find the words to describe his emotions.

And, when M.i.l.e.s and I took an afternoon walk in the central plaza, as is our habit, it was interesting to see a Mexican family on a park bench with Dad working on his laptop while the pigeons gathered at his feet. Miles: “They’ve come for the chips.” (He’s a witty one.) It was also bittersweet to see the classic picture of the young lovers strolling by arm in arm…..each looking at their respective cell phones. By the way, most of Merida's bigger city parks have free Wi-Fi provided by the government.

I recently heard that Mexico is now Number 2 on the list for national obesity and is on track to overtake the United States within 10 years. What an honor.

Here’s something I hope doesn’t change too soon: The antiquated single engine airplane flying low and slow over the city with the monster sound system and the “barker” shouting out promotions about the circus that is in town (I think).

Life at the Guest House: It is hot as heck right now and the tourist season isn’t at its high point, so the Alvarez Family Guest House is pretty empty, and that’s OK when you hear the tales about Enrique and Miriam working their tales off over Christmas, Semana Santa (the big 2-week vacation period surrounding Easter), and other times, especially since they’ve landed a coveted spot in a Lonely Planet guide book.

So who is here? A retired couple from Maine who spend a couple of months here now and then. A young couple from Italy, she is on an around the world trip and her boyfriend is catching up with her for a short time here. A divorced father who lives in Cancun who comes here every few weeks so he can see his 10 year old daughter who lives in Merida with her mother. Saturday morning found the daughter playing with Jill and Alli while dad watched television. Or one of my favorites, the young man who works and lives in Villahermosa and stays here every couple of months so he can visit his girlfriend who is a local college student who lives with her family. Miriam reports that all is innocent, that the girlfriend never sleeps here, and that the biggest mess they’ve made is when they gave each other haircuts.

Back to Enrique’s famous cars, watch for them in the upcoming biography of Che Guevara, “El Argentino” starring Benicio Del Toro. Miriam reports that her brother Enrique was a bit emotional as the flatbread tow truck left the parking lot with his pride and joy on board. Fortunately, the film crew delivered as promised, other than pulling the treasured Vermont window sticker off one of the cars. I think it would have been a hoot to see a movie with Che driving an old car with a Ski Vermont window sticker on it.

More old car news. A couple of years ago, Enrique sold his antique car collection to Don Emilio, a local gas station baron. Enrique used the proceeds from the sale to expand his family home into a 9-room guest house. We saw Don Emilio’s complete car collection a few years ago and I asked about him recently. Turns out he died in July after a full and large life. I asked about the cars as well, and Miriam told me that every year the local gas station owners have a big promotion where they give away 3 brand new cars (as an income reduction and tax reduction strategy). After a couple months of promotions, there is a big car show at a local park where Enrique’s former collection is on display alongside plenty of new cars and the 3 lucky winners are drawn. It’s a lot of fun to connect with a Mexican family and their city to the extent that we can understand what’s going on. Here is a picture of what Miriam describes as "El attic de Enrique".

One more example of getting in tight with the Alvarez family: We met Enrique and Miriam’s “Primo Hermano” Alonso the other day. “Lonnie” is an orthodontist with an office across the street from the guest house. He’s in his late 50’s or early 60’s and was getting ready for a vacation in Europe. When I asked for an explanation of “primo hermano” (direct translation: cousin brother) I think I understood the answer: Enrique and Lonnie’s fathers were brothers. To further help with the answer, Lonnie put his arm up next to Enrique's and told me, “El mismo sangre: Azul!” (The same blood. Blue!)

Life is good.

2008-04-10T12:20:00.009-04:00

April 10, 2008 Loving Merida once again!

OK, I just did battle with the blog software since I hadn't used it in a while and the program had been purchased by Google in the meantime. I've spent the past hour trying to log in.

But more importantly, Miles and Jill are content at school and Ruth is out running errands with Miriam. They are getting ready to feed an afterschool playdate that was Alli's idea. (For new readers: Miriam is our hostess, her brother Enrique owns the guest house, and Alli is Miriam's daughter. Miles and Jill go to school with Alli.)

We arrived 2 days ago after a long day of travel. We left our house at 5:30 in the morning and arrived in Merida at 8 p.m. Vermont time. We had the misfortune of sitting on the runway in Philly for over an hour waiting to take off.

The bus rides from Cancun airport into Cancun, and then Cancun on to Merida were a reminder of what I love about public transportation: lots of community, incredibly efficient use of resources, and no need to think once we're rolling down the road. True to form however, Mexican buses remain the graveyard for bizarre Hollywood films. We were treated to something with Hillary Duff in it, and before that it was some neo-western set in suburban L.A. where the modern day cowboy turns from heart-throb to murderer. Huh?

If I'm lucky, here is a picture of M.i.l.e.s and R.u.t.h on the bus, taken from their laps with a MacBook:

Other reflections on "community", it is the utmost in convenience to be sitting here at the guest house with a MacBook on my lap taking care of computer stuff. But I miss spending time in the internet cafe and learning all sorts of Spanish vocabulary since all of the computer interfaces there are in Spanish. (My Mac defaults to English.)

New cultural experience: The guest house wi-fi modem wasn't working properly yesterday and I got to spend time on the phone with Telmex Technical Support diagnosing the problem. I hung in there for a bit, and then finally asked if English were an option. Fortunately, they hooked me up with an English speaking Tech who was very adept. We needed to pick a new channel for the modem because the Mac's frequency was conflicting with the previous channel. "Internet" and "Ethernet" sure sound a like in heavily accented English. But all was well in the end.

Other cultural moment, seeing the proud young bag boy at the supermarket in his bright white T-shirt that had come from the United States (or some English speaking country). Next to him was his proud and professional coworker, a cashier who looked grandmother-ly. Neither one of them had the slightest clue that the kid's T-shirt was covered in words that were so profane and disgusting that I will not write them here. It was classic. I did translate the situation to Spanish for Miriam when we got home and she had an appropriate laugh.

And, if you ever happen to pick up a Free People catalog (I don't) here's a little tale. It turns out that the Free People people did a big photo shoot in Merida and borrowed Enrique's 1949 Dodge for the glamour girls. See the little sticker in the back window? It says Ski Vermont and came from the Lambersons.

Unfortunately, a film crew also borrowed the Dodge for a movie they were shooting in Campeche. The Dodge came back without its sticker. We've loaded Enrique up with a Bolton Valley sticker as a replacement.

2006-11-24T12:09:00.002-05:00

November 2006 - We couldn't stay away and are back in Merida, Mexico for the month of November. Photos now, text later.

It is now a "later", like a year and a half later. It seems to be that I only find the frame of mind to work on this blog when I'm in Mexico. Here are some explanations to the photos.

The teachers and staff at the escuela Ruben Dario always give us a big welcome and a big send off.

The school took a field trip to a regional fair. It was a big event.

J.i.l.l settles in wherever she is planted.

M.i.l.e.s helps with a recording. Jimmy is a retired Spanish teacher from the States. He and his wife were hanging out in Merida for a few months. Jimmy was resurrecting an old film-stripped based Spanish instruction program and was bringing it into the digital age. He needed a boy's voice, and Miles was selected. Watch for it in stores?

Pictures from the ceynotes at Cuzama. The Yucatan is famous for its ceynotes, limestone caverns that are open to the air in one way or another. The ones at Cuzama are located on an old henequen (sisal) plantation and the horse drawn "trucks" that used to haul henequen fiber now haul visitors. It was a hoot! Every now and then our horse would get loose and would stop to eat while we went rolling past him. Miles and I were riding on the back of the truck, looking backwards, and we'd see this horse by the side of the track as we went rolling past. Eventually we'd come to a stop, and our driver would go running back to get the horse.

And the swimming was the best!

And finally, a big parade in Merida to celebrate Mexico's Revolution. Much mellower than Carnival prior to Lent, but still a big parade.

2006-06-25T22:53:00.001-04:00

July 2006 - Back in Hinesburg - It's the middle of July (even though I started on this page back in June). We got back home on June 1 and got thrown back into real life. Vermont is a great place to deal with real life, but we're still struggling for time to write all of the travel log between Phoenix and Hinesburg. But here are some pictures for the mean time.

2006-04-30T17:02:00.000-04:00

April 30 – Flagstaff, Arizona

Well, we're back in the USA after hauling ourselves from Cuernavaca to Cabo San Lucas to Flagstaff in just 2 weeks. Not a lot of time or locations along the way to catch up on the blog, so here's a bunch:

Starting where I left off after 1 week of classes in Cuernavaca:

We spent a weekend in Acapulco and Taxco. We shot down to Acapulco on a Friday afternoon after class. A straight, fast "autopista" makes Acapulco very accessible from all points north including Cuernavaca and Mexico City. The Friday we chose was the last day of school for all of Mexico before a 2 week Semana Santa vacation period with Easter Sunday in the middle of the vacation. As such, Acapulco was going to be crazy, and we had been warned to hit it on the first Friday night of the vacation period instead of waiting until the second weekend.

I hadn't been in Acapulco since 1979, and Ruth and the kids, never. Acapulco: Think Coney Island on a hot summer weekend. With its easy access to Mexico City, everyone shows up! The city of Acapulco itself is a huge commercial/industrial place lacking any of the small scale or charm of the Mexican Riveria that included Playa del Carmen. Acapulco even has a 2 mile long tunnel through the mountains so the city can sprawl past its natural boundaries.

But we did watch the cliff divers, and saw the hotel I stayed in 17 years ago. El Mirador is perched just above the cliff divers, and we must have had a package deal as a student group once upon a time, because this time it was priced way beyond our frugal 6-months-on-the-road budget. Instead, we found a funky little place in the heart of "Old Acapulco" run by a little old lady who loves to decorate with plastic flowers.

It was Palm Sunday weekend, and on Friday night there were numerous people sleeping on the street in the zocalo. They appeared to be folks from the countryside with bags of palm leaves, that they subsequently wove into amazing little shapes and sold to passersby over the next two days. It wasn't lost on us to see the sleeping families on the sidewalk within a stones throw of the luxury yachts on the water.
Saturday morning we ate breakfast at Woolworth's, and reconnected our trip back to the Civil Rights component back in December.

We touched the ocean, but otherwise didn't need to stay very long. Because of the volume of vacationers however, we couldn't get our first choice for a bus to Taxco and had to kill a few extra hours in an Acapulco city park. Miles and Jill got their 15 minutes worth of fun on a giant inflatable slide, about 15 feet tall. Noteworthy: One of the locals tending the slide was reading "El Retorno de Dorian Gray" por Oscar Wilde. You just never know where cultures will combine.

It was also easy to see the illuminated sign for "Neuroticos Anonimos". I had seen a few branches (from the outside) of this organization by now in various cities.

We spent Saturday night in Taxco. Taxco is a dense-packed mountainside town with tranny-busting city "streets" and Hitchcock-ian passageways. Fortunately, we only had our little backpacks for the weekend since it was countless steps down a rabbit hole to find the guest house. And of course, with such close quarters, the sounds that drifted in the window all night included: a night club band playing speed metal guitar riffs; the obligatory cat in heat; the sounds of noses being blown; and the smell of toilet candy.

A sidetrack about toilet candy (at least that’s what I call it): Since Mexican building standards don't require standard traps in drains, or appropriate vents on sewer lines, toilet paper doesn't go down toilets very well, if at all, and stench comes up very well. To address this, toilet paper goes in a waste basket, a rubber stopper goes over the shower drain to keep the smell down, and a courteous housekeeper hangs a naptha bomb prominently in the bathroom. Maybe you still find these odd devices hanging in a urinal in an old bus station in the states, but otherwise, there's a reason most of us don't hang these nostril burning, eye watering devices in our bathrooms. Harumph!

Sunday morning was Palm Sunday, which meant by the time we hiked up the stairs to the main plaza, or zocalo, the place was humming! Eventually a huge parade snaked in from the outskirts with a figure of Christ carried aloft and thousands of intricately woven palms being waved.

We had fun in the silver market but eventually had to catch a bus back to Cuernavaca. We finally experienced consistent, family friendly movies on the bus on this weekend trip. On the way down, we saw "The Notebook" which is a dialog-heavy love story about an elderly couple trying to reminisce. It was a bit of a milestone for us, because rather than depending on blood and guts for context clues, it was just a boatload of speaking in Spanish. I'm pleased to say that I understood about 90% and a sliding scale was applied to the rest of the family.

Monday back at school meant new teachers for Miles, Ruth and me. Despite my earlier thoughts that Miles was hanging in there with his grown up classmates, a weekend of decompressing revealed that it was really too much for the poor kid. Things didn't look any better on Monday when classes were reassembled and new teachers were assigned. Miles's new teacher started off with the Present Perfective tense, a tense I had just reviewed the previous week. The topic eft Miles and his adult classmates in the dust and we decided it was time to assert ourselves. We got Miles a private teacher for the rest of the week. We also learned that prior to Tuesday’s private instruction, one of Miles's new classmates on Monday "worked in a table tennis club".

Here's the story: At class break on Monday, our beloved 9 year old son, who had a few stray doodle marks on his knees and an occasional ink spot on his cheek and forehead, told us that Deborah from Austria worked in a table tennis club. It was only the next evening, at an "intercambio" session where locals come to practice English and students practice their Spanish, that I learned from Deborah herself that she does not work in a table tennis club but is instead a Table Dancer. (And within minutes of sharing that fact with our small intercambio group a young Mexican man got so distracted and orny-hay that I excused myself and went and played Memory with Miles, Jill and a local kid.)

Deborah was a nice enough young lady who was learning Spanish so she could Table Dance in a Mexico City club. On a field trip later in the week, we learned that her parents and siblings in Austria won't have anything to do with her and she never wants to return. Instead, she wants to find a rich man and never work again. I personally would have advised her to spend money on orthodontia instead of a plane ticket and a G string. And now, to add to our children's cornucopia of experiences, Miles and Jill know words and phrases like "Table Dance" (Miles wants to know why the tables don't break) and "Golddigger" and have been brought up to speed on Anna Nicole Smith's legal struggles.

On the family homestay front: Our host family was nice enough, but there was a financial aspect to the arrangement that couldn't be ignored. At $66 a night, it was our most expensive accommodations in Mexico. But for nearly $800, I got a little miffed when we were told there was no more toilet paper for the night, or that they had run out of drinking water for the morning.

And there's a whole 'nuther story about me finally screwing up the courage (and the vocabulary) to say "Look, the full-sized bed that Ruth and I are sleeping in is SHOT! It has a broken spring ripping the sheets and jabbing me in the ass, and the mattress folds like a taco!" I basically got, "Don't worry, it's not your fault" for a reply.

With the busy language class schedule, we finally found time to take a tour of Cuernavaca on a double-decker bus. As was the case in Puebla, passengers on the open top deck, needed to mind their heads so they didn't get snagged in the low hanging power lines or left behind on a low tree branch.

This tour drove past a few historically significant places, like Cortez's castle, but otherwise it had a Hollywood Home of the Stars aspect that was completely lost on us since we didn't have a clue to who the famous people were whose monster houses we drove by. Our tour guide was an aspiring Henrique Youngman and there was even a B-grade celebrity "plant" on board who came forward to sing, read poetry and sell his CD’s. At least one couple from Veracruz was impressed enough to buy a disc, but I think most of the people on board didn't have a clue to who he was, and we were the only non Mexicans on board. The tour was more Branson, Missouri than Cuernavaca, Mexico.

We did make an afternoon trip to Tepotzlan, which despite it's ranking as the mythical birthplace of the god Quetzelcuatol(sp?), and spectacular mountain scenery, felt more like the outlet shopping centers in North Conway, New Hampshire. The place was packed with well heeled Mexican tourists from Mexico City.

An odd piece of information: One of our spanish teachers, and the uncle of our homestay hostess, were both shooting victims (who survived). The uncle got ambushed driving on a country road near his house and I forget the whacky details of what happened to our teacher. But it was a reminder that crazy things happen to people and that in Mexico, the guilty parties might never get caught. We also read disturbing news stories about the drug violence up near the U.S. border, and how if cops are shot and killed, the local assumption is that the cops must have been up to no good. Such thinking keeps crimes from being solved or even reported in the media since journalists are at risk as well. Needless to say, we stayed far south of such mayhem.

Back to language school: Our teachers were great. One was an old hippie who had lived in various big cities in the U.S. in the 70's and still wore his corduroy bell bottoms to prove it. Another was an older social activist who is writing a book about all the times he's been tortured in police custody. He has led some very successful fights against the powers that be and has made a lot of enemies along the way. Both were expert grammarians and very good teachers.

