A crack in the head

Every seven years things change, so says the Neuro Emotional Technique therapist I consulted last week. Certainly I’ve dropped in on a wave of big change, and I could say that was due to a serious crack in my head a couple of weeks ago.  But it had been gaining momentum before that. I had already sought to consult this guy who was going to unblock everything in my head. My chiropractor swore by him and I swear by my chiropractor. But perhaps the knock helped and left my brain soft and malleable.

Most of the hour consultation centred around the many naricissists I’ve had in my life. To my credit, I do shed them and more recently more quickly. But it was a concerning pattern to me to keep dumping men. That’s what I wanted unlocked. Convinced of course it was my shortcoming. Not realising that in fact I was wising up. Now apparently I won’t attract them. What a relief. All fixed.

So there’s this seven year wave of change.  And I agree with that because also on the family front there are some big changes going on. Testing, messy and exhausting changes mostly. So it stands to reason all around us other people are catching their own waves and so it’s possible that some may even catch same wave as me because there seems to be another surfer alongside me, an old friend. Actually we’re neck and neck but sharing the wave nicely, like two dolphins. And this is definitely due to the crack in the head. The night I cracked my head open I let this old friend in. Someone, not family, helped me and was at my side for nearly 24 hours. And after, he kept caring.

In amongst all the talk of narcissists the therapist is divining information from my pulse and inner aura - don’t know if that’s the correct term but it sounds in keeping with the mystique of this treatment - we checked my surfing friend. He’s a good guy, the therapist is very quick to say. A giver. I realise that this giver is perhaps the first male giver to get into my life up close, apart from my two sons. Myself and all my children are givers. Very rare, to have so many in one family says the NET therapist. And an eye opener that I’ve only ever seemed to attract narcissists on an intimate level. Well no, I know there’s been some givers along the way but they’ve either been just friends, unavailable or got away on me. Missed the wave. Like my old friend. Or perhaps I just didn’t let them catch it, the superior surfer. The blocker outerer.

So, even though a few years ago I tried a relationship with my surfing friend, it must not have been a strong enough wave and he fell by the wayside. Okay, I dumped him. This time I’ve decided to try and stay up and see how things might ride out with a giver for a change. And already I feel a whole lot more warmth and fuzziness. And sincerity. Coming at me. On my wave.

the new single mother

Single motherhood.

No buts about it, single motherhood is a tough gig. I became a single mother with four teenagers aged from 11 to 17 years after 17 years of shared parenthood. So that I don’t come across as a whingeing bitter bitch I will sing my exes praises up front. He was a good dad and an absolute rarity in that the household work was shared totally. In fact sometimes I think he may have done a tad more than me as he was a bit more anal about keeping things clean than I was. I was the tidy one, I liked to put things in their place and by the time that was done the dusting or mopping didn’t get done, so that’s where he stepped in. And it was a good arrangement, we never fought over housework. Neither of us would sit down for a bludge until we both could. It was a respect thing. We didn’t have a bad working relationship at all.

Okay, that’s it for singing his praises because once we split up he became a prick to the ninth degree.

I managed the household chores on my own really with no problem and that was on top of holding down a 30 hour a week job, which pretty soon had to become a 40 hour a week job. My kids learnt from a very young age to take responsibility for their own rooms and washing and for a while there I even had them cooking one night a week each. Mind you, their rooms were like bombsites and my coping strategy for that was just to close the door. All that hard yakka was easy compared to the emotional strain of going it alone.

What I missed the most about sharing parenthood was being able to workshop the many crisis my teenage children encountered. Like I said, the man that might have been father of the year on any one of the 17 years he was around turned into a complete prick when we separated, and not only did he offer no physical or emotional support, he was counter-productive and just plain nasty and negative when in the early days of our split I tried turning to him for help or support. Take the night I got the 3am call from the PA hospital when number two son was involved in a bad motor vehicle accident. When I rang to let him know the next morning his response was. Yeah, well, what do you want me to do about it? You’ve got the picture. Mine was not a case of a marriage split where the parents soldiered on and worked together to honour their roles as parents as I see so many other split families manage admirably. I truly became a single parent, it was as if the father of my children had died, except that occasionally he would rear his ugly head and try to make a go of re-establishing a relationship with the kids, but inevitably shoot himself in the foot in the process and one way or another, stuff things up. Until the next time. Okay, truly no more bitching about the ex.

So, after a few years of my trying to get things working functionally a counsellor advised me to stop trying and move on. And it was like stopping hitting my head against a wall. Everything actually became a lot easier, a lot calmer and a lot more functional. Except that I continued to desperately miss that other half, that confidant, when trouble hit. I had my mum, but it wasn’t too many years before she became very ill and I was mindful of introducing any unnecessary stress into her life so I tended to really only share the good and proud moments with her until she passed away.

I was well and truly a working single parent. So, the thought of introducing another man in to my life, or my children’s, didn’t/couldn’t even enter my head for about the first five or six years of my singledom. My hands and head were just so full of everything. My sons who were 15 and 17 went off the rails completely and really acted out the bewilderment and hurt they were feeling at being deserted. The police were regular visitors at my door and I was a regular visitor at the school office. My daughters. 14 and 11 hurt just as much but it was acted out with open sadness and a heap of internal dilemma for them. I just didn’t have the head space to let someone into my life or the kids. And anyway, I  felt my kids were no-one else’s responsibility but my own. There is no way I would have ever expected a man to assume responsibility for my children.

Which brings me to my current state of perplexion; am I unusual or ridiculously old fashioned with the above reaction? Have I taken my independence and my responsibilities to the extreme? Am I missing something? Has something changed with the next generation of single mothers?

I ask because both my sons, now 28 and 26 years, have girlfriends who have daughters from previous relationships. Neither biological father seems to be taking emotional or financial responsibility for their children and both my sons have stepped up to the mark, over and above the call of duty I believe, and taken on the responsibility of these beautiful little girls. And that’s all very well, I am proud that they have grown into men that would willingly do this. One even has the little girl’s name tattooed on his leg along-side his biological daughter’s, her half sister’s, name. He has supported that little girl since a week after meeting her mother over three years ago.

As I say, it is great for all concerned that my boys are caring, supportive and decent men in both the little girl’s lives and their partners. You would think a young, single stay-at-home mum would be well pleased with their second chance.

Apparently not.

One of my son’s was recently threatened by his partner that if he couldn’t earn more money she would leave him. This is the same girl I had to counsel out of leaving him nine months ago when he plummeted into depression and self-medication when he lost his job.

Now, the second son has been told by his partner that if he wasn’t such a good help with her daughter he would have been ditched. The same girl complains when he occasionally wants to go fishing with his brother, or when he wants to spend time away from her and her daughter to pursue a creative interest of his own.

So, what’s happening here? I really am perplexed.

Have my son’s, through lacking self-esteem as a result of the shitty example of a relationship they’ve been exposed to - or perhaps more to the point the desertion they suffered, picked girls who have no concept of what respect for another person - let alone someone they’re supposed to love, is? Or are they just unlucky in their choice? Or is this the new woman? 

