Fun With Spanish

On Drunken Hotels:
It was Finding A Hotel Time and I was viewing some rooms that Mrs Hotel had on offer. I asked her, "que habitacian esta mas borracho?", "which room is more drunk?"  She laughed and corrected me, "barata", not "borracho", which is actually what I wanted: "cheap".

On the Color Purple:
I sat one morning in the market, having a hot chocolate (in a bowl large enough to bathe a child) and an equally large bun to dip (bathe) in it, and I was listening to the music on the stereo. A singer was crooning away, "estoy en morado", and I thought: oh excellent, I get to practice my colors! "I am in purple!" I love wearing purple, but huh? After some research, I realized, "estoy enmorado" is "I am in love."

A Threesome:
One of my favorite moments, early on in coming out of my Spanish shell, was after a dinner with Avid Alex and Partner Kathy. Someone had snarkily pointed out the Orgasmo De Chocolate on the menu for dessert, even though none of us were actually willing to express an interest in consuming something rich enough to be called "Orgasmo".

But I said to the waiter, using the "would like" conjugation of "to want" in fluid Spanish and pleasing my dining companions muchly: "Please, we would like one orgasm of chocolate, but three spoons."

If you're not part of the solution you're part of the precipitate

This bicycle tour so far has been destination-based; there are so many Sites To See in this area, that we choose ones and then set out towards it, even if it's not on "our route". Other trips my partner and I start at point A and push towards a distant point B, setting blindly out often times, not as willing to leave our route to see something. But this time, I suppose, everything is on our route, because or route is designed for Seeing not for Distance. 

Yesterday our destination was Hierve el Agua (literally, "the water boils"), a true wonder: a waterfall now solid and stationary because it was made from spring water so concentrated with calcium carbonate that it precipitated out into its own form. 

It was only about 24 kilometers away, but across mountains, so we spent half the day riding and climbing a total of 3,700 feet. 

If I'd come there in a tour bus, sat for all that time, I feel there would be all this pressure for the destination itself to be worthwhile. But on a bicycle, taking half the day to arrive, the destination was occuring continuously all morning. The grinding climb, the sweeping mountain views, admiring the cacti, staring at the goats and cows and burros crossing under the highway with their wide-hatted keeper. Stopping toq eat guavas (for the price of what I usually leave in the Take A Penny Leave A Penny cup at the pharmacy), throwing my arms wide at the valley mountain vista spread out after a climbing curve. "I could be in an OFFICE right now at a COMPUTER," I crowed, as a small truck drove by and gave me strange looks. W

The last bit before Hierve el Aqua was a dusty descending track abundantly studded with hunky stones and gravel. I'm usually a road biker, so I feel especially sensitive to anything less smooth than velvet. But I gave into the gravity, even though it was like riding on Legos, and trusted in my fearless wide tires. There was no scenery gazing during that time, just concentrated focus on staying upright. The experience was so jouncy I felt my triceps flapping and I was amazed I still had any screws left in my bike

The super-saturated now stationary waterfall

The intestine-like formations near the pools

The top of the waterfall was a series of teal pools for swimming, set starkly against a steep drop into the valley. The Sierras loomed behind. Around the pools it appeared like someone's intestine, all with curved nooks and intricate cilia from the deposited, curving calcium bright against the teal water. It was surreal how beautiful it was. Like some brighter-than-life Pixar movie, set on another planet. 


I sat by the shade tree and was delighted to find a brigade of leaf cutter ants working on it. They zipped along the tree, the empty ones touching heads with the ones coming down hefting leaves, "tell me where I'm going again?" Regarding the whole scene, it was more like green shapes trundling along, the ants themselves barely visible. I felt like David Attenborough was right there with me, and I was so happy to be there. 


Along our ride there and back there were Agave crops growing roadside, for mescal yet. It is dry and dusty feeling here, like Arizona perhaps, cacti and blistered rock outcroppings. The Sierras rest in the distance, framing our passage into a desiccating wind. This place feels so foreign to me, from cold be-treed NY state. 

Beautiful Smashed Insects and Other Photos

Monday's ride began by following a totally becoming bicycle trail out of Oaxaca. It was down the center of the highway and totally charmed me.

