coming

Five days in Mexico, living in a surreal sort of world with clean sheets and hot water, absolutely no bugs and nothing but swimming in the ocean and drinking cold beers.  And then it's over.  I don't think I would have noticed a year ago or even six months ago how luxurious it was but now, given how I am living now, I felt like every moment was a dream, where the buildings and roads and even the markets there far surpassed the place we now call home.

And on top of it I still had to figure out how I was getting back.  I stopped at the concierge on the day before I was supposed to leave and asked for help arranging bus travel.  He looks at me with a contained mirth we don't arrange bus travel from here he says as if buses were leprosy incarnate. Of course you don't, I say but perhaps you could call them anyways. And so he does and I learn I either leave at midnight all night or I take my chances in the morning with no real option for getting the rest of the way home.  So I contact my new stranger friend, the one who'd gotten me on the bus on the way here.  I'll pick you up he says, a journey that would take him five hours both ways.  We settle on a price that is unbelievably affordable and he says he'll meet me at the bus station in Southern Mexico. I just have to get myself there and so I do.  I arrive late and am worried he'll have decided I wasn't coming but there he is, a ragtag sort of guy with a quick smile.  You are late he says with a smile and grabs my bag.  I am so thankful you came and waited I respond and he says the truth I know but remember I gave you my word.

So we jump in his car and he tells me then that he has never done this leg of the trip before and I laugh because he made it sound so easy when I asked him for a ride.  I settle in realizing I am five hours in a car with a stranger who has just done me a really big favor.  There was just no way I wanted M to make this sort of trip and J couldn't come without her. I was nervous and now I can breathe.  

And what unfolded next was almost better than the week itself, almost hard to put into proper words.  This guy and I, we talked.  We talked in depth and length about history and culture and race and consciousness and religion and God and family and poetry and work and struggle and I felt I was sitting alongside some sort of jungle shaman professor who liked to drink too much on the weekends. It is no understatement to admit that I have not talked as long and hard with a stranger like this in my life.  And we laughed, at one point so hard I couldn't speak.  

He's a family man and an entrepreneur, his mind is as complex as I've met and he's hungry for more. If I brought up something he didn't know about he asked a million questions, turning it over in his mind. He's lived in a little town near our village his entire life, his family is all rooted here and this is the only place he's ever been but he's wiser than me by miles. Towards the end of our journey he looks at me.  I'm worried about you Jen, I am worried you aren't going to make it in our country because you will give up and if you give up our country will lose.  I tell him his country isn't easy, that it isn't easy but I knew that coming in.  He slams on the brakes now fuck woman, we spent hours talking and we've connected on all these levels and then you go and call it MY country?  This is OUR country dammit, you are here too and this place can now belong to you.  I thought we were getting somewhere in all this time and I started to laugh, I said that out of respect but he doesn't care. On this he's unmoveable.

We finally arrive home and I unfold myself from a car that signals the end of a 13 hour trip.  J and M come out and J shakes my new friend's hand and thanks him for his kindness and for getting me home safe.  He leaves with promises to get our families together one night so everyone can get to know each other and he drives off.  J looks at me and says so was that okay, that trip?  I saw that guy when I dropped you off and thought he was the janitor not the owner of the transport and I laughed not only was it okay but it was one of the best conversations of my entire life and I told him all about it and as I was falling asleep that night I thought again of appearances, of how things look on the surface and how easy it is to make assumptions and how when we do that we miss out on all the good stuff and how today was a day that I'll probably remember forever, a poet jungle warrior showed me his truth and I showed him mine and it was honest and real and a hell of a good time.  Because while we we have absolutely nothing in common and nothing we've experienced in our lives so far would lend to a common understanding we were very nearly exactly the same.

going

I was supposed to leave at 8am last Monday. But buses just started making the trek again from here to Mexico so things were confusing but the guy who owned the transport assured me they'd show. As it approached 10am I started to get grumpy so I say it right, dude, I need to get my ass to Mexico. I knew I had a good twelve hours to go and I don't really want to arrive in the middle of the night. Fuck it, he says, I'm taking you myself.

