Pardon My Siesta

Ok, if anyone is reading this and still cares, sorry for leaving off so abruptly. Our internet connections have been spotty at best and I haven’t had the motivation to leave the beach to sit in front of a computer. Can you blame me? I’m staring at crystal clear blue-green water, a warm, inviting sandy beach that stretches for miles around a bay, with pristine waves all over (even though the waves are their lowest of the year, which is good for me). Puerto Escondido is perhaps the most laid back, beautiful paradise on the planet. Right now I’m sitting in a hammock on the balcony of my hotel, watching dozens skydivers lazily drift to the beach as the neverending waves of Zicatella beach get shredded by great surfers. James and our new German friend Katerine are cuddled up together in a hammock. Carlos is engrossed with Fidel Castro’s autbiography. And Lotem, and Isreali surfer is watching the break…and whatever passing eye-candy happens to schlep through the alley underneath our balcony. The weather is perfect, 80 degrees with a crisp sea breeze and we can see the sperm whales migrating through the bay on thir way south for the winter, the only things missing are other good friends and family. But enough about Puerto Escondido for now, I have to write about Oaxaca.

Days 4/5: Feliz Navidad

Anyone who thinks Christmas was a big deal in the United States needs to come experience it here in Mexico. Whereas, back home, Christmas has slowly morphed into the shopping season between Thanksgiving and Christmas eve, with some obligatory family time and maybe a Christmas dinner thrown in somewhere near the end, in Mexico it is about two things: family and baby Jesus.

On Christmas eve James and I went shopping for a few small gifts to give our hosts since they are allowing us to stay in their house for free, even cooking us meals and cleaning up after us (well, Carlos' mother at least). It was refreshing to go to a store and not be assaulted by Santa, begging me to buy whatever was being hawked by a cardboard cutout in his likeness, with a display of shiny ribbons and bows. Granted, it was not entirely inescapable, some stores still went a little bit over the top, but it was refreshing to see a degree of maturity in the way Christmas was treated in the commerce sector. The one uniquely mexican touch were these enormous, paper mache stars covered in shiny tinsel that have appeared in front of many tiendas here in the city. Most of the shops and taquerias closed early yesterday, which was strange, because the streets are usually bustling but yesterday evening they were strangely quiet and empty. About 10 pm, mass ended, and the entire country poured out into the streets, dressed in their finest clothes with all the women cradling baby Jesus idols in their arms like a real infant. I couldn't help but laugh, it was a bachelors nightmare, to see thousands of women marching towards you, each one carrying a baby in their arms, unsure whether to run or accept life as the father of a million rug-rats...

We were invited to go to Carlos' uncle's house for a family Christmas party, and since I left my family behind (even though I invited them to come) I was honored to be accepted by theirs. We arrived at a beautiful modern mansion, not quite knowing what to expect. We were greeted by Carlos' cousins at the gate and they led us inside to one of the most beautiful homes I have ever seen. According to Carlos' father, the family is tight knit like the Corleones, aka, mafia style...and it showed. Inside were incredible works of art, portraits, still-lifes, landscapes, you name it, adorning every wall, statues in the corners, and the biggest gramophone (original record players) collection in Latin America. There were about 40 people inside all dressed up, mostly middle aged and older, sitting in the living room snacking on hor'dourves and sipping fine tequila and Malbec. I instantly felt a little out of place dressed in my travel gear and being a gringo, but Carlos walked James and I around the room and introduced us to all his aunts, uncles and cousins one at a time. The owner of the house, Salvadore, was incredibly gracious, and was eager to show off his incredible collection of gramophones, phonographs, and other ancient sound producing machines. He must have had millions invested in the collection, I've never seen anything like it.

Dinner was served at midnight, a Mexican tradition on Christmas, and the fare was delicious. A shrimp and vegetable soup to begin, followed by courses of salad, ham, turkey, fettucini (a little out of place, but still good), and then a dish called bacalao from Spain made from cod, shrimp, vegetables and spices that utterly melts in your mouth. After gorging ourselves because we waited until midnight to eat, the dessert trays arrived. Plates of candied fruit, baklava, flan, chocolate mousse, cookies, cake, halva, and chocolates were paraded in front of me, my teeth began to ache immediately. The party really got into full gear after dessert, when all the gifts under the tree were set out on the table, and then passed around until everyone had one. Then, a pair of dice were brought out, and everyone got a chance to roll them. If you rolled an even number, you were allowed to trade your gift with anyone in the room. It became a mad-house as everyone wanted to exchange, nobody kept the gift they started with but I ended up getting mine back in the very last trade. The gifts were all very small things, they were actually called "joke gifts" because the emphasis was not on the gift itself but instead on the act of being selfless and giving up something that you receive.

