Good Morning Ecuador

Do I look lost? I'm supposed to be.

Last night, as my plane was flying high above Columbia, a voice came through the intercom and said , "Unfortunately ladies and gentlemen, the Quito airport has been closed as a result of weather conditions, we will be rerouting your flight to Guayaquil." Thirty minutes later, the pilot came back on and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, we can land in Quito, we are now turning around and will be arriving shortly. Of course, that is pilot humor, as the skies were incredibly clear and I was able to have my first fresh breath in about 5 days... well, a much fresher breath than those available in the City of Mexico.


The mystic haze that shrouds the buildings can be yours too, at the low cost of killing everything.

I spent my final day in Mexico City acclimating myself with the ways of the metro, riding all over the city. I went to Xochimilco--an oversized labrynth of waterways--then to Chapultepec, a grand park, if I do say so myself. As I wandered around on my final day, I couldn't allow myself to comprehend the brownish grey hue that lingers around all buildings in the city. It was everywhere. Eventually I found my way back to my dorm bed in the hostel and to my Lonely Planet South America Travel Guide, when I struck up a conversation with this English bloke Barney who had been traveling through South America for the last eight months. He gave me a ton of advice on Ecuador, the Galapagos Islands (if I choose to go there), and for traveling throughout South America. His friend Ed arrived and it turned out that they were going to watch the Luchadores--Mexican wrestlers. I, having been a wrestling fanatic when I was much much younger, could hardly resist the temptation of the high flying spectacle. We busted out to the streets, hailed a cab and were off. The next morning, I packed up my stuff, headed to Benito Juarez, and off I went to Ecuador.

After my first full day in Quito, I'm not too sure of what I think about it. It's a city--a big one at that--with less pollution than Mexico City. The Spanish is slower here, bus it seems as though its spoken with less clarity, a trade-off that I am dealing with to the best of my abilities. The sun is piercing whenever there happens to be no clouds. The coffee is good, and the people not as amiable as the Mexicanos, and their wonderful hospitality, that I have become so accustomed to. There are, however, quite a few brightspots after my first day. Safe to say, none of them have anything to do with tourists that refuse to speak Spanish and only increase the volume of their voice in order to try to get their point across.

One of the simplest, and coolest, things that I have been able to do is walk into a market place and have lunch with all of the poeple of insert city here. This afternoon, I walked into the kitchens of the Mercado Central in Quito, and found myself at Corvina don Jimmy's--a 50 year old Quiteño establishment known for serving the finest (and cheapest) sea bass around. For $2.50, I was able to find myself diving into a bowl of shrimp ceviche and a plate of sea bass with papas y arroz. It was easily one of the most amazing things I have eaten thus far. The best part of the experience though, was interacting with the cooks and servers. I'm not sure if they were laughing at me because I was the only Gringo in the entire Market, or if it was because I had no idea how to properly eat Corvina (sea bass). Either was, a good time was had by all, and I left with a full, happy, stomach. If you ever find your way to Quito, I would definitely suggest stopping by. Tell them the tall gringo sent you (El gringo alto me dijó que neccesitaría tratar la Corvina--I think that is right, given a few spelling errors...).


From L-R: Shrip Ceviche, Jugo de Mora, Corvina con arroz y papas, y palomitas

I spent the rest of my day exploring the Old Town of Quito, the cities historic center. I wasn't in a museum mode, and therefore only walked around to acclimate myself to the city. It certainly is beautiful, despite the fact that I am almost desensitized to colonial architecture. If you've seen an arch, you've seen an arch right? Making it more obvious to me that the focus of my trip, and possibly my life, is the people that I have and will come accross. I won't get too deep here though, as there are some thoughts I need to keep for myself.



Another thing of note is that Ecuadorians do not like Texans. They (of those I have spoken with) do, however, very much like Hugo Chavez. If you would like to understand more about this, I have heard that you can find such information in the books Armed Madhouse and Confessions of an Economic Hitman. Or, of course, you can ask an Ecuadorian.

I miss home, and am wondering why anybody would ever really want to travel alone. Though, in thinking about that, I think I've learned that independence is not just learning how to make your own decisions, its also learning how to not make decisions for others. As you ponder that, I will say goodnight to this now slumbering town. Think about it...


A different kind of haziness

A Change of Mind

One minute, I was sitting alone a top the world's third largest pyramid, and thenext, I was touring the Palacio Federal with a guy named Jorge who happened to work with/for/as the secretary of state... and all because of a rapid change of mind. Pretty sweet, huh?

I wandered out on Friday morning, intent on going to class after dropping my laundry off at the lavandaria. I changed my mind about halfway there and decided that I should probably head to the centro, mail some letters, and run some other random errands that I wanted to do before I left GTO. I determined my fate for the weekend and read through all of the lesson plans so I wouldn't feel guilty for skipping class. I am hoping that the notes that I took from the book will be serviceable for continuing to teach myself spanish as I travel through South America for the next... um... 4 months? I think that's right. Anyway, I'm pretty sure that my decision had something to do with the fact that I would be spending part of my evening and the greater part of Saturday volunteering for Amigos de los Animales and eventually partying with my friends later in the night.