Last leg

Phew, after a nervous few hours this morning, I've found that the Sydney airport has resumed normal flights so my return trip will not be interrupted after all. Not so for my daughter Nina who is currently waiting for flights to return to normal from Tassie. The volcanic ash from the Chilean volcano not quite dispersed there yet. She and her husband have had a terrible time of it in my absence and are there attending Alan's mum's funeral. Such a devastating loss for his family, Liz was only just 50. I remember my mum one day in palliative care when she'd had a rare moment of feeling sorry for herself she said, and i'm not sure who she was appealing to, 'but I'm only 74.' Yes, indeed. Cheated of seeing great grandchildren and of enjoying the quiet comfortable life she had achieved and which she so deserved after being such a hard worker all her life. Liz, who bought up three kids mostly on her own, another battler, cruelly cheated and missing so many of the things she deserved to enjoy. And of course her kids, missing her with all that's ahead of them. Ups and downs. RIP Liz.
So, I am hoping Nina and Alan get on a flight soon, and not just because Nina had arranged to pick me up from the airport on Thursday morning, but because I just want to give her and Alan the biggest hug I can muster. And just be there for them.
That aside, and also put aside my boring gastric complaints, this holiday has been brilliant. I confess to being nervous about traveling with a friend after my experience in New York a couple of years ago, but Merryon and I got along brilliantly. In three weeks together we never uttered a cross word, or even muttered under our breath for that matter. Not one disagreement. But we kind of knew things should be okay. We've known each other for 11 years. We started work together at the Queensland Writers Centre in 2000, along with a couple of other brilliant ladies, Sharon Dunne, Vanessa Whitelaw, Kat Pitt, Sam Bake, and we all worked there for 5 years together and have all remained the best of friends. Mez and I are very much on the same page so in our early discussions of the trip we always agreed on where we wanted to go and what we wanted to see. We also were on the same budget, and I think this was a very vital ingredient for success. I think the best example of our being like minded was when we'd finally arrived on the coast at Puerto Escondido, I'd been battling with the aforementioned gastric complaints and really, being a tourist is bloody exhausting, and we decided to head to some high end accommodation right on the beach at Mazunte and just chill for 4 days. Omg, what a joy that was. And what a relief to slow down. mazunte and the place we stayed, at really low prices, was just perfect. It was a break my system needed and a holiday within a holiday we both needed and deserved.
Our last stop was Oaxaca, where we had 5 days. Oaxaca was lovely. One day we did a cooking class with the chef of the restaurant connected to the B&B where we stayed. It was just Mez and I who did the class and we started in the markets where our teacher Pilar gave us a rundown of local ingredients, and a bit of oaxacan cooking history. Sadly up until this point I can't say I'd been enjoying Mexican fare, or anything much for that matter. The Mexican food I'd had in Rosarito Beach at the start of my trip was very mediocre, and then once I'd gotten the bug, I couldn't even bear to smell anything that remotely resembled the food I'd had there. But I was optimistic that by seeing the produce bought and cooked fresh it might take my culinary experience of Mexico to a different level. But not entirely confident. As even as we were helping to chop and grind herbs and chilis I still wasn't enthusiastic about eating anything. But finally we sat down to what we'd prepared. And I was blown away. It was all so delicious. I was so glad we'd done the course, and I'd had the opportunity to be in Pilar's home and see the cooking done by an expert who was passionate about food and her history.
The bug has come and gone, and come again and I will be getting checked out on my return, thanks to my friend Jaya who has put me onto a good doctor. It takes a bit to convince me to get to a doctor but I think if I can't take a recommendation from my old hippy yoga teacher, and faithful follower of my blogs, who could I listen to. Xx Jaya.
Oaxaca was also fantastic for markets and Artisan Co-ops. And like everything in Mexico, so cheap. My bags are literally bulging with little goodies for my loved ones, and I'm embarrassed at how much I've bought myself. But as my good mate Mez agreed, we deserve it!!!!!!
Mez headed off to the next leg of her journey at 6.15 this morning. She is off to Miami to catch up with a good friend who has just has twin boys, and then another week in NYC, with her new friend Al. How romantic... So excited for her.
And I am killing a couple of hours before check out time at the wonderful B&B we first stayed in at Mexico City, the red tree house. What an example of hospitality and warmth. Run by half a dozen or so gorgeous men, I think I would have to vote it the best all rounder out of all the great places we've stayed. When we arrived yesterday, after being away on our 2 weeks of exploring the rest of Mexico, Victor, one of our hosts was there to open the gate for us with a big smile on his face and a hug and a kiss. He took our bags and as we passed through the courtyard offered us a beer. Every evening at this place the hosts provide complimentary beers and wines. And every evening we met someone new, and sometimes we caught up with familiar faces. A great place that I recommend entirely.
In fact, I recommend Mexico entirely (maybe not so much the north end). Airfares, a little bit dear, but once you're here it's cheap as chips and you get a lot of bang for your buck. Take buses once your here so you can really see the place. Although I wouldn't recommend the 13 hour overnight one we did from San Cristobal to Puerto Escondido, try to get a Plane if you're going that way!
The place oozes with history and culture. Fascinating.
But boy, I can't wait to get home.


this picture taken in Mexico City where students not once but twice, targeted us for a project they were doing on Tourism. With clumsy English they asked us questions like where were we from, what attracted us to Mexico etc etc.

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Mexico in word bangs:

Leaving Oaxaca today, to Mexico City for the night, then home. Here's a little summary of 4 weeks in Mexico.

Random fireworks, cracked footpaths, brooms, girls in jeans, scooters, no helmets, crazy drivers, horns, one way streets, abandoned buildings, crumbling buildings, beautiful buildings, flowers, style, dogs, music, shrines, shoe shiners, men in nice leather shoes, adorable children, respected elders, packing, unpacking, chickens, pigs, turkeys, mules, jungles, rituals, thatched roofs, Pemex, tucans, peaches, big bummed mannequins, austerity, incense, tequila, mezcal, police with big guns, jewelry, stinky water, bottled water, pissing men, kissing couples, nursing mothers, beggars, used toilet paper bins, chocolate, coffee, big breakfasts, tipping, markets, protests, colours, heat, wifi, coronas, margaritas, where you from? pineapples, street traders, coca cola, windey roads, church bells, guacamole, cactus, bargains, V-dubs, pesos, gracias, Americans, MBA (Mexican boy alert - oolie droolie) long bus rides, history, chili, vast, art, wild beaches, revolution, AWESOME.


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Hell on wheels

Just a couple of things further to my last blog about the Mayan Villages we visited. All through our travels of Mexico we have seen a huge amount of churches and crosses. Randomly through the country side we saw crosses. I'd been thinking, wow, those Catholics sure did the work on these people, but that's not necessarily so. The cross for the Mayans means life. Back at the Mayan ruins we visited the cross featured predominantly in their architecture, as windows. It also means wind. It was somehow comforting to learn this.
Also, we visited two villages. We spent most of the tour in the first one, Chamula and most of my last blog was about this village. The second one we really only visited one of their churches but Ceaser pointed out some of the differences as we stood in their church. For a start, here we saw a group of half a dozen women waiting for a bible class. This village had taken on a lot more of the Catholic religion than the first village we visited. This church was oozing with flowers, again it was beautiful. These people believed in weddings and only one wife. Both villages had their own dress. Chamula women wore heavy black wool skirts and a blue shawl while the women of Zinacantan wore beautiful colorful embroidered shawls. It was said by outsiders that Chamula people were lazy and dirty and the Zinacantan people far more industrious and clean living. But there was absolutely no animosity between the two villages. When their leaders visited each other, they would swap hats.



Also, there were a few more instances of western influence. For example, parked on the perimeter of the village square were all the youths in their cars, the familiar doof doof emanating from their interiors. And Ceaser said, yes, they get the Internet, they are in touch with the world out there. I asked if the youth rebelled against their culture. Si, some do he said. But they always come back.
Interestingly, that night I read the Dalai Lama's status update on Facebook; if I have belief in any religion it is most definitely Buddhism. It read; Because of the great differences in our ways of thinking, it is inevitable that we have different religions and faiths. Each has its own beauty. And it is much better that we live together on the basis of mutual respect and mutual admiration.
Yep.
From that wonderful day the next phase of our journey is downright horrible. We took a night bus from San Cristobal to Puerto Escondido. A whole different kettle of fish to the day trips we have taken. Plus, guess what... I am still plagued with abdominal cramps and diaoreah. Yep. 13 hours of anxiety that any moment I am going to have to dash to that little cubicle of hell at the back of the bus. After 6 hours of travel,we left at about 7pm, I realize in typical style I am not going to sleep either so I take a sleeping tablet. And I mange to doze intermittently for three hours. Waking every time the bus stopped and took on, or let off, more passengers. Gee, that was a long 13 hours. But at least the seats on a bus are more comfortable than a plane. We arrive at Puerto Escondido early in the morning and we are lucky it's off season and our hotel lets us check in straight away.
Puerto Escondido has a reputation as a surfie town. Mez and I knew we wanted a beach break and we also knew that places like Cancun weren't our cup of tea. We suspected that puerto Escondido might not be either, but we wanted beach and there we were. We had investigated a few other places nearby but this was where the bus dropped us so we would play it by ear. puerto Escondido was like a coastal ghost town. It was very quiet. We could imagine what it would be like in busier times and although it was okay I think we both felt that Mexico must have something more up our alley. Perhaps it was the two police that sat in a shaded enclosure with big guns resting on their laps that made us feel this way, and the fact that Lonely Planet had advised the biggest concern in Puerto Escondido was the police who would get you for something as minor as making out on the beach. We should be so lucky ;)
Finally able to access the hotels wifi that afternoon we continued our research and settled on a place again recommended by Mez's brother; Manutze about 50 minute drive from Puerto Escondido. Being the off season accommodation was cheap and we were able to book a high end place for $60 each a night.
OMG!!! the cabbie dropped us off and we walked up to what was reception and the general lounge and restaurant area. My breath was taken away, and at a totally different end of the tangent to my previous most exciting moment of the trip, I thought this could well be the highlight of my trip... I am such a beach person.






The view from our room's verandah.
We've booked four nights here and we're on day two. It was a rest we both needed. A holiday within a holiday. Traveling is really exhausting (oh, poor us), truly it is. And with being sick and all I really thought 4 days at the beach was just what I needed. My dear old mum always maintained the beach is a cure all for everything. Well she's right. I'm real good now, and all those kilos I've lost over the last 3 weeks are fast going back on with Coronas by the pool! I just hope the 200 steps we have to climb to get to our beautiful beach do something to negate at least half those beers.



They promised us a storm yesterday but it never came, as I write there is thunder rumbling, maybe tonight...

One more day and night here and we're off to Oaxaca - the final leg of this wonderful, wonderful trip.