We hung out and talked for a bit, but since our plan is to head south towards Oaxaca today, and it was already 3 am, we decided to head back and turn in. So here I sit, waiting on the final word about the car and for James to pack so we can hit the road. Christmas in Mexico is quite an experience. The Catholic tradition makes Christmas a more sacred affair. The focus is on being with family, on attending mass, and on sharing a feast. It was humbling to have been accepted with such open arms by the family, and it was a Christmas that I'll probably never forget.

Feliz Navidad.

Day 3: Coyoacan

So far the extent of my trip has been somewhat limited to consumption. I have been grubbing nonstop and chasing it with delicious Cerveza Indio. Hedonism at its finest. Yesterday I ate one of the most delicious things I've ever tried, it was called "huitlacoche." Huitlacoche is roughly translates into "corn shit" in the native Nuahtl language that some indigenous tribes in Mexico spoke before the Spanish came through a-raping, pillaging and enslaving. It is basically just a slimy black fungus that grows on corn and destroys the crop. However, like many seemingly disgusting things, it is considered a delicacy and is often difficult to find. It is typically cooked with some onion, pepper and whatever other secret ingredients the little old ladies at taco stands use to make it irresistable. Yesterday, I had it prepared in a quesodilla, but not the flaccid tex-mex style where a tortilla is stuffed with ingredients and grilled, I had it prepared Mexican street food style, aka deep fried. It has been well noted that deep frying food is the most delicious way of cooking ever, especially after a little bit of alcohol...

We were in Coyoacan, which is a beautiful, quiet neighborhood in the southern half of the city. Coyoacan is definitely upper-middle class, the streets are lined with ancient trees that have been there for centuries, the houses are enormous and surrounded by 8 ft fences, the shops and restaurants are very posh and expensive...in other words it smashes the preconceived notions of a poor and dirty Mexico shared by many of my fellow patriots. Just off the main square of the neighborhood there was a little food market that is widely considered one of the best places to eat in Mexico (at least according to Lonely Planet). James was off buying the most expensive haircut in Mexico (300 pesos!!) so Carlos and I walked to the market to get a quick snack. A stall advertising quesodillas caught our attention, so we sat down. Carlos quickly noticed they had huitlacoche on the menu and ordered one for me. Our little old chef took some fresh masa (corn mash that tortillas are made from), flattened it out, stuffed it full of Oaxoahan cheese and rotten corn, and dropped it in the deep fryer. After about 3 minutes I had a crispy, steaming quesodilla sitting in front of me, begging to be devoured (in spanish of course). I garnished it with a little salsa verde and sour cream and attacked. The flavor was incredible, it was like eating a crispy truffle stuffed with corn chowder and the tastiest mozzerella ever. (Does that even make sense?!) Add the rich flavor of sour cream, and the spice from the salsa verde, and you have the perfect food. I proceeded to eat three more even though they were enormous and 25 ($2) a piece.

After the feast, we returned to downtown to pick up the jacket that James left at the hostel. The place was empty, but the bartender was there so we sat down for a drink. Incredibly, the bartender recognized me instantly, even though I hadn't had a drink at his bar for two years. If you are really bored, and reading this, then you can go look at the pictures i took from the last trip I took to Mexico City and see a picture of the bartender wearing a luchador mask and making drinks. Really nice guy. So we stopped and had a few drinks then walked around Zocolo to see all the lights that had been strung up around the square. It was a really surreal experience, as thousands of families were walking around with their children reveling in the holiday festivities. Flashing lights illuminated the sky and I almost felt as though I were hallucinating, without taking anything.

The plan was to go to a badass club downtown, so we went back to Carlos' to get ready. We ended up sitting down and talking with his dad, an eccentric englishman who travelled to Mexico when he was 22, fell in love and has lived here ever since. His man-cave was filled with books, tequila, rocks and a number of other interesting things. He reminds me a lot of my dad, with a big bushy beard and witty, dirty jokes, I bet that my dad and Carlos' dad would get along very well. David (his dad) was an avid poker player, so while waiting for the club to fill up, we started playing poker and killing liters of Indio and taking shots of tequila......seven hours later, we were still playing poker. The club was forgotten and I watched the sun come up, still drunk. Damn.