Later in the afternoon, I made my way over to Sandra Ward's beautiful bright pink (kind of an oxymoron, no?) abode to help load things up for the steriliazation campaign. After meeting with a plethora of vets and other volunteers, we moved onward towards the Escuela Pipila--quite the ramshackle school that was allowing us to use their facilities for the weekend (It's always really hard to see how some classrooms look, though, the classroom doesn't really ever determine how well kids learn...). Setting up was simple enough, and I had more than enough time to get ready (i.e. change into my finest black t-shirt) to go out for one last hurrah in the GTO.

An aside: The centro historico in GTO is chalkful of relatively pricey restaurants, all with menus in English. Normally, this would defy all of my rules with regards to dining in foreign countries (both indicate that the food will be pricey and bad... usually). However, there are exceptions. You either deal with it for a better atmosphere, or because it's what everybody else does... Nowhere else in the town--or anywhere else for that matter--can you see hundreds of teens circling around the plaza, arm in arm, chatting with their friends. It reminded me a lot of how teenagers in small town and suburbs get really bored and drive to the parking lot of the nearest QFC. It's also pretty much all there is to do on a Friday night for local Guanajuatenses, leading me to the one rule that overrides the rest--when in Rome.

I woke up the next morning feeling a little crudo (insert hungover), but good enough to catch a ride to the school for the campaign. After shaking the hands of about 17 different vets/vet techs/volunteers, I was directed to help with the yardsale... I hated it too. One of the women that was helping wanted to buy everything for herself, and the other didn't want part with the things she was selling for a reasonable amount of money. Me, on the other hand, I love to hustle. I was wheelin and dealin, selling clothing like it was going out of style. It was a great situation for learning how to speak spanish, and also to compliment. Anyway, the women eventually drove me nuts, and I wandered off to find something else to do...

I found my way to a space in between prep and surgery. I learned how to hold cats and dogs when they receive anesthetic, as well as how to appropriately tie a square not, when tying a suture to close up a dog and or cat. Impressive, huh? The day allowed us to see over 40 animals, and an assortment of problems for all of them, from STD's to bite marks. It was an eye opening experience, that I will not forget anytime soon.





Another aside: I am kind of starting to wonder if people who hear about the Bonderman Fellowship secretly despise me. In order to go undercover, I have started to tell people that I will be returning to the states shortly, going home, etc.

After speeding in the cab to make it to the lavandaria in time to pick up my laundry, I passed out in order to wake up at dawn the next morning, and head to San Juan Teotihuacan. After missing the bus stop--after the 6 hour bus ride--I ended up at the pyramids themselves, and had to walk about a mile to get to my hotel. I dropped off my bags and headed out into the town. It took about 5 minutes--after having lived in GTO--to become bored out of my mind. After a bite to eat, I retired to my hotel room, where I watched horrible professional wrestling and a new episode of Anthony Bourdain... which was oddly only in English without subtitles on a Spanish television station...

With 12 hours of sleep, I was ready to go to the Pyramids of Teotihuacan as the roosters began to crow in the morning. I got up and made the mistake of eating the crappy hotel breakfast--something that No Reservations and Anthony Bourdain had warned me about the night before. Something about the breakfast made me feel like staying in S.J.T. wasn't probably the best idea...







Mondays at the pyramids are very different, especially from the weekend days, when Mexican families come en mass and cover the pyramid with a plethora of shirt colors. Monday, this Monday, was a different story. Monday was mine. I was the first person to the Pyramid on Monday morning, and I had the top all to myself for the next thirty minutes. I don't know what it is about high places, and me having them all to myself, but I am really starting to enjoy it. Eventually, my peace was interrupted by a large, boisterous, group of Lithuanian tourists. It was then that I realized that I couldn't have the Pyramids--I couldn't have Teotihuacan--to myself forever. It was then that I had my first of what will most likely be many deviations from the plan (I'm still not sure what the plan is).

Though I had already paid for the second night, I went back to the hotel after my tour of the ancient pre-hispanic city, determined to get a change of scenery. I got my money, got my bags, went to the bus stop, hopped on the next bus--while it was still moving nonetheless--and left town for the Federal District. Once I arrived, I paid four times the cost of my bus ride for a taxi to the center, then copped some grub.

It was at this restaurant that I met this guy Jorge, who works for the Secretary of the State, in the Palacio Federal. After we finished our plates of salsa laden pork, he took it upon himself to give me a private tour of the Federal building. I'm still not sure if he did it because I told him I was a political sciences and econ major, or if he felt a bond as a result of the fact that we ate the same thing. Either way, I'm glad it happened...