I "impressed" Ruth and the kids by ordering Cow Tail Soup one night in a restaurant in Cuernavaca. It was pretty darn tasty!

After 2 weeks in Cuernavaca, we moved on to Mexico City for 3 nights. It was Easter weekend and because Mexicans take their Semana Santa vacations very seriously, Mexico City was about as empty and peaceful as it could be considering it is either the first or second largest city in the world. (No one has been able to get an accurate head count lately.)

Mexico City was a special treat because we got to meet my second cousin John for the first time. John's grandfather and my grandmother were siblings, but somehow growing up in Wyoming I never met John's family in Texas. Good fortune for us, John happened to work at a Quaker Guest House in Mexico City and set us up in a gorgeous apartment at the guest house for a very reasonable price. The home used to belong to one of Mexico's famous muralists, Jose Clemente Orozco, and the apartment could have been at home as a cottage in the Adirondacks with hardwood floors, tongue and groove ceiling, etc.

We also met a lot of great people at the guest house and were impressed by the immediate comradery among the various travelers who crossed paths there including a few different folks at various stages of round the world tours

On Saturday, we tootled around downtown Mexico City including taking a trip to the top of the Latin American Tower, Mexico City's version of the Empire State Building. One of the few copies of Rodin's "The Thinker" was on temporary dispay in the courtyard.

Mexico City's Zocolo was a bustling place for Easter weekend, and was a perfect sample of Mexico's complex mix of cultures. On the huge temporary stage a Christian Rock band was belting out contemporary Christian songs in Spanish. At the same time, a few steps away indian dancers were dancing their dances, while in another direction an indian healer was cedaring (my guess) people who wanted to have their spirits cleaned (my guess as well).

We also got the full dose of the big city as we tried to make our way down a market-clogged street behind the Zocalo. Ruth tried to cross at an intersection, and as most normal people would do, she tried to use the sidewalk upon arriving on the other side of the street. Well, some market hag had her stuff laid out on the sidewalk and grabbed Ruth by the arm and refused to let her pass. It was B.S. and I was fried, but the odds were against us if we made a scene. It was odd, because within minutes, blocks upon blocks of market folks were trying to haul their stuff off the sidewalks because word must have come through that the police were on their way. Moments later, the rumor must have passed, because blocks upon blocks of market folks were busy reassembling their stalls.

On Saturday night, we went to see "Judas". This is a local tradition where an effigy of Judas is blown up. Except in the version we were invited to witness, two competing families of firework/paper mache craftsmen create a variety of effigies and blow the living daylights out of them. Ruth was leery, especially when our local tour guide from the States refused to bring her 9-year old daughter because it was too dangerous. But I insisted on experiencing such a unique event. Sure enough, the neighbors had made some amazing paper mache figures of famous Mexican politicians (and I suspect George Bush as well), but they were loaded with such fire power I never got close enough to take notes. After about a half hour, wiser heads prevailed, and our family headed out to return to the guest house. Little did I know that to get to the metro station we walked through a neighborhood that our earlier tour guide, who was a social worker in prisons, wouldn't walk through after dark. We made it to the metro without event.

At a late dinner in a restaurant that evening, we got to watch our first (and only) batch of "Lucha Libre" (professional wrestling) on TV. It had all the drama of professional wrestling in the States, plus the added bonus that about half of the contenders wear full masks over their heads. Whacky stuff that is incredibly popular in Mexico. Since we don't tune in to wrestling in the states, the kids had never seen anything like it, and as sometimes happens, Miles tried to take an intellectual approach to the whole escapade. I tried to tell him that sometimes it's better not to think.

Sunday was Miles's 10th birthday. The lucky kid, birthday # 9 was in England. At breakfast at the guest house, we met a very nice guy, Isaac, from Brattleboro, Vermont who is friends with a guy we know in Hinesburg. Isaac is a student in Spain, but was on a spring break trip to Mexico to hang out with his boyfriend who is a Mexican figure skater (who knew?).

We then headed off to Chapultepec Park where we rented a pedal boat and hung out with a couple hundred thousand Mexicans.
Ruth and Jill reached their limit when Miles and I decided we wanted to take a bus tour of the city, so we split up for the afternoon. Pretty cool that Miles and Paul went their own way in Mexico City for the afternoon and Ruth and Jill went theirs. We each had to find our way around on the subway. Mexico City's subway fare is a whopping 2 pesos (currently worth a little less than 20 cents). We all survived and reconvened for a potluck dinner at the Guest House. (Miles admits that he'd kind of like to have a normal birthday party in Vermont for his 11th.)

Monday we headed north to San Miguel de Allende for the evening. SMdeA is gringo land, and although I'm glad we can say we saw it, I won't be in a hurry to return. Notes from there: I'm sick of the Bee Gees (Mexican tourist haunts play the bejeezus out of the Bee Gees), and we got directions from a German shopkeeper who Miles decided looked like Garth in Wayne's World.

The next day we headed on to Guanajuato, a funky town crammed against the side of a mountain so tight that the downtown has numerous tunnels for both cars and people. And, like Taxco, we had to walk down a bunch, and up a bunch, of narrow passage ways to find our accommodations. But unlike Taxco, where we only had day packs, we had our 4 months worth of suitcases. What a pain.

The next day we journeyed on to Guadalajara, Mexico's second largest city. We were expecting an industrial slum, but were pleasantly surprised by a nice, relatively clean and calm, city with lots of charm and culture. We ended up spending 3 nights there, in part because Ruth's guts fell out and she needed an extra day to put them back in place. We did make it to the famous Thursday market in nearby Tonala where an unbelievable amount of ceramics, metal work, and glassware was on sale. It was the source for much of the stuff we had seen throughout Mexico. We bought some very cool stuff, but stopped short (just barely) from buying a bathroom sink. (Unfortunately, I didn't pack things well enough, and two of our prized ceramic pieces were toast when we unzipped the suitcases in Flagstaff.) We also watched a circus parade go by in Tonala, complete with lions, giraffes, etc.

Another random building code complaint: What's up with no shower curtains at various places in Mexico?! At best, you soak most of the bathroom while showering, and at worst, as in Puebla, a bunch of the shower water lands on the live electrical outlet next to the bathroom sink. And no, I never saw a GFI protected outlet in Mexico.

We caught a bus in Guadalajara for Mazatlan. Our bus had a final destination of Agua Prieta, 29 hours north on the Arizona border. "Fortunately" our trip to Mazatlan was only 8 1/2 hours. On that bus trip we watched our first ever Britney Spears feature film. Britney makes a road trip. Yikes! Let it be said, that the whole family needs to detox from the media after seeing so much of it in Mexico. Who would have guessed that would be our major health concern after 4 months in Mexico. Somewhere on that bus trip we were stopped at a check point and Ruth and Jill got to look out the window to see one of our bags get searched. Surprise! What did the inspectors find? Miles and Jill's Teddy Bears.

And when we arrived in Mazatlan, after 8 1/2 hours on a bus, surprise for us! It was Bike Week! Think Sturgeous, Laconia, Daytona, etc. Scads and scads of motorcycles running up and down the road doing their best to get attention, complete with the young Mexcian lady riding topless on the back of a bike. Wow! we were a long way from the highlands of Chiapas.

Because of unreliable information about the ferry from Mazatlan to Baja California, we spent 2 nights in Mazatlan. Aside from the motorcycle craziness, I actually liked Mazatlan. It came in way above the expectations I had as a crazy spring break resort. It had a great old town and mellow sized hotels where we stayed. I'm sure there is a glitzy/foofy side farther north in the fancy zone, but we never made it that far.

On Monday afternoon we began our 18-hour ferry journey.
We had met some travellers earlier who spoke of a nearly empty ferry. Perhaps because it was now the first day after vacation that the ferry was available, our boat was anything but empty. We joined 450 other people on board, and considered the extra $25 we spent for a private cabin to be a wise investment. The seas were relatively calm and we had some wonderful moments including watching the gulls fly along with us as we left Mazatlan; catching the sunset after a dinner of rice and beans; and being given a tour of the pilot house by the crew. We learned that the crew works 5 months straight, going back and forth on the 18 hour trip, and then take a month off. Our tour guide, who was some sort of ship's officer was from Veracruz on the other side of the country. He keeps a 16' Hobie Cat there and we shared Hobie stories. We also chatted a fair amount with some Mayan Palace OPC's (Off Property Contacts) and they reinforced our belief that for the most part, the Mexicans working the front line of the time share scene are pretty nice folks, despite the fact that some of the most amoral people on earth work in the back offices.

Breakfast on the ferry looked a lot like a disguised dinner from the night before, but the fact that they could feed 450 people and themselves was impressive enough.

From the ferry dock in La Paz, we caught a 4 hour bus down to Cabo San Lucas, and that's where my head started to spin. I knew something was up when the taxi driver in Cabo gave me change in US dollars. I hadn't seen them in 4 months, and I didn't even know there is a new $10 bill out there. Cabo is beautiful, and is the home of the famous Lands End arch. But it's very expensive and full of Americans spending money like nobody's business. We had planned on finishing the trip in a decent beach side resort after 4 months of everything but. The reality check regarding prices however was a mind blower. We were finally advised by a nice hotel clerk to go to the internet and get a deal on hotels.com or an equivalent, rather than being charged the rack rate at the front door. We followed his advice and ended up at the most expensive internet cafe we'd used in Mexico and eventually booked a 2 nights at a fancy place.

And then the big news came. In the process of retrieving our confirmation from our yahoo account, we found plenty of new messages (we hadn't checked email in about 4 days) telling us that my brother Bruce, his wife Cindy, daughter Betsy, and son-in-law Tom had all been bombed in Egypt. Whoa! They were alive, but preliminary reports were pretty grim. Plenty of shrapnel wounds, broken bones, need for skin grafts, etc. Very heavy news at anytime, but a real head trip as we checked in to our deluxe accommodations for two nights. Sitting poolside the next day, the Jackie Collins novels, meaningless conversations about home decorating ideas, and the woman who looked like the mom from "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" taking pictures of her grown daughter (and a wee bit big and fat) posing seductively in a bathing suit, all were part of a weird back drop as I thought of loved ones writhing in Egyptian hospital beds.
http://www.rockymountainnews.com/drmn/local/article/0,1299,DRMN_15_4653291,00.html/ or
http://www.casperstartribune.net/articles/2006/04/26/news/casper/49a76efbbbcd2f788725715c0007c17d.txt/

The Egyptian story is way bigger than this blog, but it includes bedside visits from the First Lady of Egypt, Mrs. Mubarek, eventual flights to Germany for military medical care (though my family are civilians) and I believe an imminent transfer to Denver because there really isn't much room in Germany after a record body count in Iraq for the month of April.

Later in the day, Miles and I rented a waverunner (Jet ski) and hauled ass on the ocean and got thoroughly soaked while Ruth counselled a homeless Mexican on the beach who tried to kill his wife in Phoenix after he had caught her with another man. Kudos to Ruth's Spanish skills for bringing the man to tears and promising to get the counseling he needs so he can go be a decent father to his 3 kids in Phoenix.

Thursday saw us flying out of San Jose del Cabo. A small accomplishment: We had let our 30 day tourist visas expire in early February after seeing how much paperwork was involved to extend them. As such, we were a little concerned how things were going to proceed as we left the country. But we looked like every other sun baked tourist heading home to the USA and made it out without a problem.

By Friday morning, Miles and I were on the city bus in Phoenix with all of the crazies (I bet at least one of them had tried to kill his wife after catching her with another man) and found our way to the RV storage lot next to the table dancing club in the NW corner of town. The rig started after being parked for 4 months, we threw some newly acquired Mexican hits in the CD player, got lost trying to get back to pick up Ruth and Jill at the hotel (I've never made so many U-turns in an RV in such a short amount of time), and eventually headed north to Flagstaff. The 6,000 foot climb from Phoenix to Flag was a slow one in our little 4 banger, but we survived.

We spent today sorting things out, preparing things for shipping, cleaning up "the rig", enjoying the company of family, and celebrating the speed at which loved ones are being shipped home to the United States.

The month of May lies before us and we head west toward L.A. tomorrow before heading north toward Vancouver before turning east toward Vermont.

We're very fortunate to be on such a great trip and to have made it this far in good shape.

2006-04-05T18:45:00.000-04:00

April 5, 2006 Cuernavaca

Following up where I left off: Miles did help make adobe blocks at Gail's. He stomped around in the mud with Gail's handyman, Alvaro, and set the blocks up in a mold, etc. I helped with one round and eventually got the mud out from under my toenails a few days later.

It was fantastic listening to Miles and Alvaro converse. Miles has a vocabulary list that includes words like bucket, shovel, mud, etc. I still don't know some of those words, and Miles surprised the teacher at our school here in Cuernavaca the other night while playing a vocabulary game. It was also great to work with Alvaro, a local man who was born with a little arm and a normal-sized arm. Alvaro's right arm ends about where most people's elbows are. He's got some pretty inventive adaptations for getting along and can handle most tasks easily. Interestingly, Gail also has limited use of her right arm due to MS, and she told us that there are reoccurrencesrences when she and Alvaro run up against chores that require 3 arms and they only have 2 good ones between them.

Here are shots of Gail's porch, house, and dog.

After 2 nights with Gail, we returned to Puebla for a few nights. One evening we took in a superb concert in beautiful colonial courtyard. The group consisted of at least 9 violins, a bass, and various other string instruments. In addition to some local composers they played a boat load of Vivaldi. (I think they played the 2nd movement of Vivaldi's Boat Load.) The concert, like much of the cultural events in Mexico, was free of charge. Pretty cool.

And one more note on the excellent bus service here: as we left Puebla for a day trip to the huge pyramids at Teotihuacan, we rode comfortably in a Mercedes bus as the onboard computer booted itself up in Windows 2000 to play a blood and guts movie on numerous onboard screens.

The trip took us through Mexico City, which was tedious and slow, but provided a few educational opportunities as well. On the 2nd class bus out of Mexico City to the pyramids we were entertained first by a calculator salesman who hopped on in the middle of nowhere and delivered a stunning sales presentation worthy of any infomercial, and then jumped off; and then 2 guitar players jumped on and stood in the aisles and serenaded us for a few miles before getting off. (The guitar players got more of my money then the calculator salesman. In fact, as a 1-man foundation of the arts, I only give money to street performers, not beggers.)

Teotihuacan is a huge site, and the Pyramid of the Sun is the 3rd largest pyramid in the world. We climbed to the top along with scores of Mexican school kids on field trips.

It was hot as heck and it was unfortunate that the top of the pyramid was littered with empty water bottles. We also climbed to the top of the Pyramid of the Moon before eventually catching a bus back to Mexico City. On board that bus all of the men were frisked by a security guard. Interesting. Likewise, upon boarding the next bus in Mexico City for Puebla, our backpacks were checked (as was everyone else's) and I was frisked again. Clearly, if we were serious about hiding something, all we would have to do is hide it on Ruth's body, since the bus folks don't frisk women.

The next day we visited the train museum in Puebla

and bagged the 2nd largest pyramid in the world in Cholula. (The largest pyramid is in Egypt.) The pyramid in Cholula is so overgrown with vegetation that Cortez didn't realize it was a pyramid when he built a church on top of it back in the 1500's. Today, there are archeological tunnels through the middle of the pyramid and a road to the top.

And to keep it all mixed up: on top of the ancient pyramid built by pre-hispanic peoples, standing outside the courtward of the cathedral built by the spainards, we listened to elevator music blaring from the bell towers. Nothing like "Musicbox Dancer" and the theme from PGA golf tournaments to set the tone.

And what does a family do after a day of Pyramid Bagging: order up some grasshoppers as a hearty snack. Jill abstained, and Ruth only ate one for the camera, but Miles and I "enjoyed" more than our share. The truth is, they tasted like hay, or the smell of fresh horse poop on a mountain trail, and I don't need to have them again.

A noteworthy sight we've seen a few times in big cities, the blind leading the blind. The blind man in front has the white can and 2 or 3 other folks who are blind rest hands on shoulders in a line behind them. They move at a pretty brisk pace, and considering the damage we've done to ourselves on Mexican sidewalks--with our eyes wide open--their ability to get around is impressive.

We were suprised to learn that Daylight Savings Time had begun on Sunday but it was no big deal since buses run every hour between Puebla and Cuernavaca.