Day 2: Tacos, Tacos, Tacos

How many tacos can someone eat in one day? I think that yesterday James and I packed down at least 30 a piece. Tacos for breakfast, lunch, dinner and the infamous fourthmeal. There is something about the crunchy, succulent little things that are irresistable and will never get old. The ingredients are simple, fresh corn tortillas, marinated pork thats been slow cooked on a spit (known as pastor), a slice of pineapple that is cooked on the spit with the pastor, cilantro, and then diced onion are smothered on top. On the table you typically have your choice of five or six different salsas, each one with its degree of spice. I think the best is the salsa aquacate, which is a mild avocado and tomatillo salsa that makes a perfect compliment to extra spicy mexican pico de gallo, which blows the mild stuff we have in Missouri out of the water. Add a little bit of fresh lime juice and you are devouring the ultimate cheap meal. Depending on the taqueria you go to, the price ranges from 6 to 15 pesos per taco ($.50 to $1.15). If there were small, street taquerias serving pastor tacos on the streets outside of bars in college towns, they would make millions.

Although thanks to my taco and mezcal binge from the night before, I woke up at 6 am on Tuesday with heartburn that felt like an alien was about to burst out my chest and devour everyone in the hostel. It took about two agonizing hours and two liters of water to finally drowned the alien, and I made a mental not to put spicy sauce on any late night tacos that I eat. We had only booked one night in the hostel, since James' friend Carlos had some extra space in his house and offered to let us stay there for the remainder of our time in Mexico City. Since our hostel was right next to zocolo which is the city center, and Carlos lived in El Olivo which is a nice neighborhood in the southwest of the city, we had a couple of hours to explore before Carlos could come pick us up. So we locked our bags up at the hostel and went for a stroll. Stopped for tacos a couple of liters of Indio, another delicious Mexican beer that deserves to be sold up north, checked out the shops that had their holiday fare on display, and walked through zocolo, where an enormous ice rink had been set up. It is hilarious watching Mexicans ice skate. There was an enormous line, and the rink was full, but many of the skaters were stuck to the wall, afraid to venture out into the vast expanse of ice for fear of humiliating themselves by falling and facing ridicule from all their cowardly friends who clung to the safety of the wall.

One thing that is impossible to overlook when in an important location such as Zocolo, is the overbearing police presence. The streets were incredibly crowded, so much so it was difficult to navigate through them, but there were at least two or three policemen on every single block. Some were directing traffic, making sure that no crazy drivers ran over the army of pedestrians, but the rest were just standing around mean-mugging the two gringos that stood a head taller than them and were walking around like they owned the place. There were also trucks full of police in battle gear, sporting brand new M4s with a small machine gun mounted to the top, looking like they were going into a war zone and not into Mexico's main shopping district...although now that I think about it, after trying to squeeze through the throngs of people, having an automatic weapon would certainly make things easier. Also having worked in a mall during the holiday season, I can pretty safely say that shopping centers are war zones, so the firepower was understandable. Of course the real reason for the police is the ever-present threat ofnarco violence that has rocked Mexico and kept the attention of us in the United States for the past couple of years. I'll probably write a little more about it later, but thankfully most of the violence is centered in the north, along the border, and not in Mexico City and the southern portion where we will be traveling.

Carlos braved the traffic and picked us up at about 1:30. Already 10 tacos and two liters of beer in for the day, for some reason going to the zoo sounded like a good idea. So we grabbed our bags and piled in the car to head off towards the zoo. James, in haste, forgot his jacket and scarf in the hostel, typical. We met up with Callejas (aka Gordo), a rugby buddy of James' and friend of Carlos', and explored the zoo for a few hours. Carlos then drove us out to his house in El Olivo and thanks to all the beer we drank in the middle of the day, took a much needed siesta. After we woke up, we walked to the mecca of tacos (according to James) Tacos El Olivo. A small restaurant on the main street that serves up the biggest, fattest, most delicious tacos in the city, and we proceeded to eat about 10 a piece, which is no small feat considering their size.