I think I'm starting to get used to this traveling thing.

The 6th of November

My classes at Academia Falcon are going well, and my ability to speak Spanish has already increased 10-fold. Yesterday morning, I also started taking Salsa lessons--which have proved to be quite the show for many of the people in the office, teachers, etc. since I am apparently the tallest student having ever taken the class. Nonetheless, I perservere despite my dancing impedement... (I only kid...)

Coming upon my last week in GTO, I start to wonder if I will miss it, like I miss my home--Seattle. Waking up, having breakfast with a family (a very foreign concept in the states), taking my time getting ready, leaving to about 6 really excited dogs vying for my attention has really left a mark on me. This little time here has already made me wonder why we are always in such a hurry in the U.S., and even how I want my life to be when I get back. Maybe more importantly, I have wondered why I have been in such a hurry the last four years, during my college career. Anybody have any bets?

Speaking of the dogs, I found out this past weekend that the family dog has cancer. Yodi--named after Yoda of Star Wars fame--is always the sweetest dog of all, too. I walked out today to find her bleeding from the mouth, making me wonder what is in store for her in the upcoming weeks.

Though it will make no sense to anyone except my family... How fitting is it that the Dog's namesake is from my brother's favorite childhood movie? How is that for a sign that maybe I'm in the right place right now? I don't know, maybe I'm just crazy...

Yodi's predicament aside, being around all of the dogs here have made it that much easier to take up an opportunity to volunteer for a pretty worthy cause this weekend. On Friday, I will volunteer for a group called Amigos de los Animales. Its a non-profit in GTO dedicated to educating the population about properly taking care of animals, ensuring that they are spayed and neutered, etc. They will be hosting a spay and neuter campaign and I will be handling some of the grunt work. After talking to a few people, I have decided that this is a very worth cause within the city, as there are many many many homeless dogs that scour the city for food every day. There are also, many ownders who don't know the first thing of what responsibilities having a dog entails...

After that, I will probably take off on Sunday for the City of Mexico, and the outlying pre-hispanic ruins of Teotihuacan. I'll decide when Sunday comes though. So, I guess we'll all have to wait for the future.

Anyway, I would like to remind you to do your part in controlling the pet population by spaying and neutering your pets... Until later...

Día de Muertos

I woke up early Friday morning--before the sunrise--said goodbye to my warm bed, and headed out into the crisp morning, sights set on Patzcuaro. As I walked up the steps from the Saucedo house, I turned just in time to watch my first Guanajuato sunrise. It was, for lack of better words, a pretty good way to start the day and for that matter the weekend. I sauntered next door, caught a cab to the bus station, where I would meet with my friend Sebastian and catch the 7AM bus to Morelia--the capitol of the Michoacan state--in order to catch another bus to Patzcuaro.

The Michoacan state--from what I was able to gather--is a very fertile place, responsible for a great amount of the agricultural production, hosting vast amounts of maíz, wheat, and what looked like barley. The state is also very picturesque--many beautiful lakes nestled between conical mountains and even a volcano or two. In the fall and winter, it serves as a resting place for migrating butterflies, and on November 1st through 2nd, it serves as the home of what is supposedly Mexico's largest Day of the Dead celebration--held in Patzcuaro, home of the Purepecha people, originators of the festival.



Sebastian and I made it to Morelia in no time (a very short 4 hours). Of course, time flies when you've passed out for the entire bus ride. Upon arrival we ordered some enchiladas and he called his friends, whom we would be meeting up with for the rest of the voyage. A couple of hours passed and his friends arrived, setting the stage for one of my favorite things. Sebastian and his friends are French Canadian. Sebastian speaks English as a result of hitch hiking across Canada when he was 18, and eventually residing in Vancouver for over 5 years. His friends, however, only spoke French and Spanish, causing us to all communicate in Spanish. I loved it. I think there is nothing better than finding a common ground, despite the uncommon. I will say, though, that its pretty hard to understand Spanish with a French accent. Another difficulty was that I never figured out how to spell their names. I'm not even sure that I can spell them phonetically.

We arrived in Patzcuaro late in the afternoon. One of Sebastian's friends lost her camera, and had to file a police report.

The Downside of Traveling with Others, Part 1:
Not that its that big of a deal, but when you travel with other people, you always have to suffer with them. If they get their camera stolen, I wait. Not because I have to, but because its the right thing to do. Right? Maybe not...

We got coffee for everyone while we waited, and sort of took our time getting back to the police station. It ended up taking a couple of hours, knocking some time off of our ever so valuable daylight hours. Eventually, the report was filed, and we found our way to a restaurant off of the plaza. NEVER eat at a restaurant just off of a plaza, if their menus are in English, or if they use certain types of fonts. Experiment with the fonts, you will understand what I mean. I think its probably the same case for American restaurants as well. We took the opportunity, upon the suggestion of some ladies next to us, to partake in the city special--Pescado Blanco (small, very very small, white fish that have no flavor) and Sopa Tarasca (think Tortilla soup with a cream base)--and some tequila (which is not cheaper in Mexico, despite a popularly held belief).