Our host family here in Cuernavaca is wonderful and consists of 3 generations. Grandma and Grandpa are in their mid 60's (I think) and he is a realtor; their daughter is about our age and she and her husband have 3 boys ranging from age 6 to 14. Lots of things in common to talk about although they're way ahead of us when it comes to Disneyland and Disney World. They've been to each and like Disney World better. Grandma spends several months a year in the US either with her sister in California or her daughter in Kansas.

The 4 of us are enrolled in language classes near the house. We each have our own classes due to the fact that we're at different levels. Jill has a teacher to herself, and whenever I look across at them, Jill is smiling or laughing. Miles is in a class with 2 other students; a German woman in her 50's and a man from New Hampshire in his 40's. It's pretty funny to see Miles holding his own (and then some) with the big boys and he's certainly up for it. Ruth and a young woman from California are in a class, and I am in another class with the brother from California.

We each get a head-full of information between 9 and 2 and it's pretty special as we all walk home after school, each with our own backpack and notebooks, comparing notes and details. It's a very special shared experience.

And just to remind me that he's still a kid, Miles found me at morning break today on the cusp of weeping. He had a tough morning since his pooper wasn't working quite right, he'd missed 20 minutes of class, and when he returned, the class was onto another group of verbs, and in the bathroom, the towel had fallen off the hook and he wasn't tall enough to hang it back up. The poor kid, he needed a hug!

2006-03-25T20:44:00.000-05:00

3-29-06 Atlihuetzia

Go ahead and try to find Atlihuetzia on the map, we couldn't. It's in Tlaxcala state about 30 miles N.E. of Puebla. We're spending a few nights with Gail May, an old Jackson, New Hampshire friend who has settled here. Out her wall of windows, she has a wonderful view of the second highest peak in Mexico which is snow capped, and on a clear day she can look south toward Veracruz to see the top of the highest mountain in Mexico. It's a wonderful setting in a small town close to big city amenities in Tlaxcala and Puebla. Last night the valley lit up with house lights from houses we couldn't see during the day, and the sound of trucks descending mountain roads with their Jake Brakes roaring flowed through the valley. And at 8,000 feet, it gets cold!

Gail is offering a wonderful mix of comforts: A croc pot beef stew for dinner, an amazing casserole drizzled in maple syrup for breakfast, and a warm dog that likes to cuddle with Ruth and Jill in bed. Throw all of those ingredients in with an unfinished house with no inside doors and few lights, an interesting patina of concrete dust, and an old bicycle pump that required about 2 hours worth of effort to fill the air mattresses. If all goes according to plan, we'll help make adobe blocks today for the future fireplace and chimney.

Now in reverse order: We left San Cristobol over a week ago with the stated goal of avoiding long bus rides through windy mountain roads. So, where other folks spend 12 - 14 hours on an overnight bus ride between San Cristobol and Oaxaca, we broke it up into shorter daytime trips.

We went from San Cristobol down to Tuxtla Gutierrez the first day over a mountain road that at one point was just one lane headed down a marble shoot. It was too steep and narrow for two lanes and the uphill traffic took a different route. We made this journey in a tourist van on our way to Canon de Sumidero. As had happened earlier from Palenque, most of the passengers were on a day trip to a tourist site. We were too, except that we brought all of our luggage so we wouldn't have to backtrack up the gnarly road at the end of the day.

We took a boat throught Canon de Sumidero. It was a great journey and at one point the canyon wall was 3,000 feet tall and the water below us was 1,000 feet deep. We saw crocodiles and howler monkeys as well.

We spent the night in Tuxtla Gutierrez, a big city without a whole lot going on to keep us there. We did see an interesting church and its bell tower. Every hour on the hour little doors open high up on the bell tower and a procession of apostles makes a circular journey out one door and in the other.

This church was across the street from the zocalo, or main plaza, where a giant outdoor music festival was going on. It had two mainstages and when I stopped by later in the evening, a live band was performing Tuxtla's version of Headbanger's Ball and the little apostles in the church across the street were about to jump off their track. It was an odd scene with the normal collection of street vendors with hot wares over coal stoves, perfectly coifed young men and women with cell phones performing mating rituals, and the odd tourist feeling his body vibrate with the onslaught of sound waves.

Tuxtla's other noteworthy item: At dinner in the economy-food cafe, there was an inspirational Bible verse in Spanish lettered on a beautiful photo of the Grand Tetons that could have been taken from the barn I lived in for a summer on the National Elk Refuge in Jackson.

From Tuxtla we headed NW to Tehuantepec, about the halfway point to Oaxaca. The bus was going on to Oaxaca and because of the length of the trip it had 2 drivers. One driver takes a nap in a little compartment just in front of the baggage compartment down below the passengers. We had heard about this space but had never seen a driver enter or leave it.

A note about the first class buses that we take in Mexico. They are nice! They are one level below the super deluxe that are sometimes available, but they are very nice nonetheless and I wish the US had them. They are usually very new Volvo buses with seats and legroom that are much more comfortable than a plane. There's a bathroom in back, the omnipresent TV screens, and speed governing systems so the bus doesn't go above about 60 mph. We've always felt very safe regarding the driver's ability and the only warning we've heard is to keep an eye on our carry on baggage at night on certain routes. Checked baggage goes down below with real baggage claim tags that need to be cross checked when you retrieve your bags. There's a great on-line ticket site for checking bus schedules and buying tickets, and the bus stations run like airports of various sizes from a small counter with a few seats in a small town to Puebla's sprawling bus station with numerous concourses, gates, arrival and departure lanes, etc.

OK, despite the comforts of the bus, Jill still managed to heave her nacho cheese Doritos between Tuxtla and Tehuantepec. It was a curvy mountainous road, and we should have known better.

We loved Tehuantepec! Although it's on the main drag between San Cristobol and Oaxaca, most tourists pass through it in the middle of the night. We liked its size, its people, and its funky 3-wheeled moto-carros which everyone used as taxis. The driver rides the front end of a motorcyle while the passengers stand up in the back on a cargo bed. We took a tour of the city on one and saw everything including farm animals and their tenders coming home for the night, carts pulled by donkeys and oxen, and a dead dog in the middle of the road.(Sorry for the lousy aiming of the camera. I was holding it out in front of us with one hand as we bounced down the road.)

And in keeping with the ongoing theme of culture clash, at dinner in Tehuantepec we ate in a lovely older home/restaurant with huge murals painted on the walls. While we ate our local cuisine, Kurt Cobaine sang at his loudest from over the garden wall, and Barney sang his I Love You song from the TV in the kitchen.

We headed to Oaxaca the next day with Jill on Dramine, Miles on cold medicine, Ruth on valium for her vertigo, and me on an empty stomach as a precaution. Another amazing mountain road with corkscrew switchbacks and a little bit of culture on the video screen instead of the usual blood and guts. We saw a contemporary remake of Silas Marner with Steve Martin and Great Expectations with Ethan Hawke and Gwyneth Paltrow. Great Expectations was completely dubbed in Spanish and I'd be lying if I said we understood everything, but we saw it again 2 more times within a week and I think we have the gist of it by now.

We spent 4(?) nights in Oaxaca. It's a beautiful place with huge colonial buildings and cathedrals. It's a mind blower to see the money and effort that what went into the colonial era cathedrals and you wonder what Mexico might be today if the spaniards had spent that money on education, rural development, and community health instead.

Oaxaca also has a huge influx of tourists and artsy-fartsy folks. At dinner one night a gringa at the next table was reading the palm of her dinner companion and pursuing a healthy conversation about self-help therapy. We also met a nice juggler at our hostel. How do we know he's a juggler? Because he lives at the jugglers' cooperative on the Big Island of Hawaii. We also toured the ruins of nearby Monte Alban with 2 couples from California who live on their sailboats now and are working their way down the west coast of North America before splitting up farther south. One will head off to the South Pacific and the other will head east through the canal. (Our next adventure?!) But the best connection in Oaxaca was with the very kind University of Vermont student who carried a suitcase back to Burlington for us!

On the local side, we were interviewed by two groups of local school kids who were practicing their English, and we had the good fortune of being in Oaxaca on the Day of the Samaritan. In honor of the good samaritan in the Bible, countless stores and households were dishing out free drinks at their front door to all passersby.

Our waiter at lunch one day in Oaxaca was a local guy who lived in Phoenix for 8 years working for Waste Management. (I bet he wasn't an office executive.) He was a very nice guy who put a face on illegal immigration. He's home in Oaxaca right now instead of hauling garbage in Phoenix so he can take care of his aging mother.

A quick review of the ups and downs (literally) of our trip. Some altitudes: Playa del Carmen - sea level; Merida - maybe a 100 ft; Palenque - 254 ft; San Cristobol - 7,138 ft; Tuxtla - 1,756 ft; Oaxaca - 5,115 ft; and now Atlihuetzia at 8,000 feet.

Time to go help Miles and Jill make adobe blocks with Alvaro, Gail's handyman make adobe blocks. More about that in a future post.

Here are some random shots of our sweet kids:

2006-03-19T18:06:00.000-05:00

March 19, 2006 San Cristobol de las Casas

We left Merida just a week ago but it seems like a faraway place and a long time ago. We’re now in “travel mode” which is very different from the comfortable long term stay we had in Merida. We’re on the move and not making the same connections with our hosts that we made in Merida. But, we’re seeing some incredible country!

From Campeche to Palenque we were blessed with our first ever Stephen Segal blood and guts bonanza on the bus. The body count was outrageously high, even by Mexican bus cinema standards. Fortunately, it was great to watch the changing scenery out the window as we drove along the Gulf coast for a bit and then started heading up into rolling hills and ranchland.

We spent the night near Palenque at El Panchan which the guidebook describes as: “The trippy epicenter of Palenque’s alternative scene, and home to a bohemian bunch of Mexican and Western residents and wanderers.” It was our first taste of gringos making handicrafts and selling them at tables next to the locals. (San Cristobol seems to be full of them also.) It was a funky jungle outpost that had nothing to keep us there. Though at breakfast in the groovy open air restaurant, the other family from Vermont strolled in. We hadn’t seen them in several weeks and now we’re together again in San Cristobol. All of our kids even did some math homework together the other day!

From El Panchan we caught a tour van to the ruins at Palenque (awesome)
and onward up into the mountains stopping at a huge waterfall at Misol Ha and a large set of cascades and falls at Agua Azul, though the day we got there the water was brown from heavy rain. In the van, we enjoyed the company of a young Chinese couple who now live in Delaware. They had both worked for IBM for 5 years in China before the husband (boyfriend?) went for an MBA at the University of Michigan. He now works in international marketing for DuPont. They were sharp folks who remind us that maybe Miles and Jill should be learning Chinese instead of Spanish.

The mountains between Palenque and San Cristobol were beautiful and endless though we were glad to be going up and down and through them in a van instead of a bus. We’ve met a few folks who have gotten sick on the bus on that windy road.

San Cristobol is a beautiful, mid-sized city surrounded by verdant mountains. We’re a little jaded though because it looks a bit like Vermont, or the Mount Washington Valley in NH, or the mountains around Evergreen, Colorado. It does get cold at night, and Ruth, the profesional ski instructor from New England, has had to put her long johns on to beat the cold!

Vermont was well represented at the hostel the other night: our family of 4, the other family of 5, a single guy from Burlington who works around the corner from ReCycle North, and 2 recent Middlebury grads.

We went for a wonderful horseback ride yesterday from San Cristobol up to a nearby small town. The family-run horseback outfit was outstanding. For $10 a head, they picked us up downtown, drove us out to thier stables, guided us up to the town and back, gave us cold drinks when we got back, and put us on a bus back to town. We were gone from about 9 a.m. til 3:00 with about 3 hours on the horses riding up through some beautiful country. Other than the fact the saddles were made of bare wood, it was a blast!

On the language front: Miles delivered a very funny monologue in Spanish the other night in the room. He did a convincing impersonation of a street vendor. I was almost ready to buy something from him!

Ruth is dealing with a stomach bug today – her first for the trip – and we are deciding whether to roll out of here tomorrow or not.

Monday - March 20: I've been trying to get some more photos posted with this entry but San Cristobol doesn't seem to have the bandwith to support my efforts. There are many computer labs to choose from with prices ranging from 60 cents to $1.00 an hour. I managed to get the existing pictures up in a quiet moment, but inevitably, someone else in the lab starts a voice-over-internet phone call, downloading itunes, or who knows what and kills the bandwidth. Time to pack and leave town tomorrow. (Small bandwidth equals leave town. Reminds me of the Italian friends we met in Merida. As soon as their coffee maker broke, they moved their return tickets up several weeks.) Tuesday - March 21 Tuxla Guiterrez: scored some decent bandwith here and finished putting the photos up!

2006-03-13T18:45:00.000-05:00

Monday March 13, 2006 Campeche

Well, we finally left Merida. Friday was the last day of school for the kids, and their classmates and teachers sent them out with a bang. The generosity was overwhelming (in two senses: unbelievable how many gifts were given to the kids and---overwhelmed our suitcases too!) It was a very touching scene and as two people who get misty eyed at parades, Ruth and I did our best not to bawl.

We had also invited the kids’s surrogate grandparents, Fran and Claude, over from Playa del Carmen for the last day of school. Fran and Claude’s appearance was a surprise for Miles and Jill and certainly added to the moment.

It will be a darn shame if Miles and Jill don’t get back to that school sometime. Miles wants to come back for a month every year!

More on Fran and Claude. They were our upstairs neighbors in Playa del Carmen. They are recently retired Canadiens and are spending 3 or 4 months in Playa del Carmen. They were great neighbors and even watched the kids for us as Ruth and I went through the final extrication from the time share fiasco.

Not surprisingly, Fran and Claude had become bored in Playa del Carmen and took us up on the invite to come to Merida for a visit. They don’t speak a lick of Spanish, and we thought they weren’t very adventurous. So when we sent them out the door for shopping in Merida at 10:30 Saturday morning, we assumed we would see them again in a few hours.

By 6:00 we started to notice that they hadn’t come back and through a goofy chain of events, it was determined that they must be missing since they don’t speak Spanish, Fran has low blood sugar, Fran doesn’t tolerate the blazing heat that well, our hostel isn’t very well known or easy to find, etc.

By 8:00 we had talked to the tourist information offices, the Merida downtown police, the Merida non-downtown police, the Canadian foreign affairs office in Ottawa, and were in the process of checking local hospitals. At 8:30 Fran and Claude walked in with full shopping bags and big smiles and feeling tired after a great day in Merida making up for all of the boredom in Playa del Carmen.

What did we learn besides the fact that someone-who–shall-remain-nameless can infect many people with her paranoia? That if you were a missing person in Merida you’d be up a creek so to speak. When we went to the police headquarters, the desk staff were busy watching “Chunkey 3: Muñeco Diabalito” which is Part 3 of some horror movie where a deranged doll goes around killing people (I think it was called “Child’s Play” in the U.S.). The cops never quite pulled themselves away from the TV while we were there. Plus, they didn’t have a phone that could dial outside the police department so we weren’t able to call back to the hostel to see if Fran and Claude had arrived. We also learned that the Canadian government doesn’t maintain an office in Merida, but has someone in Cancún who answers calls during the week. But on weekends, the calls go straight to Ottawa. Oh, and the largest hospital in Merida doesn’t answer its phone.

All of the guests at Hostel Alvarez had some good laughs after Fran and Claude returned and we no longer had an excuse not to get busy packing our suitcases.

Here's a shot of the hostel crew on our last day:

On Sunday, Miriam’s husband Sergio drove Miles and me, Fran and Claude, and our gigantic load of suitcases to the bus station in his Rambler station wagon. I wish I had one again! Ruth, Jill, Miriam and Allie followed in Miriam’s car.

We put Fran and Claude on their bus to Playa del Carmen with promises to reconnect at their place in Niagra Falls in May, and we quickly caught a bus to Campeche after lots of hugs and goodbyes all around.

What’s Campeche like? Pretty nice. It brags about becoming a UNESCO World Heritage Site a few years ago. Cobblestone streets, big old churches and colorful colonial houses, and live music in the main city park on Sunday night. It was a little odd that from the top of the UNESCO-worthy historic fort you can easily see the huge billboard for Sam’s Club, and it was equally interesting that in the city park in front of the main cathedral the Mexican orchestra placed "Hava Naguilla"(sp?).

We’re in a nice mid-sized hostel right near the park and church. Our host, Fernando, is related to our hosts in Merida. He’s got computers for us to use and a DVD player and home theatre system set up in the front room. The front room is right on the sidewalk with huge double doors that remain open all the time. So downtown Campeche is rolling by over my shoulder, and pedestrians are walking by about 18 inches from the televisión.