We'd been talking for a few hours now and I already liked him, strangers sometimes have a way of making sense right off.  So I happily jumped in his car prepared for the first 5 hour leg of my trip, the one that would take me out of one border and into another with a no mans land in between.  As he's getting gas in his car he gets a call.  He looks at me and smiles the bus just drove past us so we jump back in the car and catch up to the bus which pulls over and lets me on in the middle of the road. He's yelling, my new friend have a good trip call me if you need a ride back.

The bus is full of backpackers, Israelis and Brits and an American or two.  I settle in and pull out my book.  I'm in this thing now and so far I've only got a ride across the border, the rest will still need some figuring out. I read for awhile and fall asleep.  At the border the driver tells us to get out and go through immigration and he'll meet us on the other side.  We do and after the free zone we have to do it again but this time it's Mexico.  Bienvenidos.  

The countries are so different right away, here is all Dos Equis and street tacos and everything is in spanish.  I go through customs and they search my bags and I always, always think of Midnight Express in these moments, like somehow someone stuck a kilo in my bag but of course no one ever has and they wave me through, machine guns at their sides. 

I sit on the curb and it's hot and I am at a border and no one knows I'm here.  I'm on the road even if it's just for a day and it makes me want to keep going, that backpacking sort of travel where things happen and everything unfolds.  I look up at the sun and realize I need to make sure the bus doesn't leave without me.

This transport ends at a bus station and I have no idea when I can catch another bus to go up north.  I learn quickly the next bus doesn't leave for two hours (fabulous) and it's a six hour trip (super fabulous) but it's less than $20 for the whole ride.  So I buy my ticket and wait some more. I'm a dork at bus stations, I am always sure they are going to leave without me and I can't understand a thing folks are saying so I am anxious.  I eat a bad looking taco because I am not sure when I'm eating again.  My cell phone doesn't work and I forgot to exchange enough pesos and I ran out of US dollars a long time ago.  I shake my head.  I wait.

I finally board the bus and it's a nice one this time, air con and decent seats.  I don't realize the seats are assigned so I of course sit incorrectly and am promptly booted but at least he took pity on me and pointed me in the right direction. I read and fall asleep and look out the window and somehow six hours make their way gone.  

I get off the bus at my destination and get in the first taxi I see. I only have a name of a hotel and we settle on a price first because I'm still peso poor.  We drive in silence, I roll down the window and lean my head back and breathe deep, I love the smell of travel, it's intrigue and exhaustion and solitary and a bit on the edge. I'm both sad and happy today is almost over.  

We pull up at the hotel, my friend she has money and insists on staying in nice places and even offers to pay so what the hell, I can suck it up. My dusty flip flops hit the marble floor and a porter dressed in a suit actually wants to carry my piece of crap backpack and I feel embarassed, both for being here and for being me.  They stop me and ask if I am a guest here and I am not surprised in the least. I promise I clean up well I say and they smile the smile that richer people than me are much more used to. Me, I much prefer the dusty road and straight talk, street tacos and a cold cheap beer. All of a sudden I see my friends and they scream a happy scream. I'm finally where I've been trying to be.

day 44: hot damn

Neen has been here since Saturday, and in that time I've learned more than I want to know about occult blood, spinsters and shrimps. She's a curious girl, that Neen. And she's learning all about child puke, since M caught the flu just as soon as we got to the beach.

Needless to say we are having a fantastic time. No seriously, we are.

We went to the Cayes and swam in the Caribbean and ate way too much food. We've drank beers and climbed pyramids and watched monkeys and talked. She even witnessed a neighbor dye my hair jungle style, over a railing using river water with dogs and cats and kids climbing all over us. And the hair turned out pretty good. It's been good having a friend here, a woman to talk with, to commiserate with, to see some of the ridiculous things I am struggling to figure out and to offer suggestions of her own that are pretty damn good. She's leaving all too soon but it's been so good to have her here. But before she'll go I'm taking her to visit my mystic friends and on a canoe trip through a cave. Gotta send her off clapping, right?

In other news, it's really fucking hot. It wasn't really hot until this past week, but now I know what people here fear and what everyone complains about during the dry season, this endless blistering heat that grinds on and on for months. The beach helped us escape it for a few days but now we are back in the jungle and it's hot from the moment we wake up till long after we've fallen asleep. I'm too sissy for heat. And for bugs. In fact, I whine all about that at my BlogHer post today. If there are two things I'm not woman enough for, it's heat and bugs. And yet those two things are on full display here, this chosen place of mine.