The widest tree in the world! Arbol del Tule. It is a willow species. What an amazing creature. I love traveling by bicycle because we could get there to bask in it's awesome presence before the tour groups tumbled out of their buses.

So many scenes feel like the wild west. On our way into the town of Teotatlan de Valle, a village of weavers using only natural dyes for their craftmanship.

At the village of Teotatlan, we visited a women's cooperative weaving studio. All the dyes are from natural materials. Here she is holding a little wool bag, dyed with the color of smashed red insects in her palm. I was so taken by learning about this whole process, and it reminded me of playing incessantly in Rockville as a child, where we ground up bits of clay pot and made rock paintings.

Although I couldn't buy and carry this one on my bicycle, i gazed at the intricate delightful birds for as long as I could. Again, all these colors come from things from nature!

Cacti with mountain views. On one of the hillsides, near the ruins Yagul, we could see a petroglyph from the road.

Night aliveness

Puebla of Mitla

We are staying in the puebla of Mitla, a village near the ruins of the same name. 

The thing to do tonight is to eat snacks and hang out in the town square. I participated in this wholeheartedly, with a boiled ear of sweet corn stabbed with a hefty stick handle, spread with mayonnaise, and then dabbed thickly in flaky cheese and chili. I don't know what half these food items are called, and rarely are there menus. But I got by with some food voyeurism and then asking, "uno de eso, por favor." The corn was the most delicious corn. 

Other snacks are eaten, little cups of flan or torta sandwiches, and children run in groups or squeal in a tent of air hockey and arcade games. Two little ones are collecting dirt and stones in their shirt fronts and excitedly filling in a hole in the town square. The main event is a basketball game of various teams of teenage girls, a very enthusiastic announcer rolling his Rs and sounding to me just like an incomprehensible auctioneer.  Strings of lights hang in zigzags across the streets and little epiphytic plant puffs grasp the electric wires like spikey green pom-poms. Orange three wheeled tuk tuks with canvas roofs drive around, some playing music softly and none bothered me for a ride, bless them. A white pickup truck drives slowly by, police sitting upright in the back, automatic rifles in laps.  

This mix of seemingly anxiety-producing police presence and family fun seemed not to give anyone else a second glance. That just may be the way it is here. It could have made me feel nervous, but I have felt a general feeling of relaxation being here. Nobody has bothered me, I am mostly ignored, not stared at, and mostly the people who do interact with me are incredibly polite or encouraging.

Oaxaca city

I must also share about the night life in Oaxaca city. Nightlife while traveling has predominantly felt inaccessible to me, but there was something about Oaxaca that felt welcoming and compelling, a mix of locals and tourists. The Zocolo, the biggest town square, with a church and huge shady trees and benches, has restaurants and shops bordering it, and is the center of everything; it was such an alive place. This concept of a community space, like the Ithaca Commons, is enchanting to me, and seems to bring a simple richness to life, which comes from simply enjoying pleasures and relaxing and being human all together in the same place.

There's a Marimba band entertaining one particular restaurant but which can be enjoyed by half the square, enormous bunches of tacky balloons for sale, hawkers stretching scarves out to buy, two women dancing a sort of authentic looking dance outside the marimba band, large groups in suits or heels walking slowly and amicably. A couple on a bench completely involved with kissing, a small speed-walking boy offering beaded necklaces to the sitting relaxers, families sporting lengthy blow-up tube toys. The place feels like a fiesta, a giant party where everyone is invited, dressing up or not, with party favors of those large plastic balloon things, complete with live music, food and drink. Huge trees stand sentry over the whole experience. And a salsa brass band from across the park wafts thru to contrast with the marimba. 

A bicycle gang, ruins, and two boys

"I'll stand _near_ the shade", said Avid Alex, of our sparsely treed road with sharp sides and no other shade to be had. This was yesterday, and we had formed a bicycle gang, Avid Alex of Box Storage, my Serendipity Kathy, and Local Artist Wendy, a friend of Alex's. I felt the long-lost joy of wheels heightened by being in a group of us, pedaling along together. And with Alex as guide, we didn't have to spend time being lost. 