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Strong proud people resisting conquest

The bells toll and we get out of bed, dress comfortably and head to the end of our street where the main plaza is. We find what we figure is the kiosk where the tour leaves from and sit down with our coffee and coconut cookie fresh from the bakery and wait. We are early. We finish our breakfast and we're not convinced we're in the right place. We ask the info attendant in the kiosk. He's not sure what we're on about until we mention the name of the tour guide the lonely planet mentioned. Si, si. He points us in the right direction, the meeting place has changed.
We loiter in front of the cathedral where the attendant pointed. We're accosted by more sellers, they look familiar, they tried us yesterday. We're still not sure we're in the right place or if this tour is going to happen when a gentleman approaches us and hands us a pamphlet promoting a culturally responsible tour. We recognize the tour guide's name on it. Si, si, we are waiting for you!! He says come back at 9.30am. We do, and we are off along with another lady, an Argentinian named Luciana. Just the three of us.
The guide, Ceaser, has given us a brief on where we'll be going; two different villages, Chamula and Zinacantan, and what we'll be seeing. He warns us there will be times when we are not allowed to take photos. The Mayan villagers are superstitious about the 'evil eye' of the camera, and most definitely we are not to take pictures of any of the rituals we may witness on the tour. Or any of the village leaders. However, he adds, i am going to take you into the home of some natives and they are fine with you to takes some photos. All good, we are more than happy to comply. In fact we feel incredibly privileged to be welcomed to these villages. Unlike an American tourist Ceaser tells us about, who sneakily filmed a ritual from waist height, and then posted it on YouTube saying it was an exorcism. Ceaser, although maintaining tolerance of all peoples, obviously has little time or respect for Americans primarily and understandably because they have no respect for these villagers beliefs and cultures. They want to change them, believing their religions; Jehovahs witness, Pentecostal, Mormons etc are the only ones. Fancy that. Our guide believes ignorance is the biggest enemy these people face and this is why he runs these tours. I am enthralled, everything he tells us is fascinating and I soon realize I'm not going to remember half it so like a nerd I ask if I can take notes.
There are many things I remember without the notes though, because they resonated with me. Like their natural therapies, the way their women give birth, their belief that children with autism benefit from swimming with Dolphins and riding horses, they have a belief in chiropractors, herbs - Ceaser plucks one from the bush in front of us and rubs it between his fingers, this one he says giving us a sniff, is for digestion. Ah, just what I need! Organically grown veges, and most of all, their thing about negative energies being responsible for illness. I've long held that theory. They believe everything has a soul. And when trauma strikes that soul goes away. Or when negativity strikes, that soul goes away. Even when babies experience a fright, for example from one of the many loud fireworks they use in their rituals, it's soul goes away and to scoop it back, they perform this rocking, swooping action low to the ground of where the incident occurred. And a more heavy duty approach for adults who suffer a trauma, say a broken leg, (such accidents are usually a punishment) a shaman will use a chicken to pray for that persons spirit to return and consequently their return to health and wellbeing. They wring a chicken's neck until it is dead. Then they run the dead chicken over the victim's body. then they boil it. the victim eats the chicken's head and then the chickens bones are buried at the place where the accident occurred. Fascinating, I can't say that's my method for getting rid of negative energies. I'm more into mentally shedding them from my life. I guess as I am really ye of little, or any, faith in any religion I'm a believer in our minds having the power to overcome such adversities. And as our guide Ceaser says, the Mayans are not knocking down anyone's doors to convert them to their way of thinking. They don't judge the westerners who visit their village. They accept that the tattooed and pierced young travelers or the lipsticked and scantily dressed women have their own cultures.
I hope I am recounting what I learned with accuracy, I mean no disrespect if I haven't got it quite right, there was so much to take in.
We learnt that the villages are not governed by the Mexican government. They have their own police and justice system. Their jail is right in the centre of their market area. Its very small, there is very little crime. Men sent to jail are exposed to the public in this busy market place, women are not. If a man is put in jail for beating his wife he would serve one day, maybe three. If he reoffends he would do one year community service. Third time, he is expelled from the community, never to return. Ceaser tells us that most of the mayans selling in San Cristobal are villagers who have been expelled or who have left.
These villages do not comply with the daylight saving the rest of Mexico does, believing no-one has the power to change the time (hear hear, it has never sat well with me that 'we' want to change nature - just another example of mans desire to conquer all). in fact, they have done a dam good job of resisting any changes to their culture at all. They are an impressive strong people. That is until we come to Coca Cola...
Ceaser takes us into one of their cathedrals, where we can take a pic from outside...



We walk inside and I am just blown away. Scattered all over the floor are pine needles, the smell is divine. There is so much activity. Small groups cluster together to fill the cathedral. Groups of candles are burning on the floor everywhere. The numbers and colour of candles is very significant. 3 and 13 particularly significant. All along one wall in glass cases, like mannequins in a store, are their saints. Every other day there are different rituals, sometimes many different rituals. outside, and all through our visit, we can hear fireworks going off. These are a part of their rituals. Also there are offerings to their saints; plants, flowers, eggs, corn and wait for it, Coca Cola. Yes, Coca Cola, and not just Coca Cola, there is Fanta and other coloured drinks. These drinks apparently have gained as much kudos with the saints as the naturally colored corns (black, red, green and yellow) of old. All over the village we have seen crates both full of coke and full of empties. The colors of the corn is also represented in the candles the shaman use when they are doing their prayers. For example if they burn a red, a yellow and a black candle they are praying for justice. And all different combinations and numbers represent different things they might be praying for like; rain, good crops etc etc.
Caesar invites us to walk through the groups and observe what's going on but we already feel way too intrusive, so we just watch from the distance. We know Ceaser has these people's approval to be here with us so we feel more comfortable and respectful alongside him.
I wish I could remember the significance of everything we were told, but there was so much to take in. I'm sure Caeser could have spent days with us and we'd still be enthralled. And There is still so much more in my notebook too.
Like the saint for getting girls boyfriends, as they believe until you are married you are incomplete. (If the saint fails the girl, she punishes him by hanging him upside down in the fridge! hehe, a sense of humor too).
And the bit about diagnosing medical conditions with an egg. Quite a process I can tell you about sometime if you want to hear.
And the fact their last mayor was non-indigenous; voted in by the villagers.
And one of the things I loved most about these people; they believe no-one owns the land. And no-one is better than anyone else or wrong or right in what they believe.
But really, I must wrap up this long blog, I could go on forever. This was easily the best most exciting day of my trip.
Oh, one last thing, they believe burping also expels negativity.
Buuurrrrrrp,
Scuse ;)





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Most awesome

Our next stop is San Cristobal. Originally we thought we'd stop there just to break up the trip to Puerto Escondido. But as soon as we arrived we liked the feel of the place. Quite a few of the places we've stayed at I've booked through a website www.expedia.com.au. I also booked the short flight we did from Mexico City to Villahermosa via this site. So far all the places I've booked have been very good. And the brilliant thing about the site is they let you cancel or change your bookings without losing anything - as long as you do it within 24 hours of your arrival. The places we haven't organized through this site have been through recommendations from mez's brother who travelled here recently with his partner. The site has reviews written by other peeps who use the site and these are really good to go by. One of the reviews about our San Cristobal hotel mentioned they were put in a room that opened up right onto a busy street, both pedestrians and one way traffic passing until late at night and then again early in the morning. They asked for a room at the back of the hotel but it was full. Otherwise, they spoke highly of the place.



The restaurant at our hotel in San Cristobal.

We are shown to a room right on the street. Hmmmm. I don't think Mez wants to make a fuss (she's the one who mostly deals with stuff like that as she has a fair knowledge of Spanish) so I get out my iPhone with translator app and ask very nicely if we could have a room at the back of the hotel. The receptionist smiles knowingly and promptly moves us. Our new room is a little haven, with a covered garden area just outside our door. And it is quiet. We love this place and quickly decide to book another night. We off load our bags and go out for a walk along the stone paved streets.
San Cristobal is known for Amber and hand woven textiles, oh and coffee! We see the honey glow emanating from the many jewelry stores we pass and it's not long before it lures us in. And Lordy, it is so cheap! Like everything. We make a mental note to put aside time for shopping. Now we are trying to find a place to eat. There are all sorts of cuisines. I haven't had a huge amount of Mexican food, given my 'complaints' i have been trying to stick to bland foods where possible. We have chosen Italian (not saying italian is bland - just the bulk of pasta seems a safe bet) and I select good old Lasagne and it's really good. Unfortunately that doesn't seem to be a guarantee that I'll hold onto the food.



Wasn't going to try this place...

The next day we dedicate to markets and shopping. Mez has read in her Lonely Planet where the artisan markets are and other good places to check out around the town. Oh what fun and did we go through some money, spending on gifts for our special people and on ourselves. Those suitcases sure were bulging by the time we'd packed our treasures away.
The markets are fantastic. The traders are very persistent to make sales. In fact everywhere you go there is someone trying to sell you something. Even sitting having a meal in a restaurant people will approach you. And maybe they think we westerners all look the same, or that if they keep hounding us we will eventually buy something from them because they approach us many many times during the 3 days we're there. Eventually I do buy a little pottery sculpture from a very young boy, because he is just so adorable. He puts a little elephant out on the table and makes a trumpeting elephant noise, cause after all, I'm a dumb westerner and I probably don't know what an elephant is... But we had made up our mind to spend our money at the artisan markets, a co-op where the money was sure to go to the women that made the items, so mostly we held off from the street traders.


Some hairy lychee like produce, yummy.