There's a lesson here, one I haven't yet figured out.

next door

The desert cabin was a duplex and each night for four nights we had different neighbors.  Each night after a long day out in the sun we'd drive up and notice a new car, my heart sinking a bit each time. Privacy, see.  It's privacy. Privacy means we have a secret, a secret to ourselves.  But no matter, we still had neighbors.  Privacy laughs in my face and hitches up her skirt.

The first night we walked up and there was a little party on our shared porch.  Our neighbors and their friends had settled in on the tiny landing with drinks and tables and chairs.  These folks were drinkers, they were into the hard stuff early and were having a great time.  Drunk retired people make for good neighbors, they share their beer and laugh really loud.  The women automatically start to mother you and you like that a little bit.

The second night the man stayed there alone, he seemed to be on a mission, taking pictures of everything and carrying a really big pack.  We didn't speak much and there were no beers on the porch that night.  I daydreamed that he was a semi-famous photographer, a recluse.  In truth he probably sold life insurance. But maybe not.

We met a couple struggling with their bags on the third night.  They were cordial enough and we were in a rush. We were hot and dusty and needed a beer.  Later that night the walls almost shook, they were fighting in a way that saddened us both so much that we turned the music up loud.  I could hear her screaming at him about an affair I'm not the one who had an affair you bastard and him responding more quietly but no less angry.  At one point the door slammed and I heard the car leave.  We tried to compensate the universe, as if somehow declaring our love, no matter how rocky it can be sometimes might counterbalance the suffering through the walls. The car was still gone when we woke up.  In the morning she was on the porch alone, she had a book and I wanted to say something hopeful but words failed me.  Sometimes there aren't any words. It's wrong to feel blessed in the face of another's tragedy, selfish somehow. Yet I feel blessed.

The last night was shared with an older couple riding motorcycles.  These folks were rocking, with their leathers and their jeans and their white hair gunning their engines when they pulled into their parking space.  They were cool, these last folks.  As they went into their side of the cabin I pictured their love lasting a lifetime, a mutual pursuit of adventure and acceptance, one that has bound them together until now.  A love strong enough to erase the suffering of the night before.  

the painted desert

We'd arranged to take a small vacation after our initial move, something I thought necessary for my mental health and to assist in the transition from back there to over there. M is happily capivated by her grandparents so we took off on a mini road trip to a national park in the middle of the desert.  We've been here for three days now and today is the first connection I've been able to muster, neither cell or wireless seems to work anywhere else for miles on end. So it's been a good break, spending evenings in a tiny cabin and days running through the desert, hiking 5-6 miles a day broken up in thirds as we go from one place to another.  I've forgotten how big desert sky can be.

It's quiet here, and while it's as far away as possible from the climate we are heading to it's the entrance to the isolation and full bodied nature of our future.  Folks here are friendly, everyone is happy to talk a bit and upon hearing our story seem to feel required to buy us a beer.  I never realized how the first question you hear on the road is where are you from, and for the first time it gives us pause because we can say where we've been but right now we've got neither home or job, none of the usual trappings that define us and for a moment it's disconcerting more often to them. 

The strangeness of that doesn't escape me but at the same time it's the beginning of an adventure, one with nothing recognizable and everything a bit hard to figure out.  We wandered a ghost town today, one that has been abandoned for 100 years and while the structures were somewhat defineable the utter lack of life struck me most. Under the ground were perhaps broken tops and buttons and coins and maybe even bones, lives that lived rough and hot and one day packed up and disappeared with only the shells remaining.

I can't access my reader and probably can't for a few days more, so I'm curious as to what I am missing and of course wanting to make sure you know I am not ignoring you, just unable to find a way to get the wild west and the age of technology to collide. 

don't touch my bags if you please Mr. Customs Man

I'm more excited than anything, a girl with a backpack and a grin, twittering foolishly about mounties and humming Oh Canada in my head. I skip over to Immigration, knowing Tanis
is right around the corner. I gleefully hand over my passport and then things take a turn for the worse.