After dinner last night we came back to the hostel and Fernando offered to play some kid friendly vidoes for us. So...we saw our first (and hopefully only) full length Lindsay Lohan feature film! Ohmygod! It was like sooo stupid and just when Ms. Lohan was about to say the first meaningful thing in an hour and a half, an empty, metal, street vending cart was towed up the cobblestone street outside the door. It made such a racket that it thoroughly drowned out the Lohan Lecture that may have changed the direction of Jill and Miles’s lives. I think it was somthing like “Always tell the truth, be who you want to be, and tickle your tonsils if you ever start to get fat.”

So tomorrow we roll on to Palenque a day later than planned because the Monday bus was sold out when we pulled into town Sunday night. There is only one daytime bus from Campeche to Palenque. There are many overnight buses with dreadful departure times or dreadful arrival times. We’re not ready to subject ourselves to that.

And many thanks to the host at the Internet café in Merida who showed me how easy it is to put pictures on the blog. If anyone cares, Microsoft Paint will shrink any jpeg photo simple by doing a Save As to a new file name. And another bonus! Tonight I learned how to have my blog creation instructions show up in English! Yeehaw!

Time to pack,

Paul

2006-03-10T11:18:00.000-05:00

March 10 - Why we'll miss Merida

We're scheduled to pull out tomorrow after a month. Hence, today is the last day of school for the kids. We are all sorry that is ending. The local teachers and kids have been fantastic.

Some other reasons why I like Merida:

Listening to a local college radio station while making French toast for the kids on a Sunday morning. The station plays everything from world beat to indie rock to classical and opera.

Reading current issues of Mother Jones, The New Yorker and Vanity Fair at the Merida Enlish Library. (All right, I blew through a couple of People Magazines too to stay current on Jennifer’s life after Brad.)

Buzzing around town with Miriam, Enrique, Allie, and the 4 Lambersons piled into Miriam’s 2 door hatchback. We’ve seen it all: Allie’s piano lessons; the fruit and vegetable market for the locals complete with nearby floor space where the vendors can sleep if they don’t make it back to their small towns at night; listening to Miriam and Enrique yell out the window at the truckload of police as the police block traffic while making a slow and haphazard U-turn (there was no way the police didn’t hear the verbal onslaught from 5 feet away, and we cringed in the backseat. We were assured that no one respects the police around here.); visiting the mega stores including Liverpool, a monster clone of Filenes, May Company, etc.; learning that Miriam’s housekeeper rents coffins on the side; learning that Miriam and Enrique’s mother was a Tupperware and Avon sales champion; etc. Riding around with them is something like travelling with Wallace and Grommet, Bonnie and Clyde or Kitty Kelly and her brother. It’s a lot of fun!

We also reconnected with our host from Playa del Carmen, Gabriel. Gabriel runs the accommodations in Playa del Carmen for his brother, Dr. Tony, who is a physician here in Merida. Gabriel’s wife and 4 sons live here in Merida and he comes home to visit every 2 weeks. When we had said goodbye to him in Playa a few weeks ago, we didn’t think we’d see each other for years. He was pretty surprised when we called him at his house in Merida.

Gabriel and his family are another example of good people who are making their way in the world. He used to have a small “corner store” next to his house where he sold essentials to the neighbors. He got wiped out when the Big Boxes came to town and now rents out the former store to a Fed Ex outlet. His wife works at a religious college and their four sons are sharp young men in their late teens and early 20’s.

Gabriel usually catches an overnight bus from Playa del Carmen to Merida and I asked him how he slept this time. He stayed awake, he said, to watch a movie with Nicholas Cage in it: “National Treasure”. Oh, we saw it on the plane back from England a year ago and then Miles and I watched it on the bus to Montreal for a school field trip about a month later. I wonder if anyone ever saw it in a theatre?

We had also hoped to catch up with Jose, our other host from Playa del Carmen whose family lives in Merida as well. I went for full cultural immersion when I tried to call Jose’s wife on the phone. A man answered and I did my best to explain who I was and who I was looking for. He replied with something that I didn’t understand, so I went into Phase 2 of a long story with mediocre Spanish explaining my situation. The man on the other end spoke more slowly this time and made it very clear that I had dialled the wrong number. Oops! I redialled and had a more fruitful conversation with Jose’s wife.

We spent Sunday with Miriam, Sergio and Allie at the Sergio’s parents’ beachfront cottage in Churbuna Puerto which is a small village NW of Progresso. Staring out at the Gulf of Mexico we realized that Ruth’s folks, and at least one brother and family, were currently on the other side at Sanibel Island on the Gulf Coast of Florida. We also ate fresh coconut pudding on our way in and out of Chuburna at a few of the numerous coconut stands that were selling coconut pie, cold coconut milk, and pudding too.

Hanging out at the cottage in Churbuna also reminded us of why we’ve never owned a vacation home. What a responsibility! Miriam and Sergio hadn’t been there in over a year and were surprised to learn that the power and water had been cut off and the place was in relative disrepair. Many thanks to all you cottage owners out there who graciously let us take advantage of your year round ownership hassles!

We have also loved the interaction with guests from all nations as they pass in and out of the guest house. Among the French, Brits, Italians, Danes, Germans and Croatians we also had a great time with an American couple from Oregon, Greg and Marylou.

If you met Marylou when you handed her your clothes at the dry cleaners, or met Greg at the 7-Eleven with a cup of coffee in his hand on his way to the night shift at the metal factory, you’d probably not suspect that they are veteran world travellers. And if you had cut Greg off in the parking lot, he probably wouldn’t care. But if you had at all hassled the clerk who was originally from outside New Delhi, Greg would probably be in your face. Think John Goodman with a passport.

Greg was a source of such nuggets as:

“A vacationer has more money than time, while a traveller has more time than money.”

“I know I ought to care about the culture, but I just don’t”

But the fact is, these two low-key folks have travelled the world extensively, are keenly tuned into world affairs since they’ve been to so many places that are in the news, and are strong advocates for the underdog. I hope we meet more people like them.

And one last random observation: Despite good music and culture it is evident that not all is kosher in Mexico. There is a huge disparity between rich and poor and just a few blocks from the Hummer and Jaguar dealerships in Merida are the supermarkets where the baggers are adult volunteers. I spoke with one of them the other day away from the check out stand. I was appalled to learn that all of the baggers are volunteers and work for tips only, however, if they miss three days of work they are dismissed, and they certainly don’t receive any benefits. It has also been easy to see that all forms of discrimination are alive and well. Help Wanted signs specify age and gender and so it wasn’t surprising that the grocery store baggers were all gray haired elders who couldn’t find work elsewhere. Also, all main stream advertising features light skinned handsome folks of Spanish ancestry. Likewise with the politicians. We certainly haven’t seen folks of Mayan descent in prominent positions or advertisements.

Enough social commentary for now, time to go pack.

Paul

2006-03-07T19:06:00.000-05:00

Photos from Merida

The kick-off parade for a week of Carnaval. A Childrens Parade, with Jill, Miles and Allie standing on a window ledge to get a view. The grown ups watching the parade were worse than your wildest Little League parent.

The Big Rigs pull in to Uxmal as part of a long tour from the US through Mexico. Plus Miles and Jill with Uxmal pretty much to ourselves.

The kids at the Centennario Park in Merida. Lots of fun, simplicity, and .... risk! (Someday I'll remember to rotate the pictures before I post them.)

A Ballet Folklorico performance on the streets of Merida. Merida invests heavily in its cultural performances with almost daily live music and dance in public places.

Allie, Jill and Miles

Allie's mother and father, Sergio and Miriam, with Paul.

Enrique with Ruth and the kids after cranking up his original Thomas Edison "record player". It plays a wax tube. Notice the warm clothes - that's changed over the past month!

Funny English signs.

Ruth and Miles in our horse drawn carriage on our first afternoon in Merida. I guess we should have known then that we'd have a hard time leaving.

2006-03-07T10:07:00.000-05:00

March 7 Overdue Photos from Playa del Carmen

I've finally figured out how to shrink photos no matter where I am. I'd post even more in this sitting but it appears that once the other folks in the lab start listening to music, talking on voice over internet, etc. the process becomes unbearable.

Sorry about the formatting and captions. I'm not that savvy.

Edward Scissorshands strikes Playa del Carmen

With Aunt Page and Uncle Steve at their fancy resort in Playa del Carmen

On the roof of our apartment in Playa del Carmen

In front of the Castillo at Chichen Itza

Jill climbing the big pyramid at Coba

On top of the big pyramid at Coba. The highest point on the Yucatan?

Miles climbing down the big pyramid at Coba,

Poking around a sample Mayan House at one of the ruins.

Ruth and Jill at the crocodile farm south of Puerto Morelos in mid January.

Miles with Poopie the lonely dog. We later learned his name was Bobbie but the "owner's" thick German accent made it sound like Boe-pie.

The Flying Men from Veracruz performing at Tulum

2006-03-01T11:52:00.000-05:00

Wednesday March 1 – Ash Wednesday and the halfway point

I haven’t paid attention to Ash Wednesday since the last time my forehead got dirty 30 years ago, but it would be impossible not to notice around here since it means yesterday was the last day of Carnaval. Oh boy! Carnaval was huge! As the guidebook says, Merida celebrates Carnaval bigger than anyone else on the Yucatan. There were daily parades and the parade route was just around the corner from our house.

Considering our usual parades – Burlington’s Mardi Gras Parade in usual sub freezing weather, and Hinesburg’s 4th of July parade with a huge turnout of fire trucks – Merida’s parades were an eye opener. We went whole hog on Friday night and paid for seats along the route with Enrique, Miriam and Allie (in fact, Enrique paid for the seats). The seats themselves are thousands of folding chairs up and down a couple of miles of parade route and the logistics of setting them up is staggering. Each side street is barricaded at the intersection of the parade route, and there was a goofy scene trying to buy tickets.
“We want to buy tickets to the parade?”
“I’m sorry, but you can’t come through the gate without tickets.”
“Right. Where do we buy tickets?”
“Inside the gate from the woman selling tickets.”
“And how do we get inside the gate?”
“You need tickets.”

All but one of the parades were at night and each float had its own monster sound system and lights. Miriam had advised us that the dancing women on the Corona, Sol, and Superior (beer brands) floats would attract the most attention from the men and draw the most frustration from the wives. Indeed, when we were comparing notes back in the kitchen afterward, a British neighbor lady said, “It was very Brazilian!” It appears the local health clubs were raided as well, since I’ve never seen so many muscle bound Mexican men either. They were centaurs (sp?), half men, half beast.

And in addition to the shaking and grinding, all kinds of things were thrown from the floats and Miriam had told us to bring a few empty bags for the loot. We not only caught the usual candy and cookies but a bag of talcum powder as well. We missed out on the spaghetti, though a bag of it exploded at Ruth’s feet at a second parade. We also dodged flying bottles of fruit juice and it was interesting to note, the Kotex float didn’t throw anything.

These parades, with their over the top grandeur and dancing were a welcome change from the first Carnaval parade we saw which was the children’s parade. It was made up of about 50 different kindergarten groups mostly dressed in Disney outfits with Disney music blasting from the aforementioned mega sound systems. The locals loved it, but for a family that doesn’t “do Disney” it didn’t do much for us. Maybe I’ll have to rethink if we’re heading to Disneyland in May after all.

The kids didn’t have school Monday or Tuesday in honor of Carnaval and we got some day trips in. Sunday we went to Celestun, which is on the west coast of the Yucatan. It’s known for its sunsets which took a while for me to figure out since we were on the east coast of Mexico, but if you look at a map it makes sense. Celestun is also in the middle of a huge biosphere reserve and pink flamingo habitat. After lunch and some time collecting shells on the beach, we headed for the tour boats to see the flamingos, except that there were huge clouds moving in fast. But, we’d already spent 2 hours on the bus getting from Merida to Celestun and had planned on meeting Miriam and family at the boats (though they wisely changed their minds and stayed put in Merida when the rain poured down). Weighing our options to spend the night and try again in the morning or give it a go with a young couple from Merida to split the cost of the boat, we (I) decided to head out in the boat with the optimistic captain.

We got pummelled by rain and wind and were completely soaked and frozen, but the rain eventually thinned out and we did see hundreds, if not thousands, of flamingos – and no other tourists, since they were smart enough to stay on shore. As part of the tour we also whizzed through a tunnel in a mangrove swamp. The captain “came in hot” and scared the heck out us as we zoomed in at about 25 knots from open water into a wall of mangroves. Indeed, the narrow path was open and I trust there is an agreement among captains about one way traffic.

We also saw an “ojo de agua” which is a freshwater spring feeding the marshlands. As I understand it, most of the Yucatan sits on a limestone ledge and huge volumes of water flow underground toward the sea. It was pretty impressive to see the water pouring out at the surface.

Soaking wet, we caught a bus back to Merida after strategically lingering near the young lovers from the boat who had their own car. They were very sweet folks out on a date with what was probably the girl’s dad’s fairly new car. I don’t blame them for being interested in having some time alone.

Other cultural travels: Miles got a haircut at a local barbershop, and we went to the Department of Motor Vehicles with Miriam and her uncle. The Mexican DMV looked as bad as any others with huge lines and plenty of seats for waiting around. Hurray for renewal by mail in Vermont! Meeting Miriam’s uncle was superb. He’s 88 years old and spent most of his career living in California as a U.S. Marine. His 3 sons live in Burbank and he and his wife take frequent cruises and trips to Europe. He wasn’t in the least bit ostentatious (in fact Miriam had to be present at the DMV because he is driving her old car) and was clearly just a man who had good fortune and health, and was living every day to its fullest. Needless to say, his English was excellent.

We also stopped by to see Sergio’s company. Sergio is Miram’s husband and he and his brother own a company, Franco, that makes and rents scaffolding and rents construction equipment like Bobcats and concrete mixers. Except for the scale, it wasn’t that different than Trench Shoring in Atlanta (my brother's company)with metal fab and welders in back and rental inventory up front. Miles and I are now the proud owners of Franco caps. Sergio also owns a 1965 Rambler American station wagon that is almost identical to my old 1966 Rambler and he is a landlord with apartments in Playa del Carmen. We have had a lot to talk about. (Fortunately, we haven’t shared the experience of having a tenant die in an apartment and go unnoticed for 3 days in the Mexican heat!)

Yesterday (Fat Tuesday in New Orleans) was a holiday and we made a little road trip with Miriam, Sergio, and Allie to some nearby ruins and out to Progresso. Progresso was buzzing with Carnaval festivities and we had fish in a local fish place before getting a back roads tour from Sergio. Progresso is home to the Yucatan’s largest cargo wharf which at over 3 kilometers long was quite pretty all lit up. But we also headed to the old port where hundreds of big fishing boats are docked with their owners living on board. On a beautiful night, it was part African Queen part Tugboat Annie and it was great to talk to some of the sailors. It takes them 72 hours to make it from Progresso to Veracruz and despite the fact that many of the vessels looked like they would easily sink, we were assured that the whole fleet is active.

And now, it’s March 1st and we’ve been away from home for 3 months with 3 months to go. How did we mark the occasion other than getting up at 6 a.m. to get the kids ready for school? Ruth broke out the new toothbrushes! Life’s simple pleasures.

Ruth is already daydreaming how to make the trip last even longer and we’re certainly in no rush to leave, but we hear there are some amazing destinations ahead in San Cristobol and Oaxaca and sooner or later we’ve got to get to Baja California by the end of April.

In the meantime, we’ll pick the kids up from school, stop by the Merida English Library for a few books (we’re members), and stop by to visit Enrique’s former collection of antique cars that he maintains for the new owner.

Life is good,

Paul

2006-02-23T10:37:00.000-05:00

2-23-06 Where are all the Americans?

On Sunday morning as we were making pancakes, Ruth and I realized that we hadn’t met many other Americans on our trip aside from the skanks at the timeshare resort and a guy from Colorado in the parking lot at Coba (oops! And our neighbor at the produce section at WalMart). As we discussed this with our French neighbors at the kitchen table, they agreed. They had seen American backpackers throughout Central America, but not here in Mexico, and had never run into an American family. Our armchair sociological hypothesis was that the Americans are either on the cruise ships or at the all-inclusive resorts or in the backpacker hostels in Central America, but that we are in some mystery zone in between.

Only a few hours later, we were in a tour group (of just two families) at the Anthropology Museum. It turns out the other family of four was from New Jersey, and we shared our hypothesis with them. Well, their presence sort of disproved our theory, except that the father was originally from Bombay and the mother was born in Kenya to Indian parents. So, our hope that more American families would get out to both see Mexico and represent the United States in a better light still stands.