Also in Mez's copy of the Lonely Planet, there is mention of a tour with an emphasis on cosmology and religion to some of the outlying Maya villages. Lonely Planet says look for someone twirling a colorful umbrella just before 9am in front of the kiosk in San Cristobal's main plaza. We know there's no need to set our alarms as the nearby cathedral's bells start peeling at 6.50am. I'll relate the story of that tour in it's own blog because it was just so awesomely special.



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Bus travel - a window to a different world

We'd flown from Mexico City to Villahermosa and from Villahermosa we'd caught a bus to Palenque. That was about a two hour trip.
From Palenque we have an enormous amount of travel ahead of us, all by bus. This is mostly by choice as we want to see the country. The trip from Palenque to San Cristobal is 5 hours. (the trip from Palenque to Puerto Escondido 13 hours) I'm glad we chose bus, we get to see so much. The roads are windey and narrow. We'd been warned about this and were armed with travel sickness pills but didn't need them on this trip. Just as well as I'm still suffering with diaoreah and it would be hardly fair to be on a bus with it coming from both ends. As it is, in consultation with Nurse Nina, I'm managing my condition. Keeping up the electrolytes and bottled water, and bland foods. But most importantly trying to time any eating I do so I'm not affected during bus trips!!!! For obvious reasons. Using the toilets on coaches is not pleasant at the best of times. But when you are traveling on windey roads it's almost impossible. The first time I used one I nearly got thrown right back out the door which I hadn't closed properly - with my pants around my knees. And the little cubicles are sooo hot. Ughh, don't want to think about it.
I have a window seat and although I have my iPad equipped with kindle and this blog app to keep me entertained I choose my iPod and hit the seat's recline button. After a busy time in Palenque it's lovely to just sit and chill. I'd invested in a decent set of headphones for the trip and so with my 'quiet times' playlist and amazing scenery I am well entertained and happy.
Along the road we catch glimpses of Mexican life away from the city. I have many photos of the little homes etc I took from the bus but can't share them online yet. Their homes are tiny and basic, and many of them very close to the road so we can see the children, the dogs, the chickens, the pigs, their washing, their woodpiles - their lives. There are restaurants all along the road too. I've mentioned them before, they are like little shelter sheds, often with a thatched roof, with plastic tables and chairs and open cooking, sometimes a fire, sometimes gas. I wonder how much business they do as we also see many such places abandoned. Also there are stores. But what really stands out is the prolific Coca Cola signage. Plastered on every available wall visible to the oncoming traffic. And they are the old school coke signs, that famous red and white lettering, like at kings cross. They seem such a contradiction to their surrounds but also a blatant reminder that there is no way these people aren't touched by the corporations of the western world. That is also bought home to us when we spy the occasional satellite dish propped alongside one the homes.




Usually further back from the road, we sometimes catch a glimpse of a church. The churches are incredibly well cared for. often they are painted in bright colours, they always look pretty and loved. Also, along the side of the road we see tiny little shrines. These are about the size of an old non-flatscreen tv. This is a natural comparison to make as I've noticed back home how as everyone replaces their old school teles for the new sleek flat screened ones they just ditch their old tvs on the nature strip outside their homes. You drive through the suburbs and there's dead tv's all over the place. Our own little shrines to our passed gods. These little Mexican shrines though, like the churches, are brightly colored and well cared for, often decorated with plants and flowers.









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Going back a few days

Yesterday we did a 10 hour tour that turned into 11 hours. It took in the Palenque ruins (Mayan), and Cascada de Misol Ha, a huge waterfall, and more waterfalls at Agua Azul. We decided to get a tour guide, really everything is so cheap and it is good to support the tourist industry here, I don't see any of the people serving us living in mansions. Our tourist guide is Ernesto, and he worth the money. As a bonus, something about a tree fallen on the road that blocked of access to the main part of the ruins, he offers to take us for a walk through the jungle as a bonus for the same cost. In the meantime the tree has been cleared but he honors his offer, so we go for a walk through the jungle. The jungle is very like our qld rain forests but perhaps twice as dense. Not long after we start out Ernesto stops to listen. We hear what he is listening to. It's a howler monkey. He says if we're lucky we might see one. And I know he really wants us to see one. He stops often to have a listen. But no luck. We do see a toucan perched on a distant branch though. That was a thrill.
As we traipse through the jungle, Merryon and my eyes are mostly on our feet. Ernesto points out clumps of rocks here and there and explains that only 5% of the ruins have been uncovered. 95% are still covered in jungle. He talks about the Mayan powers that be. To important people they were like kings , to the plebs and workers they were like gods. They ruled by inciting fear. Fear of the gods and their wrath. They mayans cleared so much jungle. They burnt trees as part of the process of making the stucco that covered the temple and which they then painted in their traditional bright colours like blue and orange. We could still see remnants of orange on the plaster. The amount of trees they had to burn for this process was huge and eventually they depleted their surrounding jungle. Wiki says the temples were abandoned after power struggles but Ernesto suggested that they'd annihilated their environment and food sources and were forced to leave. Gee, shouldn't we learn something from this? The Mayans were incredibly intelligent. In the temples the leaders even had a toilet. A stone throne, that had a stone canal with a good sluicing of water, carried of course by the slaves, that led the effluence underground and away from the temple.
From there we went to Misol Ha waterfalls, which were stunning and loud, and then on to another lot of waterfalls at Agua Azul. This was a real touristy picnic sort of area with heaps and heaps of market stalls, selling food, drinks and crafts and we had 3 hours there to have lunch and basically spend money! We didn't do either. We knew we had some true artisan markets coming up so we held off. I was tempted by some embroidered blouses and spent ages agonizing over colours and sizes, but when it came to paying, the vendor added a quick 40 pesos each to price she'd first quoted. This is not the first time this has happened and this time I wasn't going to play the game. Much to her disgust I changed my mind. I was sure I'd find some nicer tops along the way.



At Misol Ha waterfalls, 6 June.




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A different world.

I thought when we left Mexico City that we would be leaving civilization and that things would start getting a lot harder. We had a loose plan that we would get a bus from the Villahermosa airport to Palenque, where we had a hotel booked for 2 nights. But we weren't really sure how that was all going to work, bus times or exactly where the bus station was. We cruised through baggage claim and out to a modern, clean terminal. feint wafts of the hot air, around 33 degrees, from outside brushed past us as we passed exits. In amongst all the car hire kiosks we see a kiosk for the bus company we need. And yes, we could get a bus from there. Too easy. We'd been saying that a bit since we'd left our beautiful digs in Mexico City at 6.30 that morning. Everything is going swimmingly. There's an almost 2 hour wait for the bus, but that's fine, we haven't had breakfast so we sit down to a leisurely coffee. For fear of these reports turning into bog reports rather than blogs I have to mention that I'm still feeling rather delicate. I've popped more drugs and I am hungry, but afraid to eat and the thought of most foods is not appealing and slightly scary. But somehow a bag of potato chips seems to me a safe and satisfying bet. The chips hit the spot - and stay there! It's comforting to know if all else fails I can exist on potato chips and bottled water.
Our transport is a people mover and there are about 5 other passengers. There is no chatter at all, although the driver was friendly to us as he loaded our bags. We're off again on the third leg of our journey to Palenque. We didn't go through the township of Villahermosa so before long we're on the open road. First impressions, the landscape is a bit like around the Murwillumbah area but the habitation quite different. There are lots of banana trees and palm trees, and scattered low set brick abodes which look tiny, some painted in the bright greens, pinks we've been seeing a lot of. Outside some of them are areas like an unfancy gazebo with low hanging palm roofs and slung hammocks. There's lots of horses and cattle, Brahmans I think. Occasionally there is a bright pretty church, which is quite a contrast to the mostly austere looking homes. And more often restaurants, which are very basic shelter shed type set ups with plastic chairs and vinyl checked tablecloths. It's Sunday so some of these places have customers.
We've been traveling about an hour and we come to a stop behind a queue of traffic. We sit and wait. And wait. Nothing is happening. No-one says anything. 15 minutes passes. I'm glad we're in the people mover and not the truck 3 cars ahead of us. It looks like a cattle truck and there are people in it, standing. Another 10 minutes passes, a few people up ahead have got out of their cars and are walking around. There is no oncoming traffic either. An ambulance whizzes past us. Another 10 minutes or so there is movement and our driver swerves out of the line and cruises down the other side of the road and pushes in about a km or so down the road. We see the cause of the delay is a big truck that's gone off the road. It doesn't look like it's crashed into anything, it's just at a very awkward angle down an embankment.
Another half hour and we turn off the highway for Palenque, which has a population of about 35,000. Now we are in a different world. I sense it more than anywhere I've ever been. The outskirts of the town are rough, to say the least. Everything looks run down, basic at the best. Even most of the hotels look a bit sad. Until we see a petrol station which is like any big swish station you'd see in any city. It looks brand new; I'd seen one like it along the road too. They stick out like dogs balls, and it just says so much.
From the bus station we cross a gravelly rocky road and get straight into a cab and before long we pull up at our hotel, which thankfully looks positively adequate and even nice. I remember passing a camper van on the road that had a big sticker on it's back window that said 'life is good'. Yes, yes it is.