We hung out for a bit with this neighbor kid named Eric, and he brought over some poker chips to play Texas Hold'em. Poker rules in Mexico are a little different, for instance, in the United States, it is well known that in all matters of weed and poker, the flow always goes to the left. However, in Mexico, you deal and bet to the right. It was a little confusing whenever Eric would deal, but we finally got him conditioned to play the "correct" way. Poker didn't last too long, not enough players and with no money on the table there is little incentive to play frugal. So we decided to go play a little bit of 2 on 2 basketball on a court next door to Carlos' house. One thing I love about traveling to other countries is how much my basketball skills improve by just crossing the border. Back home, my basketball skills are hilarious, as in, people laugh when they watch me play because I am so bad. But in other countries, I can kick ass on the court...although if I were to step on to a soccer pitch I would be destroyed. Of course, with James on the court as well, my delusions of grandeur quickly disappear since he actually IS good at basketball and makes me look about as talented as those who don't know how to play. After the basketball game, a couple of young kids (about 4 and 7 years old) from the neighborhood started playing soccer on the court, so we asked them if we could play and they had a great time running around with a couple of gringos. We may have even been the first they had ever met. Even though they were young, Miguel, the 7 year old, had a damn dirty mouth. At one point he asked James if he liked "milk", and then when James said yes, he replied, "then bend over."

Anyways, two days in and I have yet to sit down and watch TV for even 30 seconds. I can slowly feel parts of my brain that have been conditioned to become idle, due to all the damn TV that I've watched, slowly come back to life. I would like to try to make it through the entire trip without watching more than 10 hours of TV (I mean, a little bit is inevitable) in an attempt to break the habit that I've picked up of watching hours a day. A comfortable sofa, 40 inch high definition tv and HBO make for a dangerous combination...ask my roomate Curtis.

Time to get breakfast. Peace!

Mexico Day 1

First day in Mexico and some long time cravings have been filled. REAL tacos de pastor, cerveza Victoria and some good old fashioned Mezcal.

James and I left Joplin at 8 am for our noon flight in Tulsa. That was a mistake, Tulsa's airport is much like Kansas City's you can get checked in and on your plane in ten minutes. So we had a few hours of sitting on our ass twiddling our thumbs...people watching. The security measures in the airport didn't seem too arcane. So what? They have a semi-nude xray picture of me? I'm not known for my modesty so it doesn't particularly bother me. I didn't get the infamous pat down because I wasn't an ass who protested against the screener. The flight was a bit bumpy, but we made it to Houston and had to wait a couple of more hours before the long awaited flight to Mexico City. We landed during rush hour and were stuck in bumper to bumper traffic for an hour and a half. A common scene in Mexico city, even though the government tries to curb the traffic problem by restricting certain cars from driving on certain days of the week. It doesn't seem to help. I can only imagine if LA or NY tried to implement a similar rule, people would literally shit a brick and maybe even stage a violent coup. James' friend Carlos and his girlfriend Lorena picked us up, they are very nice and speak perfect english. Lucky me.

We went to Condesa, which is an upscale neighborhood loaded with restaurants, bars and shops teeming with night life. We followed the scent of slowly roasting pastor and pineapple to a corner taqueria a few blocks from where we parked. It was about 10 pesos for a taco, approximately .85 cents. They gave us a hopper with about 6 different types of salsa, all of them spicy and delicious, so we ordered about 8 tacos apiece and gorged ourselves over Negro Modelos and Cerveza Victorias. Lorena had to go meet up with some friends, and Rat, one of James and Carlos' buddies arrived to go drinking with us. We hopped around to a few bars and stopped by a hookah lounge for a smoke session and finally stumbled our way to the mezcal bar down the street.

Mezcal bars are a glorious invention. Imagine sixty unlabled bottles filled with a strange clear liquid. And a seedy looking guy standing behind a bar that is completely filled with Star Wars figurines. The place was packed, even though it was monday, and we had to get a table outside. The waitress came with menus, which were just pieces of old cardboard that had been ripped to a roughly equal size with some rough handwriting that displayed the choices and prices. There were dozens of choices, all mezcal, ranging from 30 pesos to 70 pesos, or about 2.50 to 6 dollars. The difference between mezcal and tequila is like the difference between scotch and bourbon. Tequila = bourboun, mezcal = scotch. Each variety has its own unique flavor and strength, and most have a delicious smokey flavor that reminds me of my favorite Islay scotches.