And then, this morning after the kids were at school and Ruth was off at an internet café signing the kids up for summer activities, I answered the doorbell at Hostel Alvarez as I often do to help out Enrique and Miriam. Who was at the door but a family of five from the United States! And of course, where in the USA would a family like that come from in the midst of their 4 months in Mexico? Vermont!! Nice folks from Calais with 9-year old twin daughters and a 12-year old daughter as well. Miles, Jill and Ally will be pretty surprised when they get home at 12:30.

But the wish still remains, we simply need more American faces out there in the world besides a President who has no demonstrable interest in world travel, a charm-less Vice President who has the misfortune of shooting a guy while hunting, and Brittany Spears and her kin who are grinding their navels in the world’s face.

Come on in, the water’s fine!

2006-02-23T10:36:00.000-05:00

Thursday 2-23-06 Our Amazing Children!

Our search for a decent language program for the kids has been an ongoing challenge. We have promises that there is a good one waiting in Cuernavaca, but there are a lot of places we want to see between here and there. Plus, we love Merida and the family with whom we are staying. So we ramped up our efforts to find something in Merida and our hostess, Miriam, offered to ask the English teacher (who is bilingual) at her daughter’s school if she would be interested in teaching our kids Spanish. Well…the teacher suggested it would be better if we just dropped the kids in the school instead, and with the Director’s approval, that’s what we did.

We broke the news to Miles and Jill Monday afternoon and got a full range of emotions in return. They were appropriately freaked out and had a hard time falling asleep that night, so Enrique, our amazing host, made them a medicinal tea out of orange leaves (off the orange tree in the courtyard).

Tuesday morning was the first day of school for Miles and Jill. Miriam and her daughter Ally picked up Miles, Jill, and me at 7:05 (Ruth didn’t think she could handle it, nor did she think the kids would let her leave the school as easily as they would let me.) We arrived at Ally’s school within a few minutes. It is a small private school with about 70 kids spread across six grades.

I attended morning assembly with the kids and listened as the student body sang a song about the Mexican flag and had their uniforms inspected (Miles and Jill are without uniforms for the time being). Throughout this, Miles stood like a trooper with his new class, and Jill stood in line with her class clutching my hand and putting on her best “I’m scared as heck so I’ll look mean instead” face.

I accompanied Jill to her classroom upstairs and hung out for about 10 minutes before heading down to the front office to hang out. The next time I saw her, at 10:00 on her way to recess and lunch, she and two classmates were holding hands and smiling on their way to the “playground”. It was so precious I nearly bawled. Miles came along next with his class and we exchanged thumbs-ups and I took off.

What’s the school like? Basic. Old wooden desks each with a writing arm. No tables or flat spaces to spread out and work. Very small class sizes – about 6 or 7 students each. Very nice, well-meaning ladies running the place (and owning it since it is a cooperative). And….wow!? So this is a private school that is better than the public schools? Yikes! It will certainly give us all a new appreciation for what we have in Hinesburg. (We were very appreciative all along by the way.)

So…we’re in Merida for a few more weeks so the kids can stay in school. But then we’ll have to get a move on to see the rest of the sights between here and Cabo San Lucas by the end of April.

Signed,
A very Proud Papa

2006-02-18T17:22:00.000-05:00

February 17, 2006

Dreaming of Prunelax.

The wonderful accommodations at Hostel Alvarez in Merida have turned into the sick ward. It’s now Friday evening, and I haven’t ventured more than 50 yards from the bathroom since early Thursday morning. Fortunately, Ruth and the kids are fine, and our only suspicion is that for the most part, I’m the one who handles the money, and perhaps I picked up my bug that way. Meanwhile, the young woman from France in the next room is confined to her bed with a sore back, and it is a tribute to our hosts, Enrique and his sister Miriam, that all of us sickos feel so comfortable here. (They even have a computer for our use and a genuine Whirlpool direct-drive washing machine just like ours at home (and the model most often recommended by ReCycle North’s appliance staff)).

This “down time” in Merida hasn’t been for naught. Ruth has been getting lots of Spanish practice in talking with Miriam and Enrique and even helped Miriam clean rooms today. Meanwhile, Miles and Jill have enjoyed having Miriam’s 8-year old daughter Ally around to play with after she gets out of school around lunch time. All sides are having to stretch their language skills and make numerous improvisations.

Between trips to the john today, I created a 3-fold brochure in MicroSoft Word for Enrique and Miriam. It was a great vocabulary builder for me since I know where all of the tools are in Word, but don’t have a clue to what they’re called in Spanish.

We did manage to make it to the ruins at Uxmal on Wednesday. We failed to check the bus schedule before heading out, and ended up having to wait at the bus station in Merida for over an hour and a half. Interesting observation there: The Mennonites. It turns out there is a large Mennonite community near Campeche and they sell their cheese in Merida. I’m not sure what language they were speaking to each other and it seems that in their attempt to keep their lives simple, they don’t adhere to modern hygiene standards. Despite old fashioned, modest dresses and overalls, they smelled bad enough that we asked Miriam when we returned if she knew about the Mennonites, and her reply was, “Yes, they always smell bad.”

What a surprise pulling into the relatively remote ruins at Uxmal only to pass a line of 14 BIG RV’s in a caravan from the U.S. These were the Big Boys with amazing 5th wheels and tow rigs and huge Class A buses as well. Walking alongside the line-up I told one of the drivers that we had left our rig parked in Phoenix and flew down. He assured me we saved money doing it that way.

The ruins were fine and despite our late arrival, we had plenty of time to see everything. We also had the good fortune of forgetting a wristwatch. That forced me to ask a local guy what time it was so we could catch our bus. He provided the time, but also came up with a much better solution than the bus. Instead, we caught a Collectivo van (a Dodge 15-passenger van) with a bunch of employees at the end of their day. It took us to a small town where we caught another Collectivo to Merida. We arrived a couple of hours ahead of when the bus would have delivered us, and we never had any assurances that we would have a had a seat on the bus in the first place (we had hoped for a place to stand).

The bathroom beckons.

Paul

A follow up: It´s now Saturday and I'm in a high speed computer lab a couple blocks from Hostel Alvarez. Why the confidence to venture so far? Because my garlic oil and Gatorade home remedy seems to have worked. (The garlic oil is in capsule form. I don't stir it into the Gatorade.) Ruth and the kids are off at Miriam's house and we may just head out of here tomorrow. Or, we may not. We're getting pretty good at staying loose.

2006-02-14T17:29:00.000-05:00

Tuesday 2-14-06 Valentines Day

We arrived in Merida on Sunday after a 5 hour bus ride from Playa del Carmen with the obligatory bang-bang movies on the bus. The first had John Travolta in the jungles of Panama doing something weird with the military and the second had Sly Stallone as a bodyguard in what appeared to be an attempt at comedy plus blod and guts. Maybe intelligent dialog is too hard to translate compared to graphic violence.

It was bittersweet to say goodbye to Playa del Carmen, especially the wonderful staff at the hotel/apartment we stayed at for a month. The owner and manager are brothers who are originally from Merida and they assured us that we would love Merida. Well, they were absolutely right! Our plans had been to just spend 2 or 3 nights here, but it's easy to see that we'll be here at least a week.

Miles's "Lucky Cookie" kicked in while searching for lodging. Our Lonely Planet Guide Bood had suggested a former appliance showroom that has been converted into a hotel by a local artist. Interesting art, but skanky rooms. Strike 2 for Lonely Planet since they led us astray in Playa del Carmen as well. Instead of lodging at "ReCycle North Moves South", Miles and I hit the street in search of something better. Miles noticed a low-key, handpainted sign that said "hostel" tacked next to a door on an otherwise solid wall. Merida is a city of colonial design, so the sidewalks are narrow and you mostly only see walls and shuttered windows and doors. The mystery is what lies behind the doors.

We got lucky, and behind the door was the wonderful private home of Enrique, who at aged 58 or so has renovated the big house that has been in his family for generations. 14 foot high ceilings, antique clocks everywhere, super clean bathrooms, and a well stocked kitchen to help ourselves to breakfast, all for a whopping $30 a night. Enrique has a passion for renovating antique cars, antique clocks, and all sorts of things except his eyeglasses. He even cranked up an original Edison phonograph for us that plays a wax record in the shape of a paper towel tube. He also cranked up the Victrola in the corner as well. And, he pulled out the Readers Digest from 1968 that was written in English and had an article on the successful integration of Ludlow, Ohio and its neighbor Shaker Heights. Funny thing, I remember our living room in Shaker Heights in about 1968 and a black teenager playing the piano in it. Rather odd to have it all come back to me in a gorgeous old home in Merida, Mexico. The only other folks in the home are a couple from the south of France (he worked in landscaping for the "Year in Provence" author) and a young woman from Mexico who is in Purchasing for the federal electrical commission. Her name is Yokiko. Yup, her grandparents came from Japan to Mexico.

Sunday afternoon, we ate at a downtown hotel buffet for pretty cheap. It reminded me of the Carlysle in NYC and I ate my first broccoli in over a month. Sunday evening found us enjoying the street party that Merida holds every Sunday in the main square complete with lots of dancing in the streets and street food. I love fried bananas!

Monday we caught a short bus out to the port/beach at Progresso with a return to Merida for more dancing in the streets. Monday night it was a folkloric ballet complete with bottles and trays balanced on heads. It reminded me of dancing with the Romero sisters at the language festivals in Greeley while in high school. Fortunately, I never had to balance anything on my head back then.

Oh, we did get to cause/participate in a royal argument on our combi bus back from Progresso. The driver charged us for 4 seats, and then told Jill to sit on Ruth's lap so he could shove another passenger in. Between two other passengers who took offense at the injustice, the lousy behavior of the last passenger to board, and my own contributions in Spanish, we stopped after just a few blocks and threw the last guy off. Another eye opening event for Miles and Jill.

Today, while walking across town, we accidentally came upon the Merida English Library that is well stocked with titles. And then we wound up at the Centennial Park where there is a large zoo and lots of things for kids to do for free or for cheap. Miles and I rode in bumper boats. They were the strangest devices consisting of a large innertube with a seat and a 2 h.p. Honda outboard motor between your legs. They worked great, and fortunately the motors were 4 stroke considering your nose is right next to the motor. Jill and Miles also drove the "go karts" which in classic non-U.S. fashion included some questionable parts all slapped together to make a thing with 4 wheels move. It was a great opportunity for Jill and Miles that will probably disappear once Mexico discovers personal injury lawyers.

Who knows when we'll leave Merida, but we're having a blast in the meantime.

There's a ton of backlog to write about Playa del Carmen as well, but there's too much to go explore instead.

Happy Days!

Paul

2006-02-11T11:59:00.000-05:00

2-11-2006 An attempt at photos.

We move on to a few days in Merida tomorrow after over a month in Playa del Carmen. We're taking care of last minute chores in familiar places before beginning the next big leg of the trip that will take us across southern Mexico by bus.

I want to take advantage of this familiar computer lab that has a DSL connection, but it's going to be a little hairy uploading photos since all the blogger directions are in spanish. More often than not, I go for location of the icon and some vague translation of what the icon says.

Here's the inside of our first place at Casa Tucan. It was too expensive for what was provided and we moved after a week. Our spanish teacher, Jose is working with Ruth and Miles.

Well, that took too much time. There isn't an application to shrink the size of the photos before I upload them, and it took too long to load each one. With luck there will be another lab down the road with some photo software.

Time to go get the laundry.

2006-02-09T11:57:00.000-05:00

2-9-06 Time Share Blues

If your 4-month journey through Mexico ever gets boring, sign up for a presentation at a timeshare resort, purchase the darn thing, and then spend the next 4 days trying to get out of it.

You probably know the deal, the guy on the street offers you some great day trip or other gift if you'll just sit through a 90 minute sales presentation at the resort. We accepted a snorkel package in Cozumel if we'd listen to the spiel at The Mayan Palace between Playa del Carmen and Cancun.

On Friday, the 4 of us were delivered to the Mayan Palace (MP) and had a huge breakfast buffet and then began the process. Between my curiousity at how one rents out their weeks, Miles's excitement to be at a big resort with no prostitutes living downstairs (it turns out they're in the back office!), and Ruth's interest in trading time share weeks for travel in Europe....They got us! By 6:30 p.m. we had put $4,500 on our credit card with another $7k due in a month.

By 8 p.m. we were back in our little hotel in Playa del Carmen (that we absolutley adore) nearly sick to our stomachs.

We finally read everything very closely and realized there was a 5 day cancellation period.

Saturday morning we hustled right back out to the MP. Not surprisingly, the bubbly, cheery "closer", Kathy, from the night before was in no mood to see us Saturday and told us the contract couldn't be cancelled. We pointed out the language in the document, she said it didn't apply, brought in another "woman" (that's not really the right word) who also said we couldn't change our minds. Then they offered us some convoluted deal that if we returned our snorkel voucher and wrote a letter to incriminate the guy on the street who had offered it to us, they would write a letter saying what we had done, but wouldn't guarantee us a cancellation and refund.

Our poor kids. They had never seen such evil behavior and were sobbing throughout our time with those scum. Especially considering the cheery behavior offered us the night before. (Between the interesting placement of women's tattoos on the beach in Tulum, and the sub-human behavior witnessed in the MP office, Miles and Jill have learned a lot. Sooner or later maybe they'll learn Spanish.)

We returned to Playa del Carmen Saturday afternoon brokenhearted, furious, embarrassed, stressed out, ... you name it. Then I did some quick internet research and found out that Mexican law was clearly on our side and that we had 5 business days to cancel no matter what. Unfortunately, I learned that on a Saturday afternoon, and everything was closed on Sunday and Monday for a national holiday, so although we were well within our 5-day period, the stress and uncertainty took a heavy toll.

Tuesday morning we left the kids with some very kind neighbors from Canada and Ruth and I trekked off to the local PROFECO office. PROFECO is a free government service that protects consumers. We went in loaded for bear and I had a letter written to the MP with copies for PROFECO, The Texas Attorney General (MP has corporate offices in Texas) the US Embassy, and Discover Card.

PROFECO told us not to worry, all we would have to do is take a PROFECO document out to Mayan Palace for them to sign. We told them we weren't going alone since MP had treated us so badly on Saturday. So PROFECO sent an agent, Joel, with us. The MP security guards treated Joel, Ruth and I as if we were trying to escape East Berlin and the office staff were just as bad, but ultimately we prevailed and got a full cancellation and refund.

All kinds of observations and reflections to share in person someday, but in summary: Don't even go to the time share presentation in the first place; there are a lot of evil Americans working in paradise with B.S. devotion to Jimmy Buffet and Margaritaville ("My life is great! I've got pictures of Jimmy all over my office! And I screw people all day long and go home to the beach at night and drink margaritas!")

So we got our money back and..... the prostitutes moved out downstairs!

Life is good and my hour is up (I bet the prostitutes use that line too!)

Paul

2006-02-02T14:50:00.000-05:00

2-2-06 I'm finding it very hard to stay caught up on this blog thing because much of my time in the computer lab is spent managing financial affairs from long distance.

The lastest was an attempted Nigerian money transfer scheme by a prospective tenant for our rental in Vergennes. He sent a bank check for $4,000, my credit union accepted it as good, and instantly the pleas came from the prospect to Western Union $2,000 back to him so he could by a plane ticket. Fortunately I got a hold of the bank while the check was still in their possession and I asked them why they had made the funds available instantly? They said because the check appeared to be an official bank check. I described the situation further and encourged them to look into it deeper. They did by contacting the issuing bank and learned that that check number had cleared the issuing account over a year ago and was a fraud this time around. Yikes! And all of my communication was done via on-line "chat" with my credit union. I should have been on the beach.

But before hassling with long distance banking yesterday, I did teach a Mexican man how to drive his VW bug without a clutch. As I was walking down the street he was trying to push his dead car through a left turn of a busy intersection. I helped him push and once we were through I asked him what was wrong with the car. He showed me the limp clutch pedal, and I offered some version of "We don't need no steenking clutches!" I sat in the driver seat and he in the passenger and I showed him how to drive without a clutch, a skill I perfected when my clutch used to break all the time in my 1961 VW Beetle. (I also used the trick once in a Toyota station wagon in Baltimore after a funeral.)