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Last day in Mexico

Grrrrrrrrrrrr, a wasted day. Stomach cramps all day yesterday and I woke with diaoreah this morning. I thought I might come good and Merryon and I had planned a days activity but here it is 4pm and I'm too wary to leave the safety of the loo. Too weary also. I feel rotten to have spoiled Mez's plans but she is being perfectly lovely.
We have crossed the '4 day' threshold. Some may know of my last (and first) overseas experience when four days into my trip I ditched my traveling companion due to irreconcilable differences. That's putting it very politely. She was a nightmare and I was miserable. There was no way I was going to have someone making me miserable on a trip I'd waited all my life to do. So I got rid of the negative energy and went on to have a wonderful adventure all on my own.
This trip and my choice of companion is thankfully a completely different story. Mez and I have laughed on more than one occasion when we have both lifted our camera to take the same picture, or reached for our bottle of water at the same time. We have agreed every day on the activities we want to do and then in the evening, where we want to eat and then even when we both want to call it a day. We are on the same page. Phew.
Although there was a slight falter last night. Right from the get go Merryon had been keen to go and see the wrestling; very big here in Mexico. I wasn't too sure. Even my son said to me, gee mum, I wouldn't have thought that would be your cup of tea. And Normally it wouldn't probably be Merryon's cup of tea either. But when in Mexico... It was all about the experience so I set about psyching myself for the event. In the meantime Mez had started to experience a seed of doubt and by 6pm the night we were supposed to go she wasn't at all convinced it was the best plan.
But it speaks volumes for our compatibility that we were able to chat about our mutual concerns, which was mainly logistics, our safety and not getting ripped off. We decided we would regret it more if we didn't go. We discussed strategies and put a plan B and C in place and off we went. It was loud, it was colorful, it was corny and it was a hoot! We were both so glad we went. It was quite a contrast to the past few days which had been primarily cruising the museums and art galleries. Would I go again? I don't think so. Give me the Brisbane lions for my gladiatorial thrills any day.



The galleries have been wonderful and today we had planned to go to an artisans market, but alas here I am... We went on a touribus and saw a lot of the city that way, including Frida Kahlo's house/museum which was a thrill. The Museo de Antropologia was incredibly interesting and insightful. And the Museo Nacional de Arte stunning. (not my pic below)







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The differences

Apart from waking at 6am this morning with another bout of diaoreah, Mexico City has been wonderful. Condesa, the area we are staying in, has a bohemian flavor - well so said the touribus we took the other day. To try to liken it to somewhere in Brisbane I guess I would say somewhere between new farm (take away the yuppiedom, more for it's diversity of restaurants and bars) and west end, but heaps higher living density, always something going on in the streets, such an industrious hard working people. I mentioned the cracked and motley footpaths; everyday we see people out sweeping them and hosing them, cleaning even with a bucket of soapy water. And then the next day, we see the same people doing it again. A daily chore for them. There are also lots of dogs, and never have we seen a dog poo. A horse poo once though...
Many people make their living on the streets. There are food stalls on every corner, stalls selling watches, socks, any dam thing they can get their hands on, there are shoe shiners and there is music - everywhere. I took a pic of a fellow playing a xylophone the other day, and very quickly his offsider was over to me with a cup for a coin. I happily gave him 5 pesos for the joy of hearing sounds like that on a busy street and in return he gave me their card - in case I wanted to hire them for a sociale :) On the streets downtown are men playing Hamonipans which give a carnival, happy feel to everything. they too put their hats out for coins as you pass.


(not my pic above, it's googled. I only take a few photos on my iPhone preferring to use my better camera, and I don't have the technology to download pics to the iPad)

Then of course the architecture is so incredibly different; old, European. And even on old run down places you can see the touches of style and attention to detail that give their beauty longevity despite having seen better days, like this old gate.



The people out on the streets while mostly friendly are not overly forthcoming, they are dignified and humble. I shouldn't generalize but I guess that's more a first impression statement. Locals that we've encountered on a closer level, like the guys who run this place are incredibly warm. A woman who lives around the corner from our BnB joined us in the garden and she was also very warm and sociable. Merryon and I went out to dinner at the same place two nights in a row and the waiter whose eyes lit up when he recognized us, gave us a kiss hello.

Mostly the cars seem to be older. I have seen very few high end vehicles. Most of the taxis are pretty old too. This is fine by me, I like old cars.



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Walking the streets

We decide to set out on foot for our first day of exploring. We're heading to Chapultepec Park where the are a few things we're interested in seeing. The night before when we headed out to dinner we discovered what a hazard the pavements in Mexico City are. They are cracked and crumbly and there's random elevations and steps all over the place. You really must have your wits about you if you don't want to do in an ankle. We also discover there's not much rhyme or reason to crossing streets. And us instinctively looking for cars in the wrong direction doesn't help! Pedestrian lights are not the norm and are only on the biggest of intersections. And another discovery is the Mexican have horns and know how to use them! The constant blasting really gives the place a chaotic feel. The layout of the streets is quite random too. One street near us actually does a full circle. Is it any wonder we got confused finding our way around before we'd got a hold of a map. We get quite lost getting to the park too, but with the aid of Mez's iPhone we eventually get there. I'd set out not really knowing where I was heading, very slack of me to think Mez would be any better a navigator than I am, so I decided, after about 3 hours of walking, I must get a hold of a map asap so I could take responsibility and contribute to the navigation each day. another thing we notice is people looking at us often, and not just looking - we get wolf whistled too. Well, at least one of us gets wolf whistled...
We went through the Museo de Antropologia, which was as huge as it was fascinating. A great way to spend the afternoon but on top of the 3 or so hours of walking we were starting to feel pretty weary. We'd got a map from the gift shop at the museum so plotted our route home and did the walk in an hour. All up, seven hours of walking. The shoes I'd bought especially for the trip served me very well, not a blister to be had, only aching feet and tired legs. Mez didn't fare so well with a huge blister on the sole of her foot.
Not sure how we mustered up the energy but after a brief rest we headed out again for dinner. Where we are staying in is fantastic for restaurants. Our beautiful meal was a great way to end a long tiring day. We couldn't wait to hit the sack.
Below, some amazing things we saw at the Museo


A cat hat





The masks were outstanding.

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Mexico City

How good it is to see Mez! She's had a few anxious moments with late flights and connection worries but it's all panned out and here she is with 15 minutes to spare before we board the plane to Mexico city. We even manage to get seats together; there's lots of catching up to do, we haven't seen each other since November last year when I was in Melbourne. We chatter most of the way despite Mez getting close to the 24 hour mark of traveling. What a trooper. What happens at the Mexico City airport is I think a good omen.
My bag comes through very quickly, I'm ready to go. But mez's bag is nowhere to be seen. She mentions she felt slightly uncomfortable when someone just placed her luggage all on it's ownsome on a trolley at the Sydney airport. She's looking a little bit worried but handling it very well, especially considering how tired she is. Probably if it was me I'd be close to tears given what a sookielala I've been this trip. We go to the baggage counter and Mez fills in all the missing baggage forms. Customer service assures Mez her bags will arrive on the next flight, 5am the next morning and then be delivered to our accomodation. We walk away from the counter, Mez is stoically resigned to the fact she wont have her bag that night, and i think quietly worried she might never see it again. Again, I am impressed at how she is handling it. I think to myself, if this is how she handles stress then she's going to make a good traveling companion. but from behind us we hear the customer service lady calling to us. She has found mez's bag!!! Phew!!!
We get a cab to our digs, which is a bed and breakfast (www.theredtreehouse.com) recommended to us by Merryon's brother who visited Mexico himself not long ago. It is gorgeous. Made all the more gorgeous by the wonderful men, and the golden labrador, who run the place. It is tastefully decorated and they go out of their way to make us feel welcome. Nothing is too much trouble. Once we're settled in they say they are pouring wines later, to come and join them. They apparently do this a couple of times a week. So we do that and meet several other guests. In their little welcome book they list several recommendations for eating and we've already tried two of them and it's obvious our hosts good taste stretches to food as well as decor and hospitality.



The garden at the red tree house



Mez, settling in.



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Los Angeles

Day 2 in LA Cathy gives me a tiki tour of the place. We drive for hours and take in places like Beverly Hills, Belair, Hollywood, we even go through the area where all the homeless gather - i cant remember the name now. We are indirectly on our way to a photo shoot. A friend of Cathy's is doing some work for her book and she kindly offered to take some picks of Cathy's son Winton while they were at it. Winton is getting to the age where some sort of income is necessary to support all the wants. And as he's a pretty good looking boy and it is LA after all, how better to earn some pocket money than modeling. The studio is in an old warehouse and is also someone's home that is rented out for this purpose. Their lounge room is a set, it's a clutter of antiquey nik naks and furniture and the models are dressed in silk and lace and beads, it all looks very old worldly. It's an interesting process to watch. I'm particularly interested watching the artistic director. I think if I'd had my time over again, (this time with some sort of encouragement and guidance) that perhaps I might have liked to have been an artistic director when I grew up. And I can actually see that my daughter Ella would be very good at it. Mental note to plan a day of shooting. Pic below was on one of the walls of the studio.


