Tours of Tours and a WHAT?!?

 

As we close in on the end of our time in Mexico, I want to share some of the incredible experiences we've had along the way. At the beginning of our trip, we spent two weeks in Oaxaca City. Two of the staple things to learn about in that area are their tradition of Alebrije carvings and Mezcal. You also need to learn about Mole, obviously, which we did by eating our weight in the rich sauces, the other two mysteries required a tour. 

Alebrijes are figurines of real or fantastical beasts that are carved by hand from a single piece of wood and painted intricately. My sister-in-law, being from Mexico herself, alerted us to the allure of the tradition and gratefully we fell down the rabbit hole of these, often tiny, magical delights. The markets as well as the high end galleries are filled with them, crowding tables and shelves, flooding the eyes with bright colors and dizzying arrays of dots creating patterns that swirl and weave a creature to life. How do you pick one from the millions before you is the clear question, and the answer is... complicated. The obvious idea, you'd think, would be to simply pick the one that is the prettiest or will go with your home decor, and you would quickly learn that that is completely overwhelming. Clearly we needed to learn more. We took a short excursion to spend the afternoon at one of the most famous Alebrije "factories", Jacabo & Maria Angeles, which is also a famous art school attracting artists from all over the world to master their craft. There, at the workshop, artists check into work and check out paintbrushes, brushes made in Japan and worth more than most Oaxacans make in a month. The pieces of wood are selected and that determines the animal that will emerge, this one bends to form a monkey, that one arches to form a jaguar, and that one twists from a frog to an eagle to a coyote all in one! OK wait, back-up, you say, yes that last one doesn't make any sense and without seeing it, it is difficult to imagine, but the gentle slope of the frogs back managed to sweep elegantly up into eagle wings and the feet that you expect to be webbed anchored the form with  coyote paws and a joyful tail. We learned how the tree they use, the copal, is either male or female and that the male wood is permeable and natural pigments are made to stain the creature into color, the female wood is painted with acrylic paint, both take a steady hand and great skill, but the stains are a truly magnificent artistic gift. Those magnificent gifts are also magnificently priced so those did not find a home with us. The most common way to select an Alebrije is based on your birth date. You are aligned with a protector animal and a spiritual animal and these have meanings that reflect your personality. I found out that my spiritual animal is a snake, I am horrifically terrified of snakes and do not find the irony of this humorous, however my daughter found it hilarious. Since a snake was also not finding a home with us, we opted for yet another way to select your beast and that was to have it choose you. I know, this is a little too woowoo for us to, but it oddly makes sense when faced with so many fantastic works of art. Turns out Jesse and I NEEDED a large, ornate octopus... because traveling for 3 months with an incredibly delicate, expensive piece of art definitely makes sense. It's like that game from when we were growing up where you had to take care of an egg, like it was a baby, for a week. For some reason that was a task from a class in school, but I can't remember why. Needless to say, the private tour was informative, fascinating and really wonderful, and we will now have strange figurines all over the house.

Next up was a Mezcal tour that walked us through various agave plants, the process of cooking the hearts, then distilling and of course the best part, the tasting. We learned how the same plant grown in different places has a significantly different flavor, something you can imagine wine geeks would flip over. I don't think the kid giving the tour had ever had people so into the details of 'how, when, where, why' and his eyes started to widen as the questions daunted him. If you are also fans of our show "A Fern Between Us: Emotional Sanitizer Wine Show" then you saw one of our episodes was dedicated to Mezcal... and you saw the look I make when I taste it. This drink is not for the faint of heart, it is smokey, rough with flavor and reminds me of gasoline. It has also taken me some time to acclimate to the idea that some are distilled with meat. I know, super gross. But as it turns out, the meat adds a texture to the finished product that actually softens the harsh flavors and is now one of my favorite. We also had the luck of becoming friends with some boutique Mezcal producers during our stay at the beach who joined us for a socially distanced tasting and taught us a wealth of information about the art behind the booze. It is absolutely nothing like the shots of the weird stuff with the worm you've had at the bar, in fact that is a specific style of Mezcal that uses the worm to give a unique (and not great) flavor, true aficionados are not fans. I learned a lot including how serving it cold actually makes it more harsh (we'd thought it should be served like vodka) and to smell with your mouth open to get the complex aromas not just the pungent hit of alcohol. I also learned how to not make a face when I drink it, maybe.