On another note, I'm a cheapo who hasn't paid for a haircut in about 5 years. I wasn't able to fit my Flowbee and shop vac in our bags so I brought my barber's trimmer instead with two trim comb attachments. One is 1/8th inch for my beard and the other is 3/4 inch for my scalp. I offered Miles the golden opportunity of cutting my hair the other night. He was a little nervous but willing. I snapped a trim comb on the clippers, turned them on, and showed him how easy it was to run the thing right from my forehead back to the back of my head. Oops! I had put the wrong attachment on and had instantly given myself a reverse mohawk 1/8th inch tall. The kids and I busted out laughing and Ruth buried herself deeper into the book she was reading. I'm now sporting an almost chrome-dome of just an 1/8th inch all around.

Fortunately I hadn't buzzed my head before accidentally running into a Hinesburg neighbor in the produce section of the Playa del Carmen Wal-Mart. In one of those moments where I'm asking Ruth, "Does that woman look familiar?" and we each take turns circling to see if we can figure out who she is, I finally took a chance and asked the lady if she spoke English. Yup, she lives about 1/2 mile through the woods from us on a different road but we often end up at the same town meetings. She's just in Mexico for the week and was able to update us on what lousy weather we're missing.

Time to go swimming!

2006-01-29T15:36:00.000-05:00

1-29-06

Paul here at an internet booth in Playa del Carmen with Miles next to me on his own computer pleading with his friends and classmates to send him e-mail. Because we haven't done a homestay yet, the kids haven't been able to meet up with other kids and they get a bit tired of each other's company. There's some TV show in english playing somewhere else in this computer shop and although I'm choosing to block out what they're saying on the show, there's a wave of canned laugh track that seems to flow over this shop in a regular cycle.

It's Sunday, and we've wrapped up 3+ weeks in Playa del Carmen. This past week was ours without a spanish instructor and we took the opportunity to travel. Monday morning we caught a bus from Playa to Chichen Itza. Although the bus was in excellent condition, complete with functioning bathroom and numerous video screens, it was a four hour journey nonetheless.

There seems to be a "Mexican Bus Film Genre" which usually means a shoot-em-up American movie with either subtitles or overdubbed in Spanish. Our first film was some whacky story about Matthew McCaugnahy and Penelope Cruz chasing confederate coins and nuclear waste throughout the southern Sahara, and because of the length of the trip, we were blessed with a second feature which involved Val Kilmer trying not to assissinate the president of the US in some podunk Southwestern town. The combined body count of the two films was way beyond my spanish counting skills. (Another feature of Mexican Bus Cinema is that I rarely catch the titles of the movie.)

Upon arriving at the ruins in Chichen Itza, my son, the observant one, counted 27 toilets in the very nice restroom at the ruins.

Miles had heard of Chichen Itza last year in school where it was nicknamed Chicken Pizza (I thought this was a Hinesburg Exclusive until a time share guy in Playa offered us a trip to "Chicken Pizza"). The ruins experience was good, though the kids had hoped to be able to climb to the top of the Castillo and we didn't learn until we arrived that that was now forbidden.

We found a nice little "posada" (inn) in next door Piste before walking back to the ruins after dark for the light show. We opted out of the English translation headset which was just as well since the Spanish was gruesome enough as the ancient Mayan woman described how honored she was to offer her firstborn child as a sacrifice to the gods. The Strauss waltz over the loud speakers prior to the light show was a little odd, but it was a beautiful star-filled night in the middle of the Yucatan, so no complaints.

We chummed up with some other travellers at the light show who we had talked to on the bus. They were an older crew from Boise, Idaho. While on the bus and trying to ignore the blood and guts on the screens around us, a Boise guy and I talked. His sister-in-law lives in Vergennes, Vermont and is a nurse practioner for an organization that serves young and unwed parents. Well, wouldn't you know, after the light show and after dinner at a small restaurant in Piste (more later) we went up a mysterious 3 flights of stairs to find a top-floor internet lab. And when we checked or email we learned that a leading prospective tenant for our vacant apartment in Vergennes (a source of minor cash flow stress for Yours Truly) is a health care professional who will be working with an organization in Vergennes that serves young and unwed parents. I love it! He (she?) is from Dublin, travelling in Nigeria, but wanted an address where to send first month's rent and security deposit in US dollars. I hope it all works out and I am very grateful to our housesitters who are handling this stuff.

Dinner in Piste was at a little shop with about 4 tables and an owner who couldn't see very well. She cooked good food though we had our suspicions whether the spots on the tortillas were mold spores or hot spots from a griddle. For entertainment, the TV was playing Mexican ranchera music videos which were a welcome change from the usual MTV-VH1 load we see everywhere else. And for additional pleasure we were hustled by 3 young boys trying to sell us souvenirs (no spell check in a spanish computer lab). The kids were around Miles and Jill's ages and we had a lot of fun talking with them even though they were feeding us a line of bull. It turns out the rock carvings are really plaster of paris and do not come from the Sacred Cenote (cavern) as promised by the 10 year old sales leader.

Tuesday morning we walked all around Piste (not very hard to do), ate breakfast and waited at the bus station for a bus to Valloladid (sp?) With a couple of hours to kill in Valloladid, we walked to a city park where there was a huge cenote with steps down to the water surface a couple of stories down. It was open for swimming had any of us dared, but we opted out. Valloladid was a busy colonial era city with skinny sidewalks and busy streets and it was a reminder to us how relatively young Playa del Carmen is with a well laid out matrix of wide streets and sidewalks.

We caught another bus to Coba and had to hustle to find a hotel room, there just aren't that many in our price range in Coba, maybe 20. Somewhere during the evening I realized we were running out of cash. I had expected to find an ATM in Coba since it is a tourist site, but it turns out it's really for daytrippers so there's no need for an ATM. I put the family on rations and after mostly sufficient food, and necessary bus tickets, we pulled out of Coba on Wednesday with 70 cents in my pocket.

More about Coba: We had wondered why there were so many flies near our breakfast table Wednesday morning but only figured it out after we finished eating. There was a large dump of fresh dog poop about 2 feet behind Jill's chair. Sweet.

The ruins at Coba were in some ways more impressive than Chichen Itza partly because you don't hear much about them and partly because one of the Coba pyramids is the highest pyramid on the whole Yucatan peninsula--and you get to climb to the top! We went counterintuitive and headed straight for the big one first thing in the morning before the hordes of day trippers finished their sightseeing route.

As impressive as the pyramid, were the fleets of bike taxis heading our way full of tourists. Cheap Daddy had opted out of the bike taxi which made the scores of them passing us by that much more interesting.

After eating at another cheap-but-good place with stick walls, no front end and prerequisite old lady, we hung out for an hour or two waiting for the bus. During the wait, while we watched the packed tourist buses go by, we asked the kids what it was like to be the people eating at a shack that the tourists watch as they drive by. We never quite got an answer.

We did get to chat up a bus driver during our wait. His Mercedes Benz tour bus had a pretty sophisticated tire pressure management system that had hoses attached to each tire valve to automatically keep tires inflated in case of puncture. He was a nice young guy with a wife and 2 young kids in Cancun. He makes $15 a day driving a $300,000 bus full of tourists. He gets an extra $10 from the shop owners if he parks the bus at their gift shop.

We also killed some time in a souviner shop and because we were broke there was no pressure to buy anything. Instead, we had a nice time chatting up the shop lady who turned us onto the inside scoop on where all the stuff really comes from (like from a bag of plaster of paris instead of a sacred caven).

We made it back to Playa del Carmen Wednesday around dinner time after watching Wesley Snipes shoot all kinds of people on the little screen.

Time to help Miles with his email.

2006-01-11T16:20:00.000-05:00

1-17-06

Paul here typing like a fiend in an internet booth in Playa del Carmen, on a Spanish keyboard to boot. And, the blog directions are all in Spanish as well. Wish me luck.

I put the following chronology in a few days ago, but never got around to posting it. I´ll pick up again at the end of it with some general observations and events and give up on the daily record.

On Thursday, 1-5 we left Tucson in our camper. The Tucson newspaper had a nice picture of an overturned RV that had blocked 3 lanes of I-10 the day before. We didn´t need an accident, nor could we afford the time since we were cutting things pretty close. Regardless, we did manage to stop at Target on our way out of town for a few last minute supplies, like a pair of pants for me! A also managed to dart across 6 lanes of traffic on foot (think ´Frogger´ or a scene from ´Dodgeball´) to get to Walgreens to buy Prunelax, an amazing little pill that crams a prune into a pill. I was an optimist and was hopeful that I´d need them in Mexico. (I´ll keep you guessing whether I need them or not.) (Follow up, my brother had told me they were only available at Walgreens, hence the death defying traffic game. What a surprise to see the shelves at Walmart here in Playa del Carmen loaded with Prunelax!)

At a rest area between Tucson and Phoenix a guy from Bridport, Vermont chatted us up. (Bridport is a podunk town about 40 minutes south of Hinesburg.)

We rolled into Phoenix with time to spare which allowed a quick trip to Borders to buy some Spanish books for the kids, and eventually a hotel near the airport. I dumped Ruth and the kids there and headed off in search of the RV storage/dealership which happened to be across town. Nice folks in an interesting part of town. For instance, a Home Depot is around the corner, as is a place that targets lonely truck drivers. (This is a family oriented blog.)

I caught a ride with an end-of-the day RV employee. Pretty funny dynamics during the ride. He was a local with a radio pre-set to a Spanish rock station, but because I was in his truck he switch to a rock station in English and then cranked the turbo bass under the seat. Besides the fact that my spine was vibrating and my ears were ringing, it wasn´t a bad ride. He dropped me at a bus stop in a west side barrio. There I stood, with my little plastic shopping bag full of last minute things from the camper, looking like the goof that I was, waiting for the bus.

A bus came soon enough, and was full of the typical ´bus mix´ of local people. At one stop, a buff, young, black bike messenger put his bike on the rack and boarded. Overhearing him, he was a born again Christian grandfather, rapper. He was pretty amazing with his rap! He went on for minutes at a time and I was almost ready for a baptism before he got off.

I got off at my stop, with my little plastic bag, and a couple other people who were probably happy their EBT cards were still charged up. I thought, If only they could see me behind the wheel of my Buick!

Needless to say, this last minute planning, who-knows-what´s next kind of travel isn´t for everyone (including Ruth and the kids) but it leads to some great sights.

For the record, the Days Inn near the Phoenix airport is a dive. The broken box spring looked like a bus had landed on it. But they did have a free shuttle that we caught to the airport at 4:30 Friday morning.

One area where we screwed up is that we didn´t plan our luggage needs very well. We didn´t need (or have room for) much in the RV. But we could have used some big bags for the airplane. Instead, we had pieced together some purchases, and showed up at the airport with 11 pieces of small to medium luggage. Ugh!

Easy flight from Phoenix to Dallas Ft. Worth (we´d driven through DFW a week earlier hadn´t we?) with Ruth sitting next to a young man who was trying to detox. He´s got a way to go since he was drinking Jack Daniels at 8 a.m.

Upon arriving in Cancun, we headed for customs with our overflowing bags. In a Mexican airport, you press a button on a traffic signal to see if your bags need to be inspected. Green light means pass with no problem. Red light means get your bags inspected. It´s random. We gave Miles the honor of pushing the button and the poor guy got a Red Light. The poor airport workers too! They saw our load and grimaced. Aferward, upon loading up, Ruth managed to swing a bag smack into Jill´s face like a roundhouse punch. Poor Jill. Welcome to Mexico.

Easy bus ride to Playa del Carmen with a Johnny Depp movie playing on the bus VCR. Our hotel was nice enough but at $60 a night is way beyond a sustainable budget. Playa isn´t that cheap. We are a few blocks away from a super Wal-mart and despite our concerns about globalization, and the fact that we rarely set foot in Wal-mart at home, we´ve hit it a lot. But it´s cheap. 10 litres of water there is 14 pesos ($1.40) whereas 1 litre of water near the hotel is 13 pesos.

I bought my Peace Corps bar of laundry soap and have washed a few things in the room, although there is a laundry service next door that did a much better job of things for just 40 pesos for about a week's worth of laundry. This is not a service with a bunch of old ladies bent over washboards. Instead, it has young, urban hipster women running a bank of washers and dryers and checking their cell phones.

Our first night at the hotel was an endurance test. There was incredibly loud music drifting in our glass-less window vents from some big festival in town. The latin/aerobics mix music wound down at 1 a.m. only to be replaced by another genre until 2:30 or 3. We bought earplugs the next day.

One other First Day story: As we struggled from the bus station to the hotel with all of our bags (only a couple of blocks) we saw a young Mexican man on the street corner shouting, I´ve got Meth! Angel Dust! Ecstasy! Gosh, we declined and decided that the aggressive time share vendors weren´t so bad after all. (Full disclosure, I can´t figure out how to use the quotation marks on this keyboard.)

On Sunday, the beach was full of locals enjoying the day off. This included lots of men in their Sunday finery. Think dressing up for Frontier Days: nice jeans, fancy boots, best cowboy hat, etc. They were sitting on fishing boats drinking beer, listening to local musicians playing accordians and guitars in front of them and enjoying the simple things in life. Add to that picture, the gringo man walking past in his g-string/thong/dental floss bathing suit and you´ve got a pretty good mix of cultures. It was pretty hilarious! (I took the suit off after I got back to the hotel. Just kidding.)

First email check in Mexico revealed a sad surprise. A neighbor from Cheyenne had died of a heart attack at the mild age of 51. Sad, sad, sad. (He outlived his father who had died of a heart attack at 45.) Combine this with the news we heard of a Vermont neighbor battling bladder cancer, and we´re reminded of how fragile life is. Needless to say, I know how lucky we are to be doing what we´re doing.

One more full disclosure: Ruth has never read the blog, and I´ve never read her Dear Public letters. Maybe it´s better that way.

Other observations from Playa del Carmen: The OPC (Off Property Contact) Time Share guys all have their opening lines trying to engage you in conversation. For me, it´s, I like your Tilley Hat! I chatted up one of the guys, and broke the code when I said, You´re OPC right? He was a nice guy, and maybe we´ll help each other out sometime. Otherwise, the slightly aggressive tactics of the barkers remind me of me working a booth or table for ReCycle North, so I don´t fault them much.

Monday was our first day with José, our language instructor. Nice guy who travelled down from Cuernavaca just for the occasion.

OK, enough day by day. In summary, our first week of language instruction was a little less than planned. Jill dug in her heels and didn´t utter a word in José's presence. Miles tried but struggled, and José struggled how to accommodate us. Ruth and I opened up in our own ways and the week wasn´t a complete waste. Ruth needs to see it and read it, I need to hear it and speak it. By week 2, things are much better. More later on that.

Other sites around here: The northerners in their monster motorhomes! Humm, other than the fact that we were all ready to abandon our RV, it clearly wouldn´t have been to hard to drive it down here. Ours is a lot shorter than the 30 and 40 footers people are negotiating around tight corners here.

We also learned how important Jill's decrepid little flip flops are to her when they started to wash away in the ocean. Not to worry, they were recovered, but it was interesting to see what generates a blood curdling scream and what does not.

At Wal-mart we saw a traveller with an Elvis Birthplace-Tupelo, MS T-shirt on and we chatted him up confirming that our decision to drive right on past a few weeks earlier was a good one.

We did start looking for other accommodations and the search process was interesting. José has never been to Playa del Carmen before so he was learning as we were. Even with his spanish, most of the directions we were given were pretty worthless. Eventually, we found a place where we have settled for a few weeks. It´s run by a nice guy from Merida whose brother owns the hotel in addition to being a Doctor in Merida. Gabriel, the manager, is great, and he uses his not-so-great english and we use our not-so-great spanish and have a lot of fun.

At our earlier place, we had a Canadian neighbor lady, Tammy who hopes to save the beach dogs on the Yucatan. The neighborhood stray, Poopy, adopted Tammy for a few nights, and when Tammy moved on, Poopy stayed outside our door looking....poopy. Poopy did not follow us to our new place, though there are plenty of other dogs on the street instead.

Time to get back to "class" (oh, there are the quotation marks, above the 2). More blog in a few days.

(Via email today, my bother´s company plane crashed with all 3 people aboard walking away but destroying the plane. One more reminder to enjoy life, go to the beach, learn some spanish, and get away from the keyboard!)

Cheers!

Paul

2006-01-04T21:32:00.000-05:00

1-4-06
Paul here checking in from Tucson, Arizona

We rolled out of Memphis on Monday 12-26 spending very little time in downtown Memphis. We did stop by the National Civil Rights Museum http://www.civilrightsmuseum.org at the site where MLK was shot in 1968. We spent some time outside, and it’s pretty wild to stand staring at the hotel balcony that one has seen repeatedly in pictures.