That night we have 4 tickets to see Prince play at the Forum. Theres a bit of juggling about who's going to go and eventually its Cathy, Georgina, and vivienne's husband Kevin and myself. We get there about 8pm and Cathy has chosen the seats well, we have quite a good view of the cross shaped stage. Mary J Blige is the support act. All my cousins knew her but i wasnt familiar with her. We can see from where we are (with a little help from the huge screens) that she is strutting about on heels that must be about 10cm high. She is not only strutting, she is dancing and jumping and I have no idea how she does it. Then comes Prince, and he also is strutting about in pretty high heels. And he also is pretty agile. He is an excellent performer and he doesn't disappoint. He plays all his top songs, minus the real raunchy ones as he is now apparently a Jehovahs Witness. :(
we sit in the car in the car park for 40 minutes before we can get out. It's a great night.


Day 3 in LA, we actually head out of LA and to Santa Barbara. A friend of cathy's is involved in a street art exhibition at the old Santa barbara mission. We drive up the coast highway, One if I recall, through places like Malibu - I have seen so much of LA in the three days I've been there. The day looked like it was going to be windy but when we arrive at the old mission, it is beautiful. The festival is in it's 25th year, some of the artists have been drawing there since it started. Cathy's friend, also a Tracy, has been drawing there 15 years.




There is also Italian food stalls and we all queued up for our choice and wow, what a feed. Those Italians sure can cook ;)
From there we went on to some of Georginas in-laws. Pat and bonnie McElroy. Pat is a top firefighter and if my googling is correct had the dubious honor of naming the Jesusita Fire that ripped through Santa Barbara in 2009 - I really must make a note of these sorts of things as i go so I don't have to do the google thing to make sure I have my facts right. Whatever, these were very lovely people and once again I found myself sitting around a dinner table with family, eating amazing food.

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LA Digs

I have no conflict and drama to relate in this blog. As a writer I know they are essential ingredients to a compelling read so hopefully I can at least entertain with all the good stuff since the last blog. Just when you started to think I was a whiney old cow.

The greyhound bus folk wanted passengers at the terminal one hour before departure. Seemed a bit excessive but I wasn't going to tempt complications so I allowed plenty of time and was there about 75 minutes before departure. I cruised through check in and wheeled my bag to where I was shown and the ticket person at the next departure door asked did I want to catch the earlier bus that was just ready to leave. Shit yeah! Strike off a one hour wait. Excellent. I board the bus, and get a seat to myself. Double Shit yeah! Heaps more leg room than a plane. Yeah, I was liking this greyhound bus idea. I took out my iPod and headphones and tilted the chair back and we were off. Luxury. A day of music and scenery. The only bad thing about the trip was the burger king lunch. I made do with French fries and an iced coffee - an iced coffee without strawberry, chocolate or caramel that is. Americans excessive? Never!

I got into LA at peak hour. That was dumb. I thought when I booked the trip that 10 was a civilized time to get a bus but I didn't really look at the big picture. Bit like when I play pool, I can only ever concentrate on the shot in hand. So getting into the terminal and then the cab to Mar Vista where I was staying took nearly two hours. But was I in a hurry, no. I just sat back and soaked in the sites.

I'd arranged a place to stay through a website; www.airbnb.com. I'd done my homework and found a place as close as I could to my cousin cathy's place. Cathy had kindly offered me the couch at her place, but Being such a shit sleeper I didn't think I'd fare too well on a couch for 4 nights. One maybe. The place I'd booked is an old airstream trailer that sits in a secure backyard. Very retro. It's been totally refurbished, with a lot of class. Yes folks it's a classy trailer, no trailer trash for me! All that's missing is the star on the door. The bed linen is a zillion thread count cotton sheets, that smell divine. Plump towels. Waiting for me was a little cheese platter, ground coffee and a plunger, and a bowl of fruit. Everything so thoughtful. An iPod dock, wifi, a little outdoor sitting area along side a water feature and beautiful heaps of bougainvillea. Such a far cry from my 'host' in San Francisco. Faith in humanity restored.

I let Cathy know I'm settled in and she's over in no time. We head out for some dinner with her 15 year old son, winton. I can't remember when I last saw Cathy, but years and distance vanish and not just the family connection but a like mindedness kicks in and we are immediately chatting our heads off. We drop winton off after dinner, he's bored with our chatting - he is 15 after all, and we go on to a little local bar for a nightcap.

The next day, Friday, is traditionally sista day for my 3 cousins. When they can, they get together and do stuff. So this Friday I was to be included. They'd planned a BBQ. It was a lovely day. We sat around, more chatting, and watched the gorgeous 3 year old Addi wear herself out swimming in the heated pool. We ducked out to the Mall briefly as Lenny had me on a mission to get him a genuine New Orleans Hornets jersey. But alas, they only had limited sizes, this being LA after all, so he will have to settle for a t-shirt.
The BBQ was fantastic. My family, on both my mothers side and my fathers side are all, I am proud to say, brilliant hosts and cooks. I enjoy watching some of the many cooking shows these days and I'm always a bit peeved when the Italians come on and suggest they have some sort of exclusivity on the whole food and family thing. When my family comes together it is generally around a dinner table with lashings of gorgeous fresh food prepared with love and care. I could think of no better way to be spending one of my three days half way across the world in LA with my 3 cousins and their family. Streak that had been marinating all day, marinated veges cooked in a basket on the barbie, and Vivienne - that mushroom sauce was to die for!!!! I could have eaten a plate of that on it's own. A wonderful day, thanks cuz girls and Scott and Kevin too. And yes, I've figured out how to attach pics!!!!





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I see dead people

It happened on my last trip. I dreamt about dead people from my life. So far this trip I've had two different dreams like this. It begs the question, are these spirits traveling with me? That's more than fine if they're looking after me. But last night's dream was just so incredibly sad and disturbing, and scary. I'm still trying to unravel it. And I'm tempted to make a call home to check everyone is alright as I've had dreams before, birth and death dreams, that have carried relevance to actual events. The dream woke me at about 2am and at first I didn't know what had woken me and then I remembered, and I cried and cried. (jeez, I'm crying a lot aren't i?) I had difficulty returning to sleep and had to get up and get my kindle off the charger and read to push the thoughts from my head. Another shitful nights sleep. I woke again at 5am, another disturbing dream but for the life of me can't remember that one. And when I eventually woke just before my alarm at 7 I had departure stuff on my mind and didn't think about the dream. It wasn't until I sat in my seat on the greyhound bus to LA that it came back to me with a whollop. Before long I had tears streaming down my cheeks. If ever I'm acting, not that I have aspirations, I know that just a quick thought to that dream would induce tears without a doubt. Thank goodness for my dark sunnies. And I'm sorry to be elusive, I can't say this dream out loud, it's just too... Ominous. And anyway, I'd start bawling again.

So, on a cheerier note, I'm on a greyhound bus heading to LA. My San Francisco stay came good at about 11am yesterday when every bit of evil had been excreted from my poor hungry body. I had to eat and just across the road was the most perfect place for my first meal. It was a buffet but the freshest most appetizing looking food I have ever, EVER seen on a buffet. Actually, it looked like something my family or friends would produce when we have a pot luck. I served up a plate of freshly chopped fruit salad and a croissant, perfect. And it was the first decent coffee I'd had in the states. I was beginning to feel human again, and the rain that had threatened to ruin my last day had begun to clear. That settled it, I would venture out and take myself to Alcatraz. I thought if nothing else I would enjoy the ferry ride.
It was an easy trip with the trolley cars running right outside my hotel's door, and dropping me off right at pier 33 where I caught the ferry. No waiting and minimal queues.
Alcatraz was wonderful. It had turned into a beautiful day. I went berserk with the camera. I knew Alcatraz had been a federal penitentiary and a military barracks but I didn't know that at one point native Americans took over the island. It was a protest about the standard of the missions the government had begrudgingly given them. It was interesting to learn this on the day that back home was 'sorry' day.

I was on a safe bet with the buffet across the road and still feeling very finicky about what I felt like to eat so I returned there for dinner and then again this morning for breakfast. I was hoping they'd have their sandwiches prepared so I could buy one for the bus ride but alas, no, they didn't put them out until about 10am. And double alas, the driver has just informed us we'll be breaking for lunch at Burger King, nooooooooo!