Our time in Puerto Escandido included a crap "tour" of the bioluminescence that I already wrote a full post about, and our tour of the ruins at Palenque was unremarkable, well that isn't totally true. The day was hot and humid and the incredible ruins were stunning, I mentioned our experience in my post about our time in the jungle, but what I didn't share was what has stuck with us over the rest of the trip, the tour guide's repeated reference to incest. The depictions of the various people that had lived there occasionally had 6 fingers on each hand or 6 toes on each foot or a predominantly shorter leg to which the guide would draw our attention and say "incest!". It seemed to be an subject of great delight for the man focusing much of the tour on this element, an element that became the theme as we stood sweating, panting in our masks, squinting up at a stone, him counting aloud the number of fingers and then pointing to us to say in chorus "incest". We exchanged bewildered glances at first, but by the end we were openly laughing with the guide. Now lets clarify that we do not find incest funny, nor do we think laughing at ancient cultures or archaeological sites is in any way OK, what was funny was to pay a man $100 to sweat profusely and only learn that there was a great deal of incest happening at this site. 

Moving on, we returned to San Cristobal de Las Casas knowing we wanted activities. Generally I would not put a cooking class in the "tour" category, but in this case I'm gonna. Our private classes started with a tour of the local market where we learned why you would use each of the 5 different bananas at one stand in different dishes, learned the names of dozens of chiles that filled bin after bin after bin and discovered strange new fruits. Actually I take that back, I did not learn the names of the chiles and don't want to be quizzed on them, I was daunted by the colors, sounds and smells of the market and couldn't take it all in. My daughter seemed to be dizzy with the chaos of it all as well and she became my focus while Jesse and I guided her through the maze and shielded her from the attention of a man walking around with his finger up the butt of a stuffed squirrel. I kid you not, a man with his FINGER UP THE BUTT of a stuffed squirrel. After that we returned to the tranquil gardens and spacious kitchen of our chef teacher. Ingredients were laid out beautifully and she described steps in each process as Jesse chopped, diced, stirred and assisted, even my daughter got in on the action, but I sat back and took pictures. Hey someone has to document this stuff! The end meals were absolutely sensational, freshly made tortillas, al pastor tacos topped with complex salsas, moles and unusual juices all Instagram worthy, I just wish I'd gotten a picture of the man with the squirrel. 

Our time in Mexico has gone surprisingly fast. Our photos show the progression of stress slowly leaving our faces, replaced with genuine smiles. Trials and tribulations such as our car breaking down, someone kicking a dent into the door or Jesse losing his iPhone have amazingly not soured us. Instead we head into the holidays deeply grateful of every single day we get to be here, with each other. The emotional pain we came here with has eased as our daughter returns to laughter and I now cry tears of relief that she is going to be OK. I can't say I am excited to return home, the covid situation continues to be alarming and I have chemo to start. I worry that my daughter will slip back into a black pit of despair and my world will unravel once again, so I focus on this moment, this sip of wine, and let go of trying to control the future. It has been a tour of its own to discover how to be in the world differently.

Happy Holidays everyone and remember, before you do even one more thing today, you need to Wine First.

The Spell of San Cristobal de Las Casas

They say when you fall in love, it's like fireworks. But falling in love isn't always bright fiery lights and explosions, sometimes it is subtle and grows like stepping inside after walking home in the snow to curl up next to a blazing fire; comforting and more like an easy defrosting. Our love for San Cristobal de Las Casas has been some of both.

Our initial freezing cold visit to Las Casas was filled with brilliant food, warm colored, well lived in buildings and maze like meandering streets. The native people draped in brightly colored weavings reminded me of Guatemala, a place very special to my heart. The city's center felt hidden from the rest of the world as you turned off the busy streets of the new growth to skim by pastures and twist and turn your way into the old worn stone streets at the heart of this high elevation gem. Perched overlooking the tile roofs from our hotel, there was no way to glimmer the treasures hidden below, the streets being so tightly tucked in you couldn't dream of the lively lights that welcome pedestrians down below. 