We started with a dusty bicycle trail (rails to trails! In Mexico!) along the highway, then through to a neighboring town, Atzompa. Having Artist Wendy along offered us a behind-the-scenes peek into a potter's workshop, one of her connections. The area is famous for green and black clay, sold in many shops along the road, and we stopped into a workshop of a Mrs Potter, with 9 children, all of whom crafted pottery also. Bowls, napkin holders, tiny intricate figurines, large surreal creatures. Somehow bicyclers and potters all got together for a huge family portrait. 

It was to be a very authentically Oaxaca day, for after the craftsmanship, we were off to the ruins of Atzompa. Which involved a huge shade-less climb, the ruins overlooking the valley, all high and extra holy in that way. 

Preparations for the Climb (with bicycle tour system commentary in parentheses):
I left my bike on the sidewalk, unsnapping from the handlebars my Crying Bag (with me at all times, containing phone, passport, money, and named thusly because if I lose it, I will cry. Also called: Executive Bag), and ducked into a shop breifly to get a cold orange drink and some Emergency Cookies (always have backup food and emergency backup food; packaged cookies purchased from a dusty uninteresting tienda are more likely to remain uneaten and thus available for when I really need them). 

"Hay agua?" I asked Mr Tienda, hopeful to fill up from the spigoted container behind him. "ah no, es mescal!" he said and we both laughed. THAT could have been the most surreal and sickening hill climb ever, ha. 

Then I came out to discover my bicycle gone. 

But turning the corner, I found Avid Alex about to load it into the back of a taxi. "Thought we might get a lift up and save us the time and heat of the day", he said. 

Absolutely no way was I going to cooperate with that.  

I explained: "It's been three days of nothing but enjoyment and pleasure! And now it's time for some suffering and earning." They could taxi up but I was going to ride. Everyone decided to ride anyway. 

So my first riding, after months of being off the bike, was heading 1000 feet up in a sun oven, at the elevation of Denver Colorado. Needless to say, I sounded like the bellows on an old pipe organ and got loopy on endorphins. I played in Spanish with Alex: "I'd like to eat patacones in Patagonia with peacones (pedestrians)!" 

At the top we took photos and gloried in ourselves and the views. I felt fabulous. I was so high on endorphins and the effort and the heat. I learned the words for climb (sube), optimistically small climb (subito), sweat (el sudor), and "I encourage you!" ("Animo!"). 

The ruins were basically deserted, just the sky, dry dusty ground, the unhampered wind, the ancient stones, and us. I got chills regarding the structures, especially having the place to myself. I sat alone for a while on a rock, gazing out over the valley view and watching the grass weeds on the ruins wave in the wind. Just meditating on the mind-boggling age of this place, and the tenacity of the people who built it up here. 

Lunch was at a little roadside place: a hot grill, a parrot, and a large loud television. The cook there grabbed a wad of corn dough from a block and smashed it in a press into a flat round tortilla. Then she took pumpkin blossoms, stringy squeaky cheese famous in Oaxaca, mushrooms, and beans and put them inside and folded it. A real empanada. 

Lunch cost $4. For three of us. Plus hibiscus drinks. Wow. So delicious and healthy and original-to-this-place feeling. 

After flying down from the ruins, served as bliss concentrate with a side of thrill, we climbed another 1,200 feet to another ruins, Monte Alban. Why not? When in Oaxaca, climb ruins, enjoy views of the valley, and then eat so well afterwards. 

For dinner we had vegetable mole, and Mrs Mole, patient for a while to answer our many questions about the many miles, ended up bringing us a plate with individual splots of all the different ones to try. Ones made with chocolate and chilies, some with chilies and sesame seeds, fruits and chilies...herbs. The variety of flavors continues to amaze me here. (A culture based off so much more than just different types of meat, like some of the places I've traveled before) We exclaim that each meal IS the best meal and that we just cannot wait to be hungry again. 

How is this much enjoyment and pleasure and experience even possible? I think Oaxaca may be evidence that heaven does exist. It's on earth though, here in southern Mexico. (I haven't even raved about the nightlife and live music and community commons space yet either!) 

 
This one made me laugh: 

I overheard one of the other hostel dwellers, an older gentleman who is an inspiration that one can still be out being adventurous at 70, ask Kathy:  "Are you traveling with two boys?" 