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San Francisco

Although $300 was a such a lot to pay for a room, I was very glad to be there. At about midnight the vomiting started. I've never vomited up lettuce before and let me tell you it's just as revolting as any type of vomit, and it clogs drains!! For some stupid reason I thought it would be more comfortable to throw up in to the hand basin rather than kneeling over the toilet bowl with my dodgey netballer's knees and so at 1am I am standing there scooping the devil from the handbasin in a glass to the toilet, almost vomiting with every scoop, not sure if I'm more distraught about the idea of someone having to come and clean up after me or the bill I might get for blocking their drain. Woe is me. Where's my beautiful nurse Nina when I need her? The night dragged, I was awake every hour on the hour. I enjoyed a shower at about 3am. I just kept hoping by check out time I would feel halfway human and well enough to move to a cheaper place. At about 5am I started googling alternate accom and had a short list ready to phone a bit later. I was thrilled to find out check out time was 12pm. Surely I'd be okay by then.
By 12 the vomitting had stopped. I just felt woozy, exhausted and the headache I had was threatening to go migraine. I dosed up with my last panadol and checked out feeling semi human. The cabbie was quite chatty so I asked if i had only one day in SF what he would recommend. He suggested seeing the sights of the city but explained tour buses didn't go a lot of the interesting places as the hills were too steep and some of the corners to windey, the best way to see it was in a cab. He wasn't doing the hard sell, he thought I'd meant I wanted ideas for the next day. But I thought, he's nice enough, a good communicator and knows the city well, and really I didn't have the time or the energy to organize much else so I asked if we could do that straight away. So for the next 2.5 hours we drove around the city that he obviously loved, and we chatted about the prices of homes etc and I felt like I got a really good picture of SF from him. He pulled over regularly to let me take pics and even offered to take a few of me too. He even offered to sit down and have lunch with me but I seriously didnt trust my stomach. I think I was lucky this guy picked me up. Again, I may have paid a high price but I felt it was justified. I just really wasn't well enough to be doing anything else than be chauffeured around and it would be such a waste to be sitting in my hotel room feeling sorry for myself.
I checked into my cheaper digs, and they were fine, except I had to try three rooms before I could get the wifi. Traveling on my own, my iPad has been an absolute blessing for things like finding alternate accom, and doing research and it's great company. I turned the tv on briefly last night, it seemed every channel was loud hosts and the studio applause of reality shows, American idol, biggest loser, so you think you can dance, dr Phil, etc etc. No thank you, very happy to have me time with my kindle, music and blog. But I do look forward to meeting Merryon in LA in 5 days and traveling with a good friend. I'm over the lone traveling. There, I said it.

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Food poisoning hell

I arrive at LAX with plenty of time for lunch and an insipid cup of coffee. I really haven't had much of an appetite since I arrived. I got hungry once at Rosarito Beach and after a couple of days of nachos, refried beans with lashings of melted cheese that never failed to make the meal look like vomit, I felt like some unadulterated food. Back home I'd been watching what I'd been eating for months, a huge cut back on carbs and dairy so corn chips and cheese were a bit of a shock to the system. I'd seen this amazing looking steakhouse and I thought that was just what I was craving. And it was excellent, the best meal I'd had so far.
So at Lax I order a chicken caesar salad, can't go too far wrong with that. Hmm, the salad consisted of a mountain of lettuce and that's it. I ate up and went to wait at departure gate for about an hour or so. About 10 mins before we were due to board I start getting pains in the stomach. By the time I'm sitting on the plane they are getting pretty serious. But as the plane has already started moving, I can't leave my seat let alone use the toilet. The plane has moved but it comes to a stop, it's waiting for the okay to use the runway. So I too am waiting. Waiting, waiting. The pains not subsiding, getting worse. Finally, I get the okay to leave my seat. And sure enough the pains were no idle threat. This was food poisoning. I return to my seat hoping that's the last of it, but the pains soon reappear. I'm sweating and then I'm shivering. It is not fun. I'm going to have to go again, but it's a short flight and now we are beginning our decent. We must belt up. Again I have to hold on. I just hope and pray there are no delays getting off the plane. I don't have overhead luggage so I should be able to get up and out pretty quickly. The seat belt light goes off and I'm up. I excuse myself as I try to squeeze past the people in front of me. Not the done thing I know but hey... Apologizing profusely, saying it's an emergency, I push my way through. One woman turns and snaps at me, we all have to get off the plane! I'm sorry I say, I just didn't want to vomit down your back! Some people make way for me and then I come to this man who just refuses to move, and I can't recall what he said first but I snapped and he called me a stupid bitch. He just wasnt going to move for me. Then, still in front of me once off the plane and going down the narrow hallway, he intentionally blocked my way. I wished I could have spewed on him. But all I could muster was some top swearing, you fucking arrogant prick. Finally we're at the Terminal and I can storm past him. I get to the loo, and I burst into tears at about the same time I burst elsewhere. I am sooo not a happy camper.
I collect my bags and make my way to the shuttle buses. Originally I'd booked a hotel in San Francisco but I cancelled when a lady I'd met on couch surfing (google it if you don't know what it is, but basically it's a friendship site for worldwide travelers) insisted I could surf her couch. She seemed nice so I cancelled the hotel but kept the booking for the shuttle bus as the hotel was not for from this woman's apartment.
When I get off the plane I see that somehow the battery in my phone is in the red. Don't know how that happened, it's not like I was using it. I thought i would try and contact my couch surfing friend and suggest i stay the night at the hotel after all. The thought of prolonging my journey any longer than necessary not appealing to me at all. But the only room the hotel has got has a share bathroom so i make the call, i will go to this womans place afterall. But when I get there, there is a security gate between me and her front door and no intercom. I hope there is enough charge in my phone to ring her. I go to my contacts, and shit, I haven't put her number in! I could have sworn i had. Her number is in my emails but without wifi, I can't access anything. I try rattling the security gate. Remember I'm still getting hot and cold flushes and pains and would desperately like to have the safety of a toilet nearby.
I am really distraught and close to tears again for the second time in one day. I know I have her number written somewhere amongst my paperwork. Please don't make me have to unpack my luggage on the footpath. It is a busy area. And then, she comes out the door. She hasn't heard me, she is on her way out. Im later than we Both though id be and she's made other plans to go visit her new boyfriend who is sick too. It's a bit awkward. I explain I'm sick. I say I'm quite happy to just go inside and lie down, more than anything I just want to lie down somewhere. But she says no, she doesn't think it's a good idea for me stay there if I'm sick! Really? I suppose I can sort of understand but my true reaction is I'm gobsmacked. I try to imagine myself in the same situation. Would I turn someone away who's spent all day traveling and is sick? I'm sure I wouldn't!
It's okay she says and points to a hotel a block away. She's walking that way she'll walk with me. We say our goodbyes, maybe we'll catch up over the next few days she giggles. Not bloody likely girlfriend!
It's a freaking huge Holiday Inn, so I can't believe it when they say they are full. Whaaaaa, there's those threatening tears again. The receptionist is nice enough to phone through to some info line who tells me where the closest subsidiary hotel is. Whaaaaa. Back out to the cab rank. A passing homeless gentleman opens the cab door for me. Bless you kind soul, I manage a smile. I head to the next hotel. And yes, they have a room. Thank goodness, hooray. But says the lady, it's quite expensive. Oh, I don't want to know, because I know I do not have another skerrick of energy left in me to try somewhere else. How much I ask. $300. $300. $300!!!! I have never paid that much for a room, and nor am I likely to ever again. But I handed over the credit card hardly able to believe that soon I could sit on a toilet, have a dam good cry and then hit the sack. And my, what a beautiful bed it was.

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Getting back into USA.

After my horrendous journey to get to Rosarito beach I was keen to find a better option for getting back to LA. From LA I was to fly to San Francisco for a few days. The staff at the hotel put me onto a guy, Isaias, who did tours and charters. He could drive me straight to LAX, no stops, no changeovers and super safe. It would be twice the price of what I payed for my journey from hell, but worth every cent I thought. But in the meantime I sleuthed around the festival guests for someone traveling to LA. There were one or two heading that way but on the day before I'd planned, so I would lose a night accom and have to organize another. Besides, I felt like I really needed a day to unwind. So I stuck with the isaias plan.
I meet isaias as planned, he has his 18 year old son with him. Theres a change of plans as he has an appointment to keep that afternoon. They are going to drop me at the borderline, where another driver would take me to LAX and then he is going to take his son shopping at san diego before his appointment. As we drive he carefully explains how this will all happen. How as a passenger I will have to get out of the car and cross the border on foot. There's something quite intrepid about that don't you think? He explained buses or chartered services such as his go through a special lane that usually moves quicker but that the search they do on the vehicle is pretty extensive and can sometimes take 1/2 an hour. Once the driver gets to his checkpoint I am to get out of the car and cross the border and then i am to wait for the driver on the other side.
We get to our special queue, and we have been sitting there for 25 minutes and haven't even moved. My driver does not speak English. I am starting to get a little worried. And just as I'm starting to get worried the drivers phone rings. It is isaias, he says he's been watching from his queue and is about to go through himself and he's seen that we haven't moved and he is worried for me too. He says change of plans. He will now take me to LAX himself, he has canceled the appointment he had that meant he couldn't take me all the way to LAX as originally discussed. He says get out of the car now and wait for him on the other side, he will be 5 or 10 minutes. I do as I'm told.
It's when I'm standing there all on my own I start to feel quite vulnerable, and suspicious. Oh dear, what if this is a rort? He has my payment after all. Oh dear. I try calling the number he gave me so we could keep in touch Nothing, some unidentifiable beep. I try again - nothing. I try a third time and Just as I do I feel a hand on my arm. It is isaias. This way he says, leading me to his car, ever the gentleman. I breathe a huge sigh of relief and jump in the car with this charming polite man and his son.
I always keep an eye out for my customers he says. I like to take care of them... What sort of music do you like? He tunes his radio to a station he thinks will suit. We head to LA, a road trip with a good looking Mexican - and as conversation would disclose; single. what more could I ask for?