Each doorway seemed to hide a unique world within the world of Las Casas, a curious journey into Alice and Wonderland or for those familiar with it, Meow Wolf... only without the psychedelic influence of either. You stroll down the touristy main street with it's competing music screaming from bars and choose a random seeming door flanked by potted trees and fall into an elegant multi-level sophisticated mini neighborhood with a bakery and cafe, several wonderful restaurants boasting flavors from around the world, beautiful jewels sparkle in shop windows and low and behold, there is even a wine bar. Every new street in Las Casas seems to offer these escapes into wonderful new environments and the discoveries seem to be limitless. A market place full of artistic wonders sprung up before us one day, an amber museum secluded in an old monastery was our delight another day and a specialty wine shop nestled in a forgotten side street enveloped us on yet another day. 

It seems strange to chose to return to Las Casas after some of our dazzling hot spots, we know. Spending the bulk of your time in a high elevation, cold climate place when back home IS a high elevation cold place is crazy, but here we are and it is glorious. Our new home for the month is a large stone oasis, a literal secret garden that keeps the entire world a dream away. The brightly painted walls are reminders that we are in Las Casas while the stone and dense wood structure wrap around us suggesting influences of Italy or France. The elaborate gardens encircle the home with exquisite flowers falling over everything while alluring paths tease your imagination into fairy tales. The fire places in each cozy seating area cackle and whisper to you as you start to forget that there is anywhere else on the planet other than right here. Even the constant blasts from the local celebrations filled with fireworks seem dulled in this bubble. We have tried to venture from the property, but the magical spell it has cast is strong and we find ourselves spending day after day simply soaking it in. 

Our family has been needing to heal. The depth of pain our daughter was in as she battled deep depression ricocheted into Jesse and I like a silver bullet. The struggle I have had as I come to terms with another life altering disease has felt crushing to our family unit that relies on me to be the pillar. And the strain of it all has driven my husband to take drastic measures...ie this trip, stress reflecting back to us as he worries horribly about his girls. So as we slowly defrost from trauma, we warm ourselves to the curious magic of Las Casas, the fireworks exploding nearby as reminders that a love story has indeed begun.

...to be continued. And as always, don't forget to Wine First!

Rumpelstiltskin! Rumpelstiltskin! Rumpelstiltskin! Screamed My Grief

I left Palenque in a mood. You probably caught that from my last post and my negative comments about our time there. I was probably unfairly rough on the seedy little city, after all not all areas can be full of charm and culture. The chaos and filth did bring images to mind of Dante's 7 circles of hell, but it wasn't all horrible. The tacos, of which Jesse has focused his vacation in Mexico around, were some of the best. The area was also known for exceptional fire cooked chicken, which I very much enjoyed. In addition, with the guidance of our chef friend who was born there and happened to also find himself on vacation in the area, lead us to a stone street with cool cafes and sassy little restaurants that hinted at a side hidden off the obvious streets. But what I discovered there, more than anything else, was a serious bout of pain and I realize just how much pain can filter my view of the world.

A friend recently texted me, surprised to find us returning to the coldest area we have explored in Mexico for a long stay, remarking that I looked so happy in the warm places. My quick response has sat with me for days, an attempt to be sarcastic and funny, I responded to my friend with "I'm not happy anywhere, I'm still stuck with me". And while I do absolutely agree with the sentiment, happiness is not found externally, for some reason, it seems this statement is reflecting my life in new ways. As the words roll over and over in my mind, like the ripples in a lake circling out from a sinking stone, each a new glimpse of a relationship expectation or a goal still unachieved, it shines brighter and clearer. The longer I sit with it, I find myself riding waves of anger and I realize that there were two days toward the end of our time in Palenque that I had been trying to harness my anger, stuff it down and ignore it. Obviously that didn't work and it came out sideways all over my family and poor Palenque. 

I've struggled for years with reckoning expectations of various relationships and their reality, sometimes painfully reminded by small acts of nothingness that scream the truth of what that relationship really is. Am I making sense? Having been deeply ill once before, this train of escaping souls from my life is very familiar. People have a hard time with chronic pain and don't know how to deal with someone that is inconsistent, sometimes jolly, sometimes depressed, sometimes totally normal, and I get that. I've seen this a lot, and I don't blame you if you are one of those that would rather stand over my grave one day and say "I wish I'd gone to see her one last time or reached out a little more", that is really alright. I have done that very thing with a friend who's eminent death was far more than I could stand to see in person and I hate myself for not being at her bedside. This does allow me understanding for those that are sneaking off stage right for me at this time. I also am not dying! This is severe and intense in my world, but certainly does not effect anyone else, well except my husband and daughter who have to deal with my cranky ass. And it is also round 2 for the drama of illness with me, an exhausting ride even for those most committed to be by my side, so I really get it, it just stings when it is a relationship I believed had a depth that I realize, again, does not.