I heard Kathy respond, "No. But I am traveling with one woman. She has very short hair." 


Great. I've been mistaken for a lot in the past, but never before have I been two boys. I kinda like that.

We're a bicycle gang!

At the pottery studio, of black and green clay. This is the kiln.

Figurines, intricate and bizarre.

Regarding the weeds in the wind at the Aztompa temple, completely alone.

Hand-smashed corn hunk to make an empanada with squash blossoms in it. The string cheese pleases me hugely.

Endorphins and sun on the climb.

The massive jaw-slacking stretch of ruin complex that is Monte Alban.

Splats of tasting mole, a taste painters palette

Two Tornadoes: Oaxaca city

I woke up this morning and laughed; it was basically a one-night stand. We had just met and then slept in the same bed. 

After emails, phone calls, planning, and a lot of anticipation, my bicycling partner Kathy Retired Math Teacher from California and I united yesterday, at our pre-chosen meet spot of Hostel Pochon (sleeping arrangements in hostels are such that two beds are pushed together to make one large one, thus the sharing of sleeping space).

Amazingly, February 9th 2016 was the day we had randomly met in Colombia (meaningful only later, when she figured out this random girl on the warmshowers network was actually indeed the traveler she had chatted up in Colombia) and today is February 9th 2017. Exactly a year later.  

How was your journey?! When did you get here?! Can I see your bike? I can't wait to show you the town! I love your bag! You travel so light! I can't wait to go out for food! It's so beautiful here! It's so great to meet you! 

All these and more exploded out the moment we saw each other, and we didn't stop exclaiming and enthusing and eagerly interupting each other until we were both slack jawed upon seeing the full moon over the cathedral. 

S: (in a moment of observing)"We are like two tornados!"  
K: "I know! I get so excited! But you are more calm."
A: "But I am not, really. Which says something about YOU." 

Kathy is unapologetically outgoing, with expressive playful salt-n-pepper hair, wired with muscle. We're both incredibly excited to be in Oaxaca, in a blender of beautiful input from this place and enthusiastic output to each other: blender speed Liquidate, we're talking so fast. 

I simply don't have the words to describe the charm that is Oaxaca. Famous for its hot chocolate, mole, mescal, and architecture, I felt like I was in a national geographic upon seeing the full moon in the clear sky above the intricate cathedral last night. 5,000 feet above sea-level, mountains are visible stretched above the narrow brick streets, brightly painted orange and blue and pink houses are studded with wrought-ironq balconies. Parks and cathedrals are plentiful, lending itself to congregations of relaxing or busy humanity. The place is spotlessly clean and feels impeccably safe, locals and tourists padding about. The town was alive with music and lit streets last night; nightlife usually feels inaccessible to me when I travel, but I felt I couldq participate here. I sat on a wee cushy chair and had mescal and enjoyed a live bluesy-jazzy gig, Ms Blond Gloria Yoga Teacher introduced herself to me and shared tips about the town, she's been here 11 years. 

A crowd gathered in the dark around the cathedral: a drum-ful beatsy soundtrack played filling the park and echoing off the buildings as colored lights were projected in patterns on the stone edifice of the church. A humongous skull was traced, as if in the antiquated Paint on PC computers, then colored in with red, pink, blue. I gaped through the agave plants at this exhibit: never have I experienced art in this way, so central, on a church, edgy like Frida Kahlo, slightly macabre but not threatening, compelling because of the driving drums. 

Nighttime art on the cathedral, drum soundtrack fills the air as this skull is traced on the edifice

Accessible nightlife, beautiful humanity congregating in the plaza

Oaxaca is famous for its food: Kathy and i ate in this restaurant last night. I arbitrarily chose something from the Ensalada section and was served a tender bed of kale (Fred!) topped with grilled pina triangles individually wrapped in a local herb. And there were figs. Heaven.

The lights inset into the bricks indicate a bike lane

Assembled ikea-style from its box

I am finally no longer carting around a humongous wheely box. I'd arranged with a warmshowers host in Oaxaca to store it for the next 30 days for me. From the airport I caught a publico taxi to his house, dragged my box onto the front porch, and set about unpacking and reassembling as Avid Alex avidly talked to me during the entire process. Handlebars reconnected to front fork, seat slid back in, wheels coaxed into place and aligned, brakes adjusted, rack screwed into place.