After dinner, the four of us headed back to our damp, moldy, cheap hostel, abandoned what belongings we didn't need, and headed out into the dusk, towards the pier, and off to the Isla Janitzia--home of the biggest party of all. The dock was packed, full of food vendors, tourists, locals and plenty of alters. After fighting our way through the crowd, we bought tickets for the boat to Janitzia and jumped on board.



The ride to the island was very tranquil, sans the unmuffled boat motor, allowing me the peace it sometimes takes to become satisfied with oneself. I thought about what had gone on in the past 12 hours--I had left, whenever I wanted, went to another city and just like that, I was on a boat headed to an island in the middle of the night, because I could and decided I would. I then proceeded to stick my hand down above the water and take this picture:


Island, straight ahead

We arrived on the island, and to our dismay, there was almost no one there. Despite tails of days spent reveling in this time honored tradition, it appeared as though most people had left the party early. In other words, the revelers were done reveling. From the looks of those remaining, if they weren't done yet, they probably needed to be. A vacant island is never a problem though, as we were able to peacefully interact with the Isla's residents, taking every opportunity we had to indulge ourselves--including the most amazing flatbread of my life. After stuffing ourselves, we forged through a crowd of hippies, and up the steps towards the centerpiece of the island. The largest statue-of Independence figure Morelos--that I have ever seen of anything or anyone that is not the Statue of Liberty (I haven't really seen that many statues, I must admit).



On our descent, we came across the Isla's cemetery. Conveniently located on the side of a cliff, the cemetery housed some of the most breathtaking alters that I have scene so far in Mexico. The thirty or so minutes spent navigating the cemetery was well worth it, even causing me to ponder what I would want after I die... After fighting our way through the hippies once again, we hopped back on the boat, and headed towards the mainland. We all looked forward to our damp, dark, hotel room. Actually, I'm being fecetious.

We arose at the crack of dawn the next morning in order to catch the next bus back to Morelia, only to figure out that we didn´t need to. So instead, we wandered through the market, all the while gawking at whole pig heads, (bone) morrow cakes, thousands of different types of fruits and vegetables, bluejeans 10 sizes to small for me, and hundreds of deep fried snack foods (including deep fried pig skin--chicharron).

Eventually, we got to Morelia, they went to the beach and I went back to cold Guanajuato so I could take another week of spanish lessons at Academia Falcon. As my second class bus slowly (very very slowly) drifted into the sunset, I thought about what in the hell just happened, slighly smiling to myself like I often do.

Sopa Azteca and a side of Jesus

I woke up on Saturday morning cold free and inspired to take on the day. As my friend Wilborn would say, I was "sober and ready." By the time I woke up, my family had left for their farm--a family business including motocross tracks--and I desperately needed a shower as despite the liveration that travel provides one always begins to smell. Always. I was delighted to find out that there was no hot water that morning, but bit the bullet anyway for the sake of those around me, and dove right in. I figured, "Hey, at least I'm awake." The interesting thing about cold showers too, is that the cold water slows your movements, ultimately making the shower longer. Anyway, poor me, right?

I threw on some clothes and ventured out into the mid-daylight towards the U of GTO. I popped some snapshots of the main building only to be earily reminded of my walk from hell, as seen below:


One-eighth of the walk from hell, and the Universidad de Guanajuato steps

Needless to say, despite the beauty of the University I was turned off from the steps. Plus, I still hadn´t had any coffee yet...

By the tiem that I got done wandering, it was time for me to catch the group tour to El Cerro de Cubilete. I decided to take the tour because it was actually cheaper than any other method of transportation, plus I figured it would be a good opportunity to practice my listening skills (in Spanish). Of course, in the typical fashion of Mexico and countless other countries and regions of countries around the world, it took about an hour and a half to round up everybody that was going on the tour. We did eventually leave, and there ended up being three other English speakers on the two, one of which was a native speaker. I´ve found that whenever there is someone else who speaks english on a tour like this (not that I´ve been on a lot), they seek you out in order to make wise ass comments to you-and in many cases with you-about what´s going on, what´s different, etc. My theory was reaffirmed when we stopped halfway at some pottery barn (a real pottery barn) and Hal--a dude from Colorado--came over to joke about all the ceramic statues of Jesus, as well as the demonstration of how ceramics are different from clay based pottery. However, despite the "Damn did we really have to stop here"-ness of the situation, I left kind of inspired to pursue pottery, and to create this list of things I want to learn how to do while I'm on this trip. In no particular order:

• learn how to make clay pottery
  
• learn how to cook in every country I visit
• learn how to dance in multiple ways
• learn how to ride horses
• learn how to surf
  