The truth is the exhaustion has hit me too. I realize I am really frustrated and angry that at 42, I would end up with an autoimmune disease, and one that I had reserved for old people to boot. And not only did I get this stupid thing, but I have a severe and progressive version.  Having only recently been given my best "healed" test results from the brain tumor saga, and be thinking I had an all clear, to be slapped with this is just so unfair that I feel the rumbles inside of an inner Rumpelstiltskin angrily stomping his foot through my chest. I feel like the volcano is about to blow and pretty much everyone should take cover.

One bad street taco, yet another issue with the car, my daughter's computer breaking and a pain in the ass work project later, I ended up in bed for the last few days. We barely made it to our Airbnb in San Cristobal de Las Casas in time for our "A Fern Between US: Emotional Sanitizer Wine Show" Facebook Live show, all of us arguing as we tried to figure out which way was up in our new location. Seconds after wrapping the short show, I was stung with sweat on my brow and an ominous feeling in my gut... oh yes, after 6 weeks I finally got hit with "Mexico Tummy". It was almost like the tornado of crap manifested in ... well a tornado of crap. Sorry for the graphic note there, but you know what I mean when you feel like you somehow digested all the things driving you crazy and become physically ill? Or is that just me? Anyway, I was literally put in a timeout from the world. This could have been a blessing for the world.

This morning, having broken from my cocoon, I sat in a cozy upstairs loft looking out beautifully arched wood windows that gaze down to elaborate gardens and pathways. The fire is crackling downstairs, and I lazily scrolled through my phone's apps. Then, a simple message posted on my therapist's Facebook page stopped me in my tracks, "I sat with my anger long enough, until she told me her real name was grief" read the text laid over a melancholy image of two women sitting side by side, maybe even a painting, it was beautiful, but it was the words that hit me like a ton of bricks and hot tears streaked down my cheeks. 

I am grieving. At the heart of my anger, my perceived betrayals, my frustration, I am grieving. The idea that I had achieved good health once again only to have it smashed to pieces like a wine glass on a tile floor hurts so much I hardly have words for it. I am grieving a life without pain. I am grieving the way I thought my life would look. I want to scream and punch things. I want to claw my way out of my skin and away from the blistering pain. Why me?!?!! 

I fluctuate between wanting to voice this and the idea that in round two I don't have the right. People are sick of hearing me complain, I am sick of me complaining. I don't have a hopeful message as I conclude this post. My depression is desperately tugging at my entrails and it is a struggle to not give in. I hear my husband and daughter laughing while they play cards downstairs as I watch the storm move in and darken the windows. I try to steer my thoughts away from deeply dark ideas and decide to scrape myself out of my chair and join them. I will pour a glass of wine and take baby steps to mend. The first of which is giving myself credit for recognizing the root of my anger, looking my grief in the face and letting it have a drink with me as we get to know one another.

Paradise Lost

 As I type this, I am sitting in the middle of a lush jungle. We spent our finally day here at the resort pool, a giant lagoon shape that begs for you to indulge in the cool water and over priced drinks. We have a private bungalow that gives us reprieve from the heat and the torrential down pours and in normal times, it would shelter us from the dreadful crowds that would normally be here. During covid times, we find ourselves delightfully alone most places! Expensive hotels, which I have mentioned before, are now half price and the two states we have been traveling in, Chiapas and Oaxaca, are in covid green, something so special in these deadly times that we don't want to leave. 

I've skipped over San Cristobal de Las Casas and its adorable charm because we have decided to rent a home there for a month. When we return there in another day or so, you will no doubt, hear way too many stories about it. So I will focus on the wild of Palenque. 