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Festival and awards

A 9am start to the festival after a 2am finish was a tad optimistic so I missed the first film, a documentary 'happy' that was apparently good. I stayed in my room working very hard to convince myself I did not have a hangover. On a scale of one to ten it was probably a three. A three requires plenty of water, not a lot of movement, and minimal critical thinking. A four or five is when you start reaching for panadol, and a six to eight requires a bucket, and eight to ten requires absolutely no critical thinking, a bucket, a bed, and a whole day for recovery. You can see why I was determined not to have a full scale hangover whilst away. I felt lucky and a little impressed with myself to escape with a three. But As the day wore on it did work it's way up to a five, and I had to take a break from sitting upright and reading subtitles - i was nodding off. So at about 4pm I headed back to my room for a nanna nap.
i thought it a little strange that it wasnt a given that all the award winners films were screened. Push Bike was not going to be screened because it had been entered into the screenplay competition and it wasn't a requirement that the screenplay had been produced. However, at the mixer the night before Voula (which I spelt wrong in an earlier blog) took my copy from me and said they would screen it. Unfortunately though the copy I had wouldnt play, so... No go. I agreed with the festival's choice for the only trophy of the festival, everyone else just received certificates. the winner was a comedy 'the shoes maketh the man' and I thought it deserved the win, it was one of my favorites, particularly the lead actor's performance.
My award for the dud of the festival went to... I'm trying to think of a good word to describe it but I'm sitting here in the airport shaking my head, at a loss to explain how monumentally crap it was on so many levels (sorry Voula). Perhaps if I just say it was funded by a church, had no live action, was way, way too long and was what seemed to be a not very accomplished exercise in photoshop. For example, the last sequence was saying He is in you, so we saw a whole string of images of people, all types from all over the world, and their faces would be Photoshopped out and jesus's face photoshopped in it's place - brilliant hey! all the while some sort of ugly synth music playing. Oh how I hate to be preached to in films or literature!! I was a little annoyed at myself for not walking out but I wasnt in my country, I was a visitor and I didn't want to offend.
The award ceremony followed, and it was lovely that all the recipients were allowed to make a little speech. here we found out that filmmakers from all over had traveled to be there. All parts of the US of course and Japan, Austria, Vancouver, and me from Oz. And then after the ceremony, guess what, more karaoke!
It was disappointing that so many were scared off and didn't come, I really felt for the organizers Voula and Karla. If it wasn't for their bright, warm and enthusiastic interaction with us all it could have felt like a real fizzer. But they rallied at every opportunity to make us all feel welcome and valued. And they wrangled us all together at karaoke, organized our drinks and they even bought me a breakfast and lunch! they made the difference between it being a non-event, or worse, to a time I will remember forever.
Mwuh girls xxxx


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I'm no singer, apparently.

So, a shower and twelve hours sleep was brilliant. And now that all the travel was over I could begin to focus on what I was here for. The Mexico international film festival. The first event is a mixer, where all the award winners, and any other industry types could get together and mingle and network. Not my strong point and it really does require psyching and usually a few drinks prior for dutch courage. But, those who know me, know how badly I suffer with hangovers and they are hell at the best of times at home let alone in a strange hotel room on my own on the other side of the world. I was really conscious of how, when nervous, I am inclined to guzzle drinks and i was going to make an effort to not go there. So there were no drinks prior.
I am the first to arrive. Great! Loserville already. The organizers, Carla and ula, tell me they have had 60 Americans cancel at the last minute, due to severe danger warnings for travel in the area given by the US government. They give me a few extra complimentary drink coupons, since half the guests won't be coming - dangerous... I knock back my first genuine Mexican margarita. It's not bad. Like me they don't put triple sec in it like some places in oz do. I'm glad, I hate that stuff in my margaritas. I get another. I'm twiddling my thumbs waiting for some other guests to arrive and finally a few more straggle in. Theres really not many of us. How disappointing for the organizers. But we all make the best of it; we're kindred spirits all happy to be there and to enjoy a bit of glory for our efforts. A few more drinks and the chatter becomes easier. The event officially finishes at 9.30 when the karaoke kicks in. We're all invited to hang around and about a dozen of us do.
Now, I have never sung in public before - not that I remember. Although I do have a recollection of holding a piece of paper with the words to a song on it at a party not so long ago. A party I choose to forget, such was my disgrace. maybe I sung there... (shhhhh Colleen). But they say travelers take risks. No one here knew me. Every one was having a go. It looked easy enough. I perused the selections and jotted a couple of song titles on a serviette, just to be prepared. Just in case I mustered up the guts to get up, and sing. Id pkay it by ear. Well, naughty Ula whisked up the serviette and took it out to the MC. Keeerist! Better have another drink.
The place is a haunt for locals, which included quite a few Americans who'd obviously escaped to the place as a semi retirement plan as they weren't really quite retirement age. Throughout the night I collected cards from a few I spoke to. Like Linda, who custom painted rocks she collected from the Rosarito beach. Children's names, company logos and she specialized in stones for pets burial sites. Yes. I desperately wanted to ask if it was a profitable venture. And how the rock supply was holding out.
They ALL took their karaoke very seriously, and most of them sung quite well and even confidently busted the right moves. This wasn't a one of event for them. They were regulars and karaoke to them was like golf is for some other folk around their age.
My turn came. Lordy. And deary me. My song choices; People Are Strange by the Doors and Something Stupid, Frank Sinatra. The music starts. The words start to roll. Right. I'm reading the words to myself. Im listening to the tune. Getting the feel. Concentrating. When I should be singing! Okay, so where am I? Where are we up to? I try a line. No, thats not right. Shit, where am I? Ummm, ummmm. Shit the music's going way too quick for my reading capabilities. I am such a slow reader! This isn't going well. I can feel all those margaritas flushing up to a redness in my cheeks and sweat in the armpits. The song ends. I die a little death. Maybe the next one will be easier. It's heaps slower. I psyche myself up while I wait for the MC who is having trouble finding it. And then up comes a Mexican gentleman to the stage. No more for you, he says. Only one song, you're only allowed one song. But... Hang on, everyone else has done two. Everyone. I thought that's what you did. No he says adamantly. Only one song. Off the stage. (who's thinking soup nazi here?)
All I can say is given my maturity with regards to drinking these days (I only woke up with a slight hangover) I am never ever likely to be drunk enough to ever get back up on a stage and sing karaoke!!! Yuse can all eat a dick. Especially you, little Mexican man.


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Two for one Margarita?

Strolling up the street from the hotel it is mostly cafes, restaurants, and gift shops. I get the feeling this place has seen busier days. And reading the hotels blurb they skite about such visitors as Frank Sinatra, Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth and Gregory Peck and it kinda ends there. Traders pounce on me, and invite me in to their stores to look. I can see it's mostly the same product in every store, and a lot of the stuff is pretty tacky. But I do wander into one or two. I admire a ring in one shop and the shop keeper is quick to take it out of the display case and put it on my finger, assuring me it's silver and a real stone, over and over. The ring is nice but the silver is so thin I suspect it would actually cut my finger when wearing it. She says I can have it for $85 but I'm not keen and so then she suggests she get her daughter to go get the ring weighed so she can determine her best price. It goes down to $60. I'm still not keen. She asks me to name my price. I insist I'm just going to think about it. $45 she tells me, because she wants to make her first sale. But I'm still not keen, I know I could get something similar at a market for half that. This battler has not made her first sale.
And it is like that at every store.
All the lanes to my left head down to the beach. I see a photo opportunity and head down one. A gentleman who'd been leaning against a post on the corner drinking a cup of coffee follows me. This is where everyone's warnings of imminent danger kick in. I take my photo and quickly head back to the main street, a shiver down my spine and it's only 10am. The next lane doesn't look so dingy so I head down thinking I'll walk back to the hotel along the beach, get away from the relentless hawkers. But no, this is where it really begins and I see that there is no such thing here for a trader to sit back and wait for you to come to them. All along the beach there are little drink stalls, the vendors call out as I pass, juice? Margarita? Two for one margarita? And remember it's still just after 10.
I head for the big long pier that is directly in front of my hotel (pics to come) I see there is a security person at the start of the pier, many of the hotels have security lurking at their entries. As I pass him he calls me back, I must have a ticket he says. Wow, they don't miss a trick. I realize the pier must be the hotels property so I show him my keycard and he lets me pass. At the end are a whole lot of people fishing. I look in some of the buckets and at least they are catching some for their money.
Later I head back down the street for some lunch. I have potato and cheese soup and a Sol beer. It's going down pretty well. From my table I can see a band of musicians coming down the street. I know they are musicians because they are carrying their instruments. It looks like they are going to set up in front of me. Cool. One asks me, you like music? I smile, yes thanks. He asks me for money. Now I know I'm in a different country and all but my idea of busking is for me to throw money in a hat if I like the music, and I do - if I like it. I'm a bit thrown and my first reaction is to say no thanks to the price he is asking, but once they have left I regret saying no because I'm sure with a double base, an accordion, and a little drum they probably would have been shit hot, but they are gone. The funny thing is they just head straight back to where they came from which was a club on the other side of the intersection, not as I would have thought, off down the street to try their luck at another of the many cafes. So I'm sitting there thinking, did the restaurant owner give them a quick call... Hey amigos, I've got an eat pray love type sitting in my cafe, just ripe for fleecing, come on over and try your luck?? or am I being cynical? Or am I actually getting a bit worldly wise?

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