• learn how to sea kayak
  
• and of course, learn how to speak spanish

Eventually, we made it to el Cerro. I was shocked to find thousands of people had made what I came to learn was a weekly religious pilgrimage to the center of Mexico and this gargantuan image of Christ. Despite the cold and wind that comes with being at Mexico's highest point, tents were set up all over and families huddled together for warmth. I have to say, although I am not religious, seeing this gigantic statue of Jesus--with arms spread--hovering over the country of Mexico, combined with all of these camping Mexicanos who had faith, hope, and trust bleeding from their ears, made me feel really small. Not in a bad way either. Finally, everyone from the tour group got cold, forcing the tour director to instruct us to hop in the van and head out. As we descended from the center of Mexico, the sun faded away into the distance, and the Ranchero music became a little louder, and I reflected upon what that was all really about...

On Sunday morning I woke up bewildered and confused as a result of the time change. Nevertheless, I was ready to hike La Bufa, until I started gasping for air and figured out that the remnants of my cold had moved deep into my lungs. I headed downtown intent on snagging some coffee and seeing some museums, with hopes that my lungs would get better in time for an afternoon hike. Instead, I ran into some students from Academia Falcon and was "talked into" helping my new friend Stephanie (another Seattle-ite around my mom's age) find a silver goods store. Then, like it was a bad habit, I felt the need to barter for something, ultimately resulting in the purchase of something for my girlfriend. I suppose it's my competitive side... not that it has ever been that strong or anything...

Anyway, after helping her find the silver store, it was easy to convince Stephanie to head to the Museo de Alhondiga with me. The Alhondiga de Granaditas is the site of a major battle for Mexican Independence, and should definitely be read about here. It's an incredibly fascinating story and was quite an amazing museum, full of artifacts from Guanajuato that detailed the history of the Independence movement in the state as well as a lot of modern art. It truly was a wonderful blend of history and today that you just don´t find in a lot of museums. Anyway, after scoping the museum, I decided--with the help of the gift shop--that 1)I am incredibly fascinated by artwork/paper mache of skulls and skeletons, and 2)I am going to buy a book in Spanish and read it even if it kills me. Oh, and if you get the chance, Google an artist by the name of Fernando Guevera... I think that´s how it's spelled...

Stephanie and I went to grab a beer and eat some sopa azteca--tortilla soup on steroids for those of you in the states... We chatted about Seattle and talked about our respective family lives. It was pretty sweet, but it made me wonder why I always get along so well with "adults." I think its becuase many of my favorite adults all have characteristics that I aspire to have... Oh, and have you ever noticed that the best conversations always happen over liquids (soup included)? I then departed and flew solo to the Museo de Casa Diego Rivera, saw that my mom wasn´t the only mom who kept all of her aspiring artist's childhood drawings, then subsequently rushed back for dinner. Sad to say, the family was at their farm, and I had to walk back down the steps (It's about ten thousand times worse than a walk of shame for those of you Greeks who may be reading this... haha jk... no really though...).

Then, on the next day, Monday, I would hike La Bufa...

You know how there are times in life when you reach some kind of unseen and unheard pinnacle--sometimes literally, figuratively, or both?

After hiking up La Bufa for an hour, I made it to the top, where I sat all alone for the next thirty minutes. My ponderings of faith evoked by Cubilete, my realizations of what I´ve got pulled forth by a conversation I had in the morning with Patricia (the mom of the family), and sitting on top of a mountain alone with a large white cross and the city of Guanajuato silenced by another 1,000 feet beneat me led to a pretty emotional time. I thought a lot about my dad, my family, how I got here (all 22 years), and all the people in this world who will never have an opportunity like I have right now. Picture a video mantage of your life going by as you listen to music from a John Cusack movie. Think about it. I seriously just sat there in the sun, alone, wondering why in the hell it was I who happened to be so fortunate. And what kind of responsibilities that gave me, or didn´t give me for that matter... I wondered what was in store for the future--immediate and far...

I´m taking spanish lessons at Academia Falcon and will be heading to Patzcuaro for Dia de los Muertos. Much love and Happy Halloween... Be safe too Grandma Cooper. I can imagine how rowdy all of the folks at your place can get... haha.

A Callejoneada

I know what you think it is, and you're right. It is, in fact, an intricately detailed, handcrafted, well sculpted, Gafete. It is used, for exactly what you think it is supposed to be used for--drinking. Drinking orange juice, more specifically. I obtained this sweet memento when I went out Friday night on the Callejoneada--a musical interpretation of one of Guanajuatos most romantic and tragic stories--which ends in the Alley of the Kiss (Callejon del Beso). You can read more here.