However, the museum admission was a little steep for a family of four, and our dear children had seen so much of the civil rights sites by then, that we ate lunch in the camper and rolled on. Before pulling out, I did chat up the woman who was protesting outside the museum as she has done for the past 14 years. It turns out she was the last resident of the Lorraine Motel and as I understand it, she is miffed that the area was gentrified and turned into a museum instead of a community social service center. Check out her views at http://www.fulfillthedream.net

From Memphis we headed west toward Little Rock. We picked a mellow road that ran parallel to the interstate and Ruth took the wheel for the first time in the journey. Wow! Did I get a new appreciation for what Ruth had been going through riding in the back of our sardine can! The mellow side road turned out to be one of those crack-sealed nightmares with zebra stripes of asphalt everywhere. The bumping and swaying--and not to mention the noise--riding back behind the rear axle of the camper is gnarly, and Ruth’s ability to survive back there is impressive. The experience of riding back there definitely made me more sensitive to bumps and sways when I got behind the wheel again after just a couple of hours.

Arriving in Little Rock, we did manage a brief stop outside the President Clinton Library which looked pretty impressive, and a drive by Little Rock’s Central High School where the Little Rock Nine integrated the school in 1957 (http://www.centralhigh57.org and http://www.nps.gov/chsc) The high school is still in use and it is HUGE! It was the largest high school in the United States when it was built in 1927. (Miles suggested each student should get a Segway Human Transporter. Never seen a Segway? Check out http://www.segway.com/segway/ Miles and I got to try one out at the RV dealer in Vermont.)

We then found our way to an old Peace Corps friend’s house in Little Rock. Susan and her partner Barry have a great house in the woods and our avid birders. We even got a tour of Susan’s meal worm operation where she cultivates meal worms to feed her feathered friends.

Tuesday 12-27 we headed to Texarkana, Texas. It was windy and rocky in the camper, and as would prove to be the pace in the future, we covered just 140 miles in 4 hours. We settled in an Army Corps of Engineers campground at Wright Patman Lake south of
Texarkana. It was a huge, beautiful lake, and we ended up driving back and forth across the dam oohing and ahhing at the sunset as we tried to find the campground. After dark, I heard something moving around in the leaves near our campsite and we ended ups seeing our first ever armadillo. Very cute.

Wednesday 12-28 we motored on to Mineral Wells, Texas west of Ft. Worth. Ruth met a cool bilingual 2nd grade teacher from Austin in the Ladies room who stroked our egos when she heard what we were doing. Other campground notes: We saw our first raccoon (eating garbage in the dumpster) and we saw a roadrunner as we were pulling out.

West out of Mineral Wells we stuck to US 180 which turned out to be a great road for the next several days. We saw about 1 car every 10 minutes, and other than sun baked—but crack-less—asphalt it was a straight and easy trip. We were driving through big time cotton country and had never seen anything like it. We considered stopping and touching the cotton, but remembered a Vermont coworker’s recent experience with a cotton field. She and her kids stopped to touch cotton in a field down south and ended up with severe rashes. No cause and effect determined, but why take chances.

A noteworthy item on 180 is the frequent “Picnic Areas”. These are wide spots on the road in the middle of nowhere with a picnic table and a piece of galvanized tin on some posts. I can’t imagine any local “picnicking” at them unless their satellite dish broke and they got really bored at home. And, each picnic area was Handicapped Accessible, which was a bit redundant since there was no obstacle within about 10 miles of each picnic table.

We ended up in Lamesa, Texas, and based on some advice at the gas station, we settled in at the town park for the evening. Lamesa provides free RV spots at the park, and by morning, there was another camper there as well. Of some significance: Since the park had no bathroom, we officially started using our toilet. We filled and flushed with the handheld shower and all went well. I took a shower in the tiny camper bathroom, but since our hot water heater had pooped out back in Tupelo, and there was barely room for the coffee pot of hot water, no one else was interested in following my lead.

On to Carlsbad, New Mexico the next day plugging along 180. We ended up at Carlsbad RV Park http://www.carlsbadrvpark.com where, despite being in the high desert with gravel all around, the owners had pulled out the stops to make the place as nice as possible: super clean bathrooms, heated indoor pool, and marshmallows around the communal campfire on a Friday night. I ended up crashing early (I really am an introvert) but Ruth ended up chatting up some liberals around the campfire while the kids played with other kids in the rec room. Ruth’s experience at the campfire was a reminder that we’ve met all kinds of folks at RV parks and that any assumptions or stereotypes about who may be driving down the road in a “rig” are likely to be inaccurate.

One neighbor in the park was a young family (our age, are we still “young”?). Mom was with the Foreign Service and Dad was the homeschool stay-at-home dad. They had been in Austria, but were now in Albuquerque. What did they do when they came home from Austria? Fulfilled a long term dream and bought a 34’ Airstream trailer. (It was a nice trailer!) And just to put RV park diversity in perspective, as we visited with them in their Airstream in the morning, Mom pulled out a bottle of Seventh Generation spray cleaner from under the kitchen sink. (If you don’t understand, Seventh Generation makes environmentally friendly products http://www.seventhgeneration.com that may be more frequently associated with tree hugging liberals than Airstream owners.)

One more RV park thought, from the perspective of being on the road for over a month, we’d prefer to stay in a decent RV park than a state park campground. For around $20, the RV park provides great value, interesting neighbors, and decent amenities. Most have Wi-Fi and cable TV at each hook up (although we have no need for either service) and it’s not hard to find a heated pool as well.

And, Carsbad RV Park came with a very friendly young cat who felt quite at home in our camper.

December 31. We spent the day underground at Carlsbad Caverns.
Lots of Wow! (Or as Jill quotes her little friend, “That’s just whoa!”) We could have headed west from the caverns, but decided to backtrack 30 miles to the RV park in Carlsbad for New Years Eve. While Jill and Ruth swam, Miles and I headed off for supplies.

Once upon a time, my mother wrote from Cheyenne to Ruth and me in Guinea Bissau, “There is a beautiful Harvest Moon over K-mart.” Well, in Carlsbad, New Mexico on New Years Eve, there was a beautiful sunset over Wal-Mart! It was amazing.

For New Years Eve, we watched the movie “Dodgeball” in the community room and had full, brainless, belly laughs all around. Others made it through to midnight festivities, but we bailed out around 10:00.

The wind started blowing hard while we were watching the movie, and it turns out the beautiful sunset was probably a result of howling winds to the west blowing all kinds of things up into the atmosphere.

New Years Day was spent in an epic journey west from Carlsbad in howling head and cross winds. Around the Guadalupe Mountains, we were down to 20 mph and hanging on hard. It wasn’t all that different than sailing in big gusts on Lake Champlain, and there was the accompanying mix of awe, excitement, and concern.

Somewhere in cotton country in Texas our electronic overdrive went out on our automatic transmission. We could hear something buzzing and shorting out and I dismantled the dashboard trying to locate the problem. However, getting rid of the overdrive increased our gas mileage significantly, even in the roiling winds. Eventually, when we rolled into Tucson a few days later, we were up to almost 16 mph. Even if the overdrive heals itself (which it appears to be doing) I’ll probably skip it. It’s pretty amazing the little 4-cylinder gets our crazy rig down the road at all.

Geography lesson for the kids (and us), we drove across Texas, into New Mexico, and back into Texas, before hitting New Mexico again. Look at a map. Texas is big!

We did manage to make it to Deming, New Mexico on New Years Day, and like many others pulling into the RV park, we were fried from battling the wind. How did we know we were in snowbird country? Well, there was a sign at the Men’s Room sink that I thought said “Please do not use Hair Dryers in the restroom.” Nope. It said “Please do not use Hair Dye in the restroom.” Shucks, and just when gray hairs are popping up all over my head.

And further evidence of RV park diversity, despite the signs warning the old timers in the bathroom, we met a nice mom and grown daughter from Michigan. Mom had homeschooled each of her 5 kids at some point or another, and the daughter, who was in her 20’s, had just quit her job before heading off to an Americorps*VISTA position in Helena, Montana. Mom teaches World Literature via the internet and mom and daughter were walking around the park with their laptop open trying to get the best cell signal. The maintenance guy who came by in a golf cart tipped them off that Space 38 got the best reception.

We arrived in Tucson on Monday January 2nd and have been taking care of all sorts of necessary tasks at the Muscat’s (Ruth’s cousin) house. Good email, laundry, and room to sort. Suburban Tucson is very different than Vermont, especially in January. As I type, the swimming pool maintenance guy is outside skimming the pool, and the little glue traps that are all over inside the house aren’t for mice or moles like they would be at home. They’re for scorpions!

It proved harder than expected to find a place to store the RV in Phoenix. I thought there would be plenty of options since the snowbirds were all in town using their rigs. I was way off. The snowbirds drive their own rigs down, and the storage lots are full of local rigs that aren’t allowed to be parked in covenant controlled subdivisions.

Off to Phoenix tomorrow and on to Mexico early Friday morning!

2005-12-25T22:11:00.000-05:00

Christmas Day - Memphis

Paul Here: We finally said good bye to cousins and pulled out of Atlanta on Monday, December 19, and headed south with the goal of getting through crazy Atlanta rush hour traffic before the end of the day (we tend to get going slowly in the morning and kept finding things to do--like buying plane tickets to Mexico). Suburban Atlanta traffic is huge.

Once we got south of Atlanta it started to feel like a whole different region. We stopped to buy speakers at some auto parts stores in Jackson, GA. Since we finally had a car stereo installed, it was time to replace the junked out speakers. No speakers would really be big enough out back to get through the ear plugs that Ruth and whichever lucky kid are wearing when they're riding back there.

We spent the night at Indian Springs State Park which was nearly deserted. Larry the campground volunteer welcomed us at his site, and shared that his monster rig got 10 miles to the gallon, and all of a sudden the extra 2 to 4 miles per gallon we were getting in our sardine can didn't seem very attractive or necessary. It was still too cold to hook up the water, but the park had a decent shower and bathroom.

Miles was tempted by the sulpher spring water that locals travel far and wide to collect. He swore it tasted OK even though it reeked of rotten eggs.

Tuesday, we were finally on our way to ....... Plant Sherer, the largest coal fired power plant in the United States! (It was my idea.) On our way, after another late rollout, we needed lunch and I happened to see a sign for the Whistle Stop Cafe. Yup! Right out of "Fried Green Tomatoes" in Juliette, Georgia. Naturally, we had to order fried green tomatoes and enjoyed a meal there and watched the empty, 2-mile long coal trains heading north back to Gillette, Wyoming.

We finally made it to the power plant and were provided with a very generous tour. We were dwarfed by the two 1,000 foot smoke stacks and the 4 enormous cooling towers. We ended up on the roof, inside the plant on many levels, and even got to see in one of the burners in action. The numbers are staggering, but basically, it takes a messload of coal, to be transferred a really long distance, to make a bunch of electricity for a lot of people. Better stats can be found at: http://www.southerncompany.com/gapower/about/pdf/Plant%20Sherer%20Brochure.pdf

There's also a decent kids interactive "how electricity works" site at: http://www.southerncompany.com/learningpower/home.asp?mnuOpco=soco&mnuType=lp&mnuItem=oc

Don't worry, the control room is a full scale simulation for training purposes. They don't let casual passersby in the real control room.

We spent Tuesday night on the west side of the state at FDR State Park. There were more RV's there and a few of them had Christmas lights, outdoor decorations, campfires, and loud Christmas carols on the boom box.

Wednesday "morning" on to Tuskegee, Alabama with a stop at the Tuskegee Airmen National Historic Site. http://www.nps.gov/tuai/ The site is still in its early stages with the visitors center set up in portable buildings, but it tells an impressive story and drives home how amazing the folks were who fought hard to get into the military only to be treated brutally once they got home despite their status as war heroes.

We ate lunch at a Taco Bell/KFC combo joint and got our first dose of southern fast food mentality (somehow our regular visits to Subway prior to this had been different). The lunch break had an impact on Miles, who didn't want to hang out too long.

On to the Tuskegee Institute National Historic Site http://www.nps.gov/tuin/ to learn about Booker T. Washington and George Washington Carver. To put it mildly, those two guys were amazing!

Miles and Jill are standing in front of an Iron Lung used for polio treatment. Polio victims came to Tuskegee Institute for peanut oil massages among other treatments.

Time to head west. For the record: The Good Sam Club endorsed campground at the truck stop at Shorter, Alabama was misrepresented. Here's the deal. Miles had been aching for me to turn the water on in the camper since Day 1 of the trip, and I had been pushing back because of the overnight freezing temperatures that would burst pipes. (I already replaced a burst water heater tank that made it passed my pre-purchase inspection.) Shorter seemed like the place to try the water, but just in case, the truck stop/campground staff told us that the campground bath house was working fine. Nope, their water was turned off and the toilet was plugged up. But not to worry, we'd have our own water in our rig that night. Except that...after hooking up the sewer line, draining lots of anti-freeze out of the system, and pressuring up the system with water did I discover that our toilet was spraying water all over the inside of our bathroom--and me! You see, it didn't really blow out until the pressure was good and strong and assured that I would get soaked. After a second attempt, with water dripping from our gills, we got a refund from the campground and sought out a hotel in Montgomery.

I used a computer at Kinko's that night and got to weigh the pros and cons of not traveling with a laptop. Pros: nothing to lose or have stolen; no purchase price (maybe I should have invested the savings in an RV toilet); and forced quality time among the 4 of us instead of any of us "disappearing" into computer land. Cons: less writing, journaling, blogging etc. than possible; little time for multiple voices; and a little bit of stress getting caught up on computer needs like banking and blogging (I'm typing like a fiend right now in a hotel business center while Ruth and the kids are asleep).

Lo and behold, in our hotel room in suburban Montgomery, our cell phone rang at 6 a.m. and it was my buddy, Siafa, in Monrovia, Liberia. (How was he to know we were now in a different time zone?) It was the second time on the trip that he had called in, and it's always a bit of a surprise. More Liberian connections coming.

The hotel also provided us with our first view of the innovative hotel lobby waffle maker. I wish I had thought of it!

Downtown Montgomery was superb and we would love to return someday. So much history happened there. In the process of getting lost walking around, we ended up in the Alabama State Archives building asking for directions. The volunteer was so happy to see anyone that he gave us all kinds of information and encouraged us to look around the building. Well, for one thing, the building is made out of Alabama marble. I didn't know they had marble in Alabama. For another thing, I smelled Pork Barrel politics since the huge Archives building didn't get built in the early 1900's until a US Senator from Alabama secured the federal funding. Otherwise, they had a great kids area, and a moving display about Bloody Sunday, the first attempted Civil Rights march from Selma to Montgomery.

Next we were at Jefferson Davis's first White House of the Confederacy. Ol' Jefferson Davis was quite the man and had been quite the public servant to the US before becoming president of the confederacy.

Next we were in the state capitol, and my casually remark to the first person we met there was: "I don't expect everyone who works here to be a historian, but I've got a question." Turns out the guy I was talking to had a Doctorate in History and was ready to share all kinds of stuff. He'd been a young black man who marched in Bloody Sunday and the following Selma to Montgomery march and later traveled the world as an Air Force pilot. The capitol was impressive, with a wild double spiral staircase and a traveling Smithsonian exhibit on Rosa Parks and the Montgomery Bus Boycott, but we were running out of time.

The star at the capitol is where Jefferson Davis was sworn in as president and where Martin Luther King stood to address the thousands of people who gathered at the end of the successful Selma to Montgomery march.

Time to hit the Civil Rights Memorial at the Southern Poverty Law Center. http://www.splcenter.org/center/crmc/civil.jsp It's a very impressive building designed by Maya Lin. It was also the only site we had visited with intense security measures because of the fairly recent threats it had received. As the historian at the capitol said, "Most Americans got their first dose of terrorism on 9-11. Black southerners grew up with terrorism." (He also compared George W. to George Wallace, Hoo-yah!)

Finally had to head out of Montgomery north to Oak Mountain State Park south of Birmingham and got our first dose of Hurricane Katrina. The campground was 92% booked by FEMA-sponsored evacuees in travel trailers. How can you tell a FEMA trailer? It's got a huge propane tank out front, it's got a permanent PVC sewer line hooked up with expanding foam sprayed around the hole in the ground, it's sitting on cinder blocks, and the folks who live in them aren't walking to the community bath house in the cold morning, because unlike some chumps from Vermont, their toilets work!

A semi-permanent camper/trailer park also presented a very different view of a State Park, complete with a police car, fire truck, and ambulance roaring up to the camper next to ours in the morning. I could see the person was still alive on the stretcher as I walked back from the bath house.