I picked one with an interesting name, far too drunk to know what it meant or recall it now, and the others ordered their own along with a round of beers, and a block of queso de oaxaca. Wine and cheese? Fuck that. Mezcal and cheese is better. Not quite as cosmopolitan, but a hell of a lot more fun. Especially with the queso de oaxaca, which is the white cheese that most queso dip is made out of in the states. It is like extra delicious mozzerella with a texture like string cheese. The waitress brought our shots, the beers, the cheese and some fresh orange slices that had been dusted in salt and cayanne pepper, and we proceeded to indulge for about two hours until the place started winding down. Lorena returned with a few of her friends and we cracked dirty jokes and traded stories (although mostly in spanish, my ear needs some work still) until it was time to take James and I to the hostel we were staying in. After about a thirty minute drive (Mexico City is fucking enormous) we made it, checked in at 2 am, and promptly crashed. Now, I'm pissed off that we passed out so early because I missed my chance to see the full lunar eclipse that was just beginning. Anyways, it was a fantastic, albeit a little bit too expensive start to the trip. We will be spending the next few days in Mexico City, then after Christmas making the journey south to Oaxaca and then on to the beach at Puerto Escondito. Carlos has the break off and has a car, so no need to get robbed or stabbed on a bus or pay a boatload for a taxi. I'll keep everyone posted and try to get some pictures, although I'm pretty sure my camera is a piece of crap so I'm not sure how good they will turn out. Adios, we are off to explore the beautiful city!

The hiatus

Wow.
Its been a long time since I posted on here. I don't know what drove me to return to my lost and long forgotten blog, but here I am...four years older and not nearly as cute.

Reading over my old posts brings forth a disgusted but nostalgic feeling. Was I really that young? Was I really that immature? Did I really think I was funny? I wish I could say that I am a wiser person than I once was, but I'm afraid it isn't the case. Four long years of drug, alcohol, and academic abuse have left me more cynical and depressed than ever. I can't even remember a single significant event that happened when I was sixteen, other than losing my virginity...and I don't even remember her name. Is this what I've come to? Attempting to reminisce about the good old days of puberty? Shoot me now.

God how the times have changed. One of my last posts was just before the presidential election in 2004...and it feels like I'm just waking up from a four year nightmare. I can honestly say that nothing good has happened to me since then. College is nothing but drunken shell of the idealism it once used to embody. I'm going to be honest, I didn't go to college to get an education. Before I even applied I already knew everything I ever wanted to...I just wanted to party. Countless wasted hours later, I have finally realized that the only way to really get an education is to go out into the world and figure shit out on my own...jesus, my dad was right. Mark Twain once wrote something along the lines of 'When I was fourteen my father was so ignorant that I wanted to run away and live like Huck Finn, but when I was twenty one I couldn't believe how much he had learned in seven years...' While that is obviously not what he really said, I am too lazy to use the god of the internet (thats google for those of you who haven't seen the light) to find the actual quote, but you know what I'm trying to say. I was stupid and didn't listen because I thought I knew everything...and I did. I have known my father has been right for years, but I have willingly chosen to not listen. I don't know why. I'll ask a psychiatrist someday and get a wrong answer.

In the meantime I'll keep drinking beer, writing in my revived blog and lamenting the fact that I can't commit myself to anything.

My whole life up to this point has been a failure...and I don't see it changing anytime soon. I keep making up these bullshit dreams for myself even though I know that none of them will ever come true. For example: I want to someday become a United States Senator because I feel like the system is royally fucked up and I think I can change it. That is the line I keep spouting off to any authority figure who I come in contact with. They think that I have dreams, I know that its just an excuse. I recently joined my university's school government with the hopes of furthering my phantom future political career. I thought that getting to play government, and act like a leader would make people more likely to believe me when I told them my delusions of grandeur. It took me about a week to realize that school government is a total fucking joke. I showed up to about two meetings before the powers to be decided I should be a "committee chairman" because I showed dedication by not skipping meetings. Even though I didn't know shit about budgets, they made me the chairman of the budget committee. Its a crying fucking shame that college students have gotten so apathetic that I, one of the laziest people I know (second only to my friend Chris), am considered a motivated leader...which I guess means there will never be another revolution because the youth doesn't give a damn.

Oh well, I guess this is the end of my hiatus...which is probably a bad thing.

I'm tired.
Good night.


P.S. Don't spam me, I will hunt you down and kick your ass.