As the weekend came and went I found myself with a lot more alone time, despite going out on the town perhaps more than I ever have. Many of the people that I have met while here have left, or were getting ready to leave by the end of the weekend, which has allowed me to revert to my upon-arrival state of solitude. However, I did do exactly what I wanted to do this weekend. On Friday I went out and (kind of) partied. On Saturday I rid myself of my cold and voyaged to the centermost and highest point in Mexico at El Cubilete, where I was able to see my first of two really large statues of Jesus. Sunday saw me going to the Museo del Alhondiga, as well as Museo de la casa Diego Rivera. When Monday came, I went to class at Academia Falcon, then scaled La Bufa.

After I arose and struggled to find a better state of consciousness on Friday, I went to Academia Falcon to meet up with some people, only to run into this girl Elizabeth who convinced me that I should go to the callejoneada with everybody, if for nothing other than the fact that I could pick her brain about Ecuador--my next destination and a place where she had just arrived from herself--and the benefits of buying over the counter amoxicilina in Mexico for really really cheap. Anyway, I left the school and headed back up the walk of death to the humble Saucedo abode to read, do laundry, and more importantly eat.

An Aside: I'm constantly impressed by everything that is put on the table here, regardless of how simple it is to make or how much time it spent on the stove (As I have found, it is ONLY on the stove. Ovens are conveniently used as storage units and NEVER for baking). The ingredients are always incredibly fresh and bread, dulce, etc. freshly made or purchased fresh from somebody who can do it even better. It's amazing. Nobody in the family that I'm living with has any problems with weight either, as they stock up on all the goods early in the day and finish up with a nice little snack of pan dulce (sweet bread) and chocolate milk ALWAYS before 9pm. As my grandfather, and subsequently brother, have said (and I paraphrase), ''you shouldn't eat after dark.''

After the big meal and a sweet siesta, I got dressed in my finest black t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, then headed down to the Jardin de Union where I met up with people for some Coronas and Enchiladas. In accordance with our earlier plan, we bought some tickets for the Callejoneada, snagged our Garafetes and embarked upon the sing-a-long adventure that is a one and a half hour walk through Guanajuato in the (not really) freezing cold until you get to the Callejon del Beso, all the while being led by the Estudiantinas, who are dressed in colonial regalia. I made friends, I sang along, I danced, I swayed, and I drank plenty of orange juice (it really was O.J. too). Luckily, the O.J. was free, as the extra vitamin C probably helped my damn cold. Unfortunately, I am not so sure that I understood any of it... But hey, it was an experience, right?

Anyway, I'm not really feeling inspired to type, since the sun is shining pretty bright right now. Alas, I'll post more later.

El Mundo es Pequeño

The Festival Internacional Cervantino ended on Sunday and the small world that is Guanajuato has slowed to a more tranquil state: the noise softer and the people less. My cold has worsened for the most part, though I feel like I´ll probably be turning the corner soon. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), it´s forced me to stay at the Saucedo home and rest. However, despite my ailments, I have made it out of bed and onto the callejons (small walking allies) a couple of times. Despite not having many, the experiences that I have had in the past couple of days, combined with the extra time to think, have combined to produce some pretty deep (at least by my standards) thoughts that will most likely resonate with me for the length of this trip and maybe for much longer.

Sunday was a day of rest, despite the closing ceremonies of the Festival. I think I slept til noon until I jetted over to my new favorite place--Cafe Tal, the Zoka of Guanajuato--for some coffee and to meet up with some people to go to some bar outside of the city that´s owned by expats. Unfortunately, due to a lack of consistent internet, a phone, Styrofoam cups and some taught string, we were unable to communicate effectively enough to make it happen. Of course, there is the possibility that I was the odd-person out, but hey I needed to rest anyway.

Did I rest though? No. Instead, I booked it up the hills of Guanajuato to my new buddy Judy´s place to see the renovations she is making to her newly acquired home in GTO. Judy´s been coming down to Guanajuato for the last 14 or so years to take part in the Cervantino Festival, and finally decided to get a house down here. She showed me around, had me help break down some boxes, and even let me use my creativity by creating different patterns with these intricately detailed and painted tiles for a table that will go on her roof. While Judy and I worked on the patterns for the better part of an hour, I started to feel pretty sentimental. Doing all of this reminded me of a lot of things from my childhood. Particularly, my dad and grandfather--both of whom have passed away relatively recently. My grandpa, if I´m not mistaken, was a carpenter by trade for a majority of his life, and my dad... Well my dad really liked to start projects around the house. Sometimes, he would finish them. Other times, not so much. I wondered what things could have been like if either of them had ever come to a place like Guanajuato. Especially with my dad, I wonder what would have happened if he would have known he could have lived in a place like this, arranging patterns of tile, instead of dispatching trucks at Kroy in York, Nebraska. Probably not too much, but maybe a whole lot more...