The drive to get here was a beautiful torture. Beautiful scenery, but the roads required us to drive 20 miles per hour making what should have been a short drive last 6 hours! If there is a hell, it is filled with roads that are like this one and riddled with topes (speedbumps). At home speed bumps scattered here and there, you easily slow glide over them and continue on your way. In Chiapas, it is a small Mount Everest for your car, each one being a unique skill to summit and crest with a certain amount of deadly scrapping anticipated. I am pretty sure we will need to completely refurbish the underside of our still not paid off VW Jetta. Oh that reminds me, we also need to have some body work as some jerk kicked a dent in our door, we can only guess in a protest to our USA plates prior to the election? People have definite views about Trump and assume those of us from the USA are all of one mind.

Where was I? ahhh yes, comparisons to hell. We finally arrive in the town of Palenque, exhausted, and in need of food ASAP. We ventured into the chaos of swirling streets, loud noises, competing music blaring from opposing stores, people yelling over the sounds, babies crying and the sizzle of meat grilling on open flames. At the moment we parked, my daughter, hazy with anti-nausea drugs awoke. Perfect timing to yank the sensory processing disorder teen out into... well, hell. It is hot, humid and a child pissed on the sidewalk in-front of us splashing our flip flop clad feet, just as a clearly drugged homeless person, doused in a shade of shit brown that I've never seen so completely dispersed over a person wove his way toward us. We stumbled into the closest store to grab some simple provisions before heading to our jungle base. We found ourselves in a dark, smelly, cramped mess of a hole in the wall and almost blindly grabbed things from the aisles, then paid and hurried back to the car. In an attempt to carry a bright mood into this leg of our journey, I said "its not so bad!". My husband looked at me sideways and quoted a review we had read claiming "there is nothing charming or good about the town of Palenque". My daughter, having been quite, stunned into silence maybe, laughed loudly and said "ya think?!?" clearly her sarcasm was deeply intact, but at least there hadn't been a panic attack.

Luckily we were booked into a special hotel tucked into the beautiful jungle surrounding the ruins of Palenque... 15 mins from the very special place of Palenque the town; clearly my sarcasm is intact as well. 

Oddly, our most incredible experience was at a rehab/ zoo for animals that have been rescued. Those able to return to the wild are and others find a permanent home at this strange island of salvation. Unlike most zoos, where the animal is placed in a cage in our concrete world, this was a heavy jungle setting with enclosures that allow a very natural habitat and being a part of it feels really special. We watched spider monkeys play, panthers pace feet from us, macaws greet you with "hola" and crocodiles swim beneath your feet. It's a very special experience that seems completely removed from the rest of the world and totally unique.

The ruins of Palenque were truly breathtaking, wonderfully preserved and the heat stroke from hiking the easy stroll was well worth it. Especially awesome was being able to jump in the glorious pool at our hotel after. I sound like a brat, I know. Maybe I am? I fell madly in love with the ruins of Tikal years ago and I may be comparing more than I should. Tikal has a mystical atmosphere with a luscious depth of soul that I'm afraid nothing will ever live up to. 

I have be honest as well, I've been stewing and it taints my experience. My body is fighting me more and more, home calls and emails are intruding on my peace of mind and I find myself getting testy. I find writing these blog posts actually help me look at my thoughts and flip my thinking around, so thank you for being my sound board. Wins are that my daughter is actually happy sometimes, a relief for me. My husband loves the jungle and relishes each animal he sees and I love soaking in the warm humidity and gorgeous green hues surrounding us. So I sign off remembering to not look at emails incessantly, to leave the phone in the room, to concentrate once again on less stress and more relaxation. I will pour a glass of wine, slather up with sticky menthol gel and tune out the sounds of the world while I tune into the final night in the jungle. I guess sometimes you need to venture to hell and back to remind yourself that you are sitting in paradise. 

As a side note, we are in the covid green zone and loving every second of feeling safe. We have decided not to venture into central or northern Mexico that is flaming red right now. We still wear our masks, we still sanitize, we still take precautions and we hope you are too. I know many of you are green with envy as we travel and you are stuck at home, we know you are suffering and I do not take the gift of this trip lightly. I'm deeply appreciative of every day I have here and only tell the negative to share the real truth of my experience, I hope in some small way this actually distracts you from the problems you are facing and brings a smile to your face. And more than anything, I hope you had wine in your glass because... say it with me...before anything else, Wine First.