How bizarre to mount and pedal and ride a mechanism that had just been in a pile. I hooked on my paniers and rode into town (like a fledgling bird, astounded at itself in first flight) to find my hostel and meet Kathy, box happily left behind.

I am so grateful the bike had traveled well and that the assembly was straightforward and that Avid Alex would store my box and that I am in this excuisite town.

Mexico City, both expansive and smashed

A day spent exploring Mexico City. 

From the sidewalk I smelled the coiling beckoning waft of hot baked wheat. With practically no volition of my own I stepped into a tiny bakery. I wound around the woman hefting a massive wooden spatula into an oven, and regarded the shelves of buns. No prices, no labels, no instructions. But I found a tray and some tongs and chose a flakey log. She wrapped it deftly in a square of plastic, swinging it in the air to twist the ends, and asked for seis pesos. 

Which is 30 cents. I'd need ten times that for a small flakey log in Ithaca. 

Good thing I'll be biking so much or else I might turn into a flakey flubby log myself. 

I set out for the metro, to ride into the Roma/Condeza neighborhoods, across the city from where I was staying by the airport. My ticket cost my 5 pesos, which is 25 cents. (you can tell I am enjoying the price points of things here)

The metro slapped and swayed along the track while a woman stroked mascara on her lashes. I was a head taller than all and afforded superb people watching. But I am also constantly poking thru the clouds of my experience to realize, oh my goodness I am in Mexico City. Riding the metro. When I was a child, I slid out the heavy M volume of our encyclopedia and read about Mexico City in awe and disgust. The most populous city area in the world. This fascinated me at 10. I never, ever, ever, envisioned myself going there, though. Which makes me all the more thrilled to be here now. 

Spider Plants, much?

I think this is someone's garbage collection system, on wheels, believe it or not.

The Roma neighborhood felt expansive and unhurried, totally unlike what most of us imagine Mexico City to feel like.

The color and decorations around this city, just for the sake of expression, makes me happy

A taco from a covered wheeled taco stand, the businessmen in nice shoes congregating around, a stack of flimsy paper napkins suspended in a hanging dispense system. A selection of toppings--from glistening fried onions to guacamole to blackened jalapenos--were arrayed in little covered pans to go with. I ordered something that I didn't know what it was, Nopal Con Queso, and was served what looked like flaccid canned greenbeans. But tasted tangy and beguiling. My next guess was roasted green pepper? No matter: tasty, filling, 75 cents, with bottomless quacamole for my own helping.

I had eaten cactus for lunch, I learned later.

I sat there on a stool on the sidewalk, sucking air through my over-spiced mouth (the guacamole here is CALIENTE), blowing my nose into one of the flimsy napkins, and feeling utterly present and alive and so happy to be in my situation. I was also completely ignored by all the men, which I hugely appreciated, except for being asked if I wanted something to drink. I did not, but I watched every single one of the others choose a glass bottle of cold colored sugar water to go with their tacos. They popped the caps onto the sidewalk and wiped the rim with one of those napkins.

There are systems here like this, this sugar water ritual, wholly simple and unnoticed, but to me I am fascinated.

I bought a tangerine from a stall, eager frugivore that i am, and the stallkeeper gave me my change and said as I left, "De nada. Yes. Hello!"

Dogs are hugely popular in the Roma neighborhood; this man's pack was especially varied.

Poopy hair. For my cowlick days.

The golden oldies

Smash hour selfie

I knowingly rode the metro at rush hour, which is unadvised by the guide books because that is smash hour. It was like stepping into a wall of bodies. The door slid closed upon me, and there were still bums and elbows sticking out; this was enough activation energy to get me into the interstitial spaces of the smash however. Handles were not accessible but I didn't really need one. The press of bodies was enough to keep me afloat. Plus, I could reach up and steady myself by pressing against the ceiling, which no one does.

I had a lovely conversation in that pile, with a Hispanic man from Seattle. What a small world, even in that tight world.