Anyway, as the sun started to go down, Judy and I found ourselves staring out off of her rooftop patio into a peaceful and seemingly smaller Guanajuato. We sat down and I listened to Judy conjure up memories of her own days at the University of Washington, good and bad. We exchanged thoughts on one of my favorite places (the UW) and eventually said our goodbyes as Judy was leaving for her true home--Portland--on Tuesday. As I exited her bright green abode, I thought it funny that sometimes it takes a trip around the world to make a friend from next door.

After that, I went and slept... a lot. The next day, I went to Academia Falcon and met almost everyone that worked there. When the women found out that I was Adrian´s brother, it was as if somebody shook a bird cage (I mean that in the most endearing of ways). I´ve always been proud of my brother because of his accomplishments: hard-nosed high school quarterback, college radio station DJ, Fulbright Grant Recipient. Yet it´s always the things like being a good, kind, and loving person that make me the proudest of him. Cheesy, I know. But I felt good. Good enough, in fact, to go back home and take another nap. It was then, on the rainy walk home that I got homesick for the first time... I wonder if it´s because I can´t stand being away from home, or the shear length of time that it will be until I am back, or both... Oh well, in the end, I probably won´t have been away long enough.

That´s all I´ve got for now though... I apologize if this entry doesn´t seem to be as spirited as the rest, as my cold seems to have gotten the best of me today, forcing me to rest up. Oh, and on top of that, it´s about 55 degrees here in Guanajuato. No pictures either...

The Place of Frogs

The city of Guanajuato was initially settled in the mid-1500s as a result of silver and gold mining by Spanish colonialists. The city itself is situated within an improbable setting--a ravine surrounded by hills on all sides. These hills, I have found in the last couple of days, are very VERY steep. It has already made me wonder numerous times, why-despite silver and gold-would anybody build and continue to build a city here? Regardless, they have--and quite an extraordinary city it is too.

El Centro Historico

I´ve come to Guanajuato to live for a month. Here, I´ll brush up on and practice my spanish in a collegiate atmosphere, where the world never seems to stop turning. Perhaps more importantly, I hope to be able to understand why this city is so important to a person that means the most to me--my brother. My brother has been my rolemodel ever since I have had enough cognizance to look up to someone. He has always been there for me when I have needed him, and will most likely be until we are too old to be there for anyone. In growing up with him, I have grown adept (albeit with the help of my mom) at knowing when anything means something to my brother. Through his own travels, Guanajuato--and his friends here--have grown to mean something very special to him. So, I´m here in an attempt to better understand him--perhaps in order to better understand myself (Plus, really, it´s a lot easier to learn Spanish in Mexico).

I arrived in Guanajuato on Thursday--my brother´s birthday, oddly enough--after a quick bus ride from Queretaro, where I was able to save a nice German couple from getting off the bus at the half-way point. Once I got to the bus terminal, I headed to the home of the family that I will be staying with for the next three weeks. They´ve been great so far too. The mother and father have three childre, two teenage boys and one girl. Their humble abode is located at the top of the ravine that is Guanajuato, along Paseo de la Panoramica. The only downside is exactly that though... Each day, I have to walk up the most godforesaken hills in order to get back. It wouldn´t be too much of a problem if it weren´t for the fact that you simply can´t get to sleep after your blood starts pumping like that.

The view from La Casa Saucedo

Anyway, shortly after I got to Guanajuato, I started walking around and headed to Academia Falcon, the school that my brother´s friend Jorge runs. It seems like a great place, and everybody that works there is friendly (It´s also a good place to run into other english speakers, just in case I need a break from Spanish for a bit). Jorge is a great guy too, very amiable. He invited me to lunch the next day, and I accepted fairly quickly. Shortly thereafter, I headed back uphill, passed out, and ended my Thursday.

I´m not sure where I got it, but when I woke up on Friday, I had the worst cold and I´ve been pretty miserable ever since. It´s hard enough for people to understand me with my poor accent, but I can only imagine how difficult it is to understand an american speaking spanish while doped up on cold medicine. It´s pretty hard to hear, too.

I spent most of the day Friday getting oriented with the city, talking with the Saucedo family, and trying to find a barber. It doesn´t seem that hot here, but having thick--and longer--hair still sucks. I didn´t find a barber, still couldn´t understand the steep winding street system (complete with underground tunnels), and spoke all the basic spanish I think I know how. Though, I will say that my listening skills have already improved ten-fold (I bet my family and Jess are pretty happy about that...). I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that I don´t have a cell phone anymore... haha. But I digress... I made it to lunch with Jorge on time, and dined with him, as well as a few of his colleagues. We (they) talked about business, Mexico, coffee, etc. and I was able to meet a wonderful woman Judy who sold me a ticket to one of the main events at the Festival Internacional Cervantino. This was an incredible stroke of luck, as tickets to all events were sold out by the time I got here, and it´s undoubtedly quite a feat to find a scalper when you don´t speak spanish. Plus, the size of Guanajuato swells during the Festival. For more information, click here. After dinner, I headed to Bar Ocho to grab a beer and was introduced to the michelada: a concoction of salsa, lime juice, worchestershire sauce, salt and beer. It doesn´t sound good, but damn. I´m serious. I then walked home, in the cold wind, without a jacket thanks to either a) my absent-mindedness or b) somebody´s theivery. I guess just make up the best story possible.