In Birmingham we decided to ease up on the violence and protest of the civil rights struggle that had been pounded into our kids' heads and visited Rickwood Field instead. http://www.ballparkreviews.com/birm/rickwood.htm This minor league ballpark was used by both white and colored baseball teams and had some unusual ways of accommodating the different races. For instance, when the colored teams played, the whites sat in the right field bleachers, and when the white teams played the blacks sat in the right field bleachers.

In the afternoon, Ruth and the kids hit the McWane Center in downtown Birmingham http://www.mcwane.org/ a hands-on science center for kids. I got an oil change and ran errands.

Birmingham to Tupelo late Thursday afternoon was an uninteresting schlog. Route 78 is the future Interstate 22 and once again, political influence was evident. The road had multiple lanes, beautiful overpasses, exits, etc, despite passing through endless nothingness.

It was a big night at Tombigbee State Park outside Tupelo! I got the water turned on in our rig (sans toilet) and we washed dishes in our kitchen sink. (Sorry, no photos.) Just as well, since the skies opened up Saturday morning and revealed the leaks in our clothes storage cupboards. Info for a parlor trick: Tombigbee, pronounced tomBICKbee is Chickasaw for coffin makers.

In addition to our clothes the pouring rain dampened our enthusiasm for getting out in Tupelo at the birthplace of Elvis Aaron Presley and its accompanying chapel and museum (I worry who folks pray to at the chapel) but we did manage a drive-by.

Christmas Eve and Day in suburban Memphis at a Drury Inn. Hurray for Drury Inn with its outstanding afternoon Happy Hour, morning breakfast with prerequisite in-lobby waffle maker, heated pool and hot tub and free computer in the business center. And most importantly, situated at a location that even Santa Claus could find.

Christmas eve was spent briefly catching up with my old Liberian Peace Corps Supervisor, Coker George who lives nearby, and having a southern culture on the skids experience at the Waffle House next door. Poor Miles, he lost his appetite when the waitress begged him not to move his napkin because she didn't dare set the silverware directly on the table, and the guy 2 feet way from us with tattoos on his face and rolling and smoking his own cigarettes didn't help much either, despite the fact that just the day before had been his birf-day. It was also noteworthy to see how busy Waffle House was at 9 p.m. on Christmas Eve. It was standing room only.

Today, Christmas Day, started with gifts under a "tree" that miraculously appeared in our hotel room over night, swimming in the pool, a load of laundry, and me reconciling our checkbook for the first time since leaving home.

We then joined Coker and his large family for a Christmas dinner in the afternoon. Great folks who made these weary travelers feel quite welcome.

Off to Little Rock and points west tomorrow morning (whatever that means).

(And another downside of batch processing at public computers: I don't spend a lot of time proofreading.)

Cheers!

2005-12-18T23:07:00.000-05:00

December 18, 2005 Marietta, GA (suburban Atlanta)

Paul Here: Our computer access has been a little less than we expected and our time for writing and posting hasn’t been quite what we had thought as well. We’re wrapping up a few nights in Marietta with my brother and will shoot this off with his high speed access. (I also have photos to post but it appears the computer I'm using doesn't have the necessary "umph" to get them up to the blog. Hopefully I'll get them up within a few days.)

From Leverett, Mass we headed south and spent a night in Franklin Lakes, New Jersey (NW part of the state) with a cousin and among other things got to see what an amazing party palace a young man can make when given a barn, surplus building materials, and numerous neon beer signs from a remodeled tavern. It was impressive.

We then traveled to central NJ and visited relatives in Princeton Junction and stayed with relatives in Kendall Park. I even got to see a picture of my great, great grandmother (I’d be hard pressed to come up with her name.)

Miles and I got to talk trains and electricity with my 3rd cousin at the dinner table. He works in computer security, or maybe computer supported security systems, and spends a lot of time in subway tunnels in NYC. I know we heard plenty of stuff about electricity, but all I really remember is the hand signal for telling a train to stop rather than telling it to keep on going as if the tracks were clear..

From central NJ we took the incredibly inefficient, but scenic route down to Cape May, NJ and then took the ferry across to Delaware. Big seas on the Delaware Bay and, although we didn’t need them, all the sea sick bags on board got used

We rolled into Cherry Hill Campground in College Park Maryland http://www.cherryhillpark.com/ without event and officially started using our camper. As soon as the kitchen table was set up Miles and Jill spontaneously started doing school work. Ruth and I looked at each other in disbelief and bewilderment.

It was there, in our first “setting up for the night in the camper” that we pulled the ReCycle North down comforter out of the garbage bag for the first time. Ruth had assumed I had at least looked at the comforter once before, but I guess I had put a lot of faith in the nice woman who donated it in a garbage bag. I had always been prepared for a blood stain or two since that was what the donor had told me. Instead, the comforter was blood free but had a big slash in it that instantly spewed feathers throughout our camper. A little “duck” tape kept the rest of the feathers in and only a few loose feathers went up in smoke in our electric heater. This less-than-pristine comforter got mangled further the next day when the 3-day old apple cider fermented and let loose out of Miles’s sport water bottle. It left a big apple cider puddle on the comforter which looked an awful lot like urine to anybody passing by the picnic table that I tried to use as a drying rack.

We had a great first evening in DC with cousins before turning in for our very first night ever as a family in the camper at the campground.

The next day, when most people would be sightseeing in DC, we stuck around the campground and took care of long overdue camper chores including buying shelving at Home Depot and stocking up on provisions. At the Home Depot parking lot, a guy with a 4-door full sized Ford pickup with a diesel engine came over to talk “rigs” with me. He had the truck we dreamt of getting if we had wanted to blow a wad of money, and we had the tiny rig that he dreams of getting for a weekend trips to the beach.

And of course, the 6 degrees of separation rule kicked in at the campground on our chores day when I noticed the trailer next to us had Wheatland, Wyoming license plates on it. (Wheatland is about an hour from where I grew up in Cheyenne.) A nice family with 5 kids was in the camper and they readily invited Miles to play on the playground (Jill was back at the kitchen table doing homework).
The Keck family from Wheatland turned out to be great neighbors and invited us to join them on a tour of the Capitol the next day with a house intern from Wheatland. We also got a little time in at the Botanical Garden and the American Indian Museum before doing a covered dish dinner at the campground. We made the BBQ chicken and mac and cheese and they made the potatoes and veggies, and of course, we had too much food.

The campground had a very nice “conference center” with big screen TV, hot tub, laundry, and of most value to us, toilets and showers since it was (and still is a week later in Atlanta) too cold for us to turn our water on. The conference center got used a lot by people who didn’t just need a flush toilet. One night the square dancers met there in full regalia, another night it was jazzercise, and another night it was a holiday party for the campground staff resulting in leftover corn on the cob and burgers being added to our covered dish effort.

We put on too many miles in a day to get from D.C. to Winston-Salem, North Carolina where we met Ruth’s 5th cousin Bob and his wife Brenda. We had 2 great nights there and saw where Ruth’s father went to medical school at Wake Forest University and where his name is prominently displayed on a wall as a distinguished alumni lecturer from the 1970’s. Brenda and I had made similar journeys in Liberia, Guinea Bissau and other west African countries although they were about a decade apart.

We also spent an afternoon at Reynolda House, the Reynolds family (think tobacco) mansion in Winston-Salem. By now, the huge estate is owned by Wake Forest University and it’s not all that different than Shelburne Farms in Vermont. It was originally built in the early 1900’s as a self-sufficient working farm with amazing grounds and buildings. In the sprawling mansion, I was curious to see how the organ pipes in one part of the room were connected to the organ in another part of the room. As I got peered under the organ on my hands and knees, another visitor looked at my rear end sticking up in the air and said, “That’s an interesting view.”

From Winston-Salem, NC we headed SW toward Gaffney, SC. We finally got our tire pressure figured out and I got to use Spanish with the mechanic at the truck stop. (I had been warned that “pencil type” pressure gauges are garbage and it turns out mine was 15 pounds lower than the truck mechanic’s.) With our new, higher pressure, our gas mileage is back up around 12 to 14 mpg. Woohoo!

On to Gaffney, South Carolina with a stop at Kings Mountain Battlefield (http://www.nps.gov/kimo/) on the border of NC and SC. A couple of key things we learned at this Revolutionary War battlefield: The British commander, Ferguson, had had a chance to kill George Washington at an earlier battle elsewhere but chose not to because Washington’s back was turned, and that despite Ferguson’s earlier ingenious invention of a breach loading, quick loading rifle, he blew it at Kings Mountain because he had traditional muskets. So when he secured the top of the mountain, and all of the Patriots attacked, the Brits had to aim downhill and their musket balls rolled out of the barrels of their guns.

In Gaffney we stayed with our superb friends Jima and Steve (Steve test drove our camper in Clover, South Carolina this summer and spent over 2 days in his shop getting it ready for the Big Trip). Jima turned us onto good home cooking and cookie and muffin baking with the kids, and Steve and the kids had fun putting up Christmas decorations including an amazing collection of Santa Clauses made from Mississippi clay. Steve also turned us on to the haute culture of “My Name Is Earl” on television that we all enjoyed despite some of it going over the kids’ heads.

Another “new” cultural experiences is seeing the rash of trashy billboards on the side of the road. Gee whiz, from our sheltered existence in billboard free Vermont, we had no idea of the quantity or disgusting content of billboards targeting lonely truck drivers on the interstate.

We also saw the Cowpens Battlefield (http://www.nps.gov/cowp/ ) in Gaffney on a gorgeous, crisp day. It’s a Revolutionary War battlefield where the Brits got trounced, but much of the interpretive material was taken down getting ready for the battlefield’s 250th anniversary on January 17, 2006.

We learned that there wasn’t much Civil War history around Gaffney because the resident’s back then were too poor to have much to fight over. The rich slave owners lived out near the coast. In fact, most of the richest people in the US at the time of the Civil War were rice plantation owners in coastal South Carolina.

Cashing in on Steve’s excellent connections among auto mechanics in Gaffney, I got a bunch of tailpipe replaced at Nick’s Muffler. I only wish I had brought the kids to experience the muffler shop. They had to turn on the propane fired “salamander” to heat up the outdoor hydraulic lift before they could get the camper up in the air, and it was one of the few shops where the kids could have stood nearby while pipes were being cut and bent. It was the kind of place that had a couple of Bibles and 4 Wheeler magazines next to the big woodstove in the middle of the garage. Nice folks who treated me well and accepted my check based on my connection to Steve.

It was an easy drive down to the Atlanta area and into Marietta. Funny thing about traveling, Ruth’s brother Jim from Colorado is in Marietta this week as well and he joined all of us for dinner for two nights. We were also joined by my nephew Ben, from Casper, Wyoming, who I hadn’t seen in 8 years. (He’s an Audi technician in Marietta.)

As in Gaffney, Miles and Jill have helped put up Christmas decorations here and I believe are baking cookies with Aunt Marcy as I type. They’re probably getting a lot more holiday decorating experience on the road than they would have at home. We’ll have to see what we can come up with to decorate our little camper.

Jill and Miles got to go sightseeing without us yesterday when Marcy and cousin Grant took them out for BBQ and to see the Big Chicken that marks a Kentucky Fried Chicken joint. The Big Chicken was even highlighted at the Georgia Visitor Information Center when we crossed over from South Carolina. Lucky kids, I still haven’t seen it.

The biggest surprise around here was to see Marcy’s amazing bead making shop off the kitchen. With propane and oxygen lines coming in through the window, and boatloads of glass rods, the place is decked out. Jill was in la-la land sorting through all the rejects and brother Jim went back to Colorado with a custom necklace and earring set for a lady there.

After a sluggish start Friday morning (becoming a bit of the norm for us) we decided it was too late to battle traffic into downtown Atlanta for the MLK sights and we instead hit two sites out here in the burbs. We hit the Southern Museum of Civil War and Locomotive History http://www.southernmuseum.org/ in Kennesaw and the Kennesaw Mountain Battlefield http://www.nps.gov/kemo/index.htm

We spent most of Saturday at the Martin Luther King sites in downtown Atlanta. Very powerful stuff. As part of the impact, we were reminded how much Black Americans gained during Reconstruction including sending numerous Congressmen and 2 Senators to DC, only to lose so much to Jim Crow laws of the 20th century. http://www.nps.gov/malu/

Today, Sunday was a great day spent with Ben Lamberson and others. Ben, a superb auto mechanic, successfully installed our radio/cd player in the dashboard and fixed Grant’s “pocket rocket” that stands about 15 inches tall. We took turns ripping around the subdivision on it before heading out to dinner. Dinner at the Marietta Diner included a whopping portion of broiled scallops that overwhelmed poor Miles and dessert included a trip across the street to Krispy Kreme for “fresh off the belt” donuts.

We head out early Monday morning for a tour of the power plant at Lake Juliette (my idea. I’ll explain later.) And then a turn toward the west to points unknown.

2005-12-04T21:53:00.000-05:00

12/4/05

Still in Leverett. We went to the Winsor dam today. One of our favorite story books is "Letting Swift River Go" (I don't know how to underline with this Mac or this blog software) by Jane Yolen. It's a great tale about the flooding of 4 towns when the Winsor dam was built.

It's still snowing around here and we can't wait to head south!

Paul

2005-12-03T21:49:00.000-05:00

December 3, 2005 Leverett, Mass

Hello. Right now I, (Miles) am sitting in Leveret, Mass. Our first day on the road was a bumpy, noisy trip. When we finally crossed into Massachusetts it was three or four o’clock, and I was losing it. At one point there was a hairpin turn and since reading “Walk Two Moons” I felt as if I was going to go tumbling of the road and die. Though I didn’t. When I finally got to my mom’s childhood friend’s house I ate dinner, watched a movie with my mom’s friend’s, friend’s child and went straight to bed. Now it is a sunny day and I am about to go to the library next door, and then for a hike to a Peace Pagoda on the top of a hill.

It’s Jill. I’m in Leveret, Massachusetts. Today I went on a hike with Miles and my friend Henry to a Peace Pagoda. We went on a rocky bridge. Some of the rocks we couldn’t go on then we went to this book sale thing and had some hot chocolate. Then we went to the Emily Dickinson museum. Then we went back to Henry’s house again.

Paul here:

We left Hinesburg on Friday 12/2/05 at 2:20 p.m. – a day later than planned, but not bad considering the task at hand. We finally just threw loads of stuff in “the rig” and got going. (Our formerly empty camper quickly resembled our typically cluttered house, and our house looked the best it has in 10 years!) Saying goodbye to the dog was emotional, and the cat was off doing his own thing.

The trip south was uneventful and we were grateful to learn that Ruth and Jill could handle riding in the back of the RV without getting carsick. The configuration of the camper means that the passengers in the back are in the VERY back, behind the rear wheels. They are also very far away from the heat that only comes out of the dashboard.

We ate gas station food in Rutland, and the fact that Miles was then able to ride in the very back of the camper after eating Stewart’s Shoppe’s chili was another encouraging sign.

We hit snow and slush on the Route 7 summit north of Bennington and went through some thick stuff again on the Route 2 summit between North Adams and I-91. All of this muck quickly coated the rear windows making it impossible for Ruth and Miles to see out. At some point, Miles chimed in, “Now I know why they put TV’s in these things.” (We don’t have one in ours.)

We’ve also learned that it’s pretty hard to hear each other from the front to the back of the camper while tooling down the road. It makes for some funny conversations but also provides some excellent 1 on 1 time for 1 parent and 1 kid.

We found our way to our friend Erika’s house in Leverett, MA by dinnertime. As usual, Erika has found a beautiful place to live. An old farmhouse in a great setting with the claim to fame that Van Halen’s drummer used to live in it. I quickly demonstrated my knack for useless information by reminding folks that “the drummer from Def Leppard only has one arm” (this was a college radio song at one point).

We’re spending time with Erika, Erika’s boyfriend Mark, and his sweet 8-year old son, Henry. Miles, Jill and Henry are having a good time, and the grown ups are getting caught up too.

We hiked to a nearby Buddhist Peace Pagoda today and were amazed by its size and location (Massachusetts?!) We also went to Emily Dickinson’s home in Amherst.

Ruth got the camper cleaned up inside, and I spent a fair amount of time today trying to locate a key water heater part between here and D.C. and figuring out where we’re going next. It’s still too cold to turn on the water in the camper.

We’ve received reports from home that the dog and cat are doing just fine.

There’s a great support team making this journey possible and we thank each and every one of them!