Mountie #1: What is the nature of your visit?
Me: Visiting a friend.
Him: How much did you pay for your ticket?
Me: Um? Well. I think it was around $XXX. I had to change the flight, I was sick, see and...
Him: Who are you visiting in Canada?
Me: Tanis. (Shit. I. Can't. Remember. Her. Last. Name.)
Him: Where does she live?
Me: Canada?
Him: How do you know her?
Me: Um, well we both blog (eyebrows raise) and we became friends.
Him: Over the internet?
Me: Well, yes but it's not as weird as it sounds.
Him: What do you do for a living?
Me: I work in non profit.
Him: What was the temperature when you left the USA?
Me: Seriously? Um, 45 degrees? Shit. If I get it wrong, do I go home?
Him: Why are you only here for 24 hours? That doesn't make any sense.
Him: Picks up the phone. Mutters. Hangs Up. Mountie #2 arrives. You need to step over here please. Mountie #2 leads me into a side room. With a door. Fuck.

Mountie #2 hands me off to Mountie #3. I note she's wearing a kevlar vest and has a gun. What about all that peacekeeping business? She takes my passport and starts typing, typing, typing. I can't help but wonder what the hell she's saying. My heart is beating faster.

Her: What's the purpose of your visit?
Me: Visiting a friend.
Her: What's your friend's name?
Me: Tanis XXXXX. Whoot! I just remembered her last name!
Her: Where does she live?
Me: Shit. Um. Near the airport. I actually have no idea.
Her: What is your friend's address?
Me: I don't know.
Her: What is her birthdate?
Me: I don't know.
Her: How do you know her?
Me: Fabulous. Um, blogging? See, we are well, mommybloggers. She came to visit me, I am returning the favor, I can show you our blogs....
Her: That won't be necessary.
Me: She's waiting outside for me.
Her: That's not good enough.
Me: Shit. Even if she brought me a coat? I decide to leave that one alone.
Her: Why are you only here for 24 hours?  
Me: Well, that's all that I could work out, I had an earlier trip planned, but I got sick and had to reschedule.
Her: A lot of money for a short trip.
Me: When did Canada become my personal financial advisor? Um, she's worth it?
Her: Social Security #? I give it.
Her: Have you spent time in Georgia?
Me: No. When did Canada become my personal travel advisor? What does Georgia have to do with this?
Her: What are you planning on doing in Canada?
Me: Um, visit my friend? Didn't we already cover this? Is this a trick question?
Her: Where will you be staying?
Me: With her. But I'm not sure where that is. With rednecks? In the country? I can totally see how dumb this looks. I do. But here I am. I continue to keep my mouth shut.
She continues to type and type and type. I continue to marginally freak out.
Her: What do you do for work in California?
Me: I work in non profit. I work with homeless people.
Her: How do you do that?
Me: When did Canada become my vocational counselor? Um, shelter? Services?
Her: Do you have children?
Me: One.
Her: Who is watching your child while you are here?
Me: Her dad. When did Canada become my mother?
Her: You can proceed to customs.
The final Mountie took my bag apart. Thankfully I had very little inside. I am a bit shaky now and am finally released. I wobble out of the doors and see Tanis. Proceed to take back every nice thing I've ever said about Mounties and tell her I need a drink and quick.

The rest of the weekend was absolutely fantastic. Tanis took me the biggest mall in the world, I kid you not, this mall has a water park, a casino, roller coasters, a skating rink, miniature golf and sea lions. And Bingo and bungee jumping. There was a dragon too. Plus all the stores malls are supposed to have. I mean, it was a freaking sideshow of American Capitalism overspilling into our northern lands and corrupting them forever. Or it was a mall. Either way, it scared me. A lot.

We went to a (really terrible) movie about some weird demon kid but we talked so loud we got in trouble and I thought I might have to get into a fight with some Canadian tweens. Fearing our safety, she took me home, where I promptly proceeded to fall in love. Fric and Frac are my new favorite children. They are beautiful and adorable and clever and precious and they bake really good cookies. And then there was Boo. Now that's a dude you can drink with. And he's really cute too. I tried to convince them to let me sleep in their room but Tanis wouldn't have any of it. She's all talk, that one. So much for redneckery. 