The Centro, in front of Teatro Juarez

I woke up the next day, cold was worse, and I hadn´t had any good coffee for days. So, I set out for Cafe Tal, a place that numerous people have told me is the absolute best coffee in GTO. And it was... Perhaps the coolest part of my coffee house trip was that I bumped into this guy Hunter who went to TCU and knew my friend Bethany from High School. Small world, huh? Afterward, I went to El Mercado Hidalgo, Guanajuato´s biggest market and looked around. Unfortunately, it was too crowded to even move, though a good experience none-the-less.

I went with Judy to the Modern Dance performance of the Chinese dance troop last night at the Teatro Juarez--which reminds me a ton of 5th Ave Theatre in Seattle. It´s very intricately painted and has three or four different levels dedicated to distinct architectural periods. It made me kind of homesick for Seattle. The performance itself, well, was interesting. Definitely more than I had bargained for, and it kind of reminded me of why I don´t ever go to ballet, or dance performances. I´m glad that I got to experience the theatre, regardless.

El Teatro Juarez at dusk

Um... I´m tired of typing, so I think I´m going to go grab some lunch. A few new pictures are up on my Flickr account (which can be accessed by clicking any of the pictures on the right hand side of the screen my beloved, computer inept, family!).

Photos from Queretaro

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Just the beginning...

This morning marks my third away from home, if you count the plane ride at the crack of dawn on Tuesday. Though, I´m not even sure if counts as dawn... Mexico, so far, has lived up to the few expectations that I had prior to my arrival. During my first couple of days, I have seen the hustle and bustle of Mexico City (albeit from the inside of an air-conditioned bus), wandered the streets after dark, enjoyed some of Mexico´s finest coffee (so says the ex-pat), and explored the leading city of Mexican Independence. Today, I head to the town of Guanajuato, where I will stay with a family, meet up with my brother´s friend Jorge, and immerse myself into el Festival Internacional Cervantino.

My flight to Mexico City went pretty smoothly considering all things. I had a brief layover in Salt Lake where I had to run from one gate to the other. This may not seem like too big of a deal, except missing one flight could have had some drastic implications on my other flights... but that´s another story. Upon arrival, I snagged some pesos and deftly navigated the halls of Benito Juarez until I found the bus station, where I began my journey to Queretaro--Mexico´s self-proclaimed cleanest city.

An aside: I was incredibly impressed by the bus service of Primera Plus. I strongly recommend them to anybody traveling in Mexico, e.g. fellow Bondermans, my mom, etc.

Once in Queretaro, I hopped off of the bus and went to buy a taxi ticket. It´s a pretty efficient system and it certainly seems to cut down on fake taxis (and subsequently crime) in the City of Queretaro, which I guess isn´t the case in Mexico City. After 10 minutes of wandering around, I found where I needed to go to actually get into a taxi and explained to the driver where I wanted to go. He nodded to reassure me that he knew exactly where I wanted to go, but I had my suspicions. We made small-talk in Spanish (sort of...) and I´m pretty sure that he said he just spent the last six months in the same town that my girlfriend grew up in. Small world, huh? Anyway, we continued to drive and drive as the sun went down. Eventually, he dropped me off somewhere in the city center, because he couldn´t find where I wanted to go... Luckily, I inherited some pretty sweet skills which have enabled me to read a map and know which direction is north. I hiked about 10-12 blocks until I finally found the place I thought I would stay...

However, when I got there, I looked at the room, and it turned out that I couldn´t even stand straight up without hitting the ceiling AND I couldn´t stretch out on the bed. I probably would have been able to deal had it not been for the 12 straight hours of sitting... Plus, the place wreaked of smoke and I don´t think that my spoiled Seattle lunges could have taken it this early in the trip. So in my broken spanish, I tried to explain to the dude that I wasn´t going to stay there. He was kind of pissed, and I´m pretty sure that he didn´t want to understand me. I left, the sun was down, and I was dead tired. I was dead set on finding a bed irrespective of all things, so I went down the street to find that the rooms cost 500 pesos (approx. 50 bucks). Cognizent of my `budget,´ I kept going. Finally after the 4th try, I found a place with low rates due to remodeling. It was a pretty sweet deal until I was woken up at 7am yesterday morning to a bunch of little hijos screaming at some guy talking to them through a megafone...

Anyway, I´ll try to load some pictures from Queretaro, then it´s off to Guanajuato. Oh, and I apologize for the misspellings--the keyboard is pretty old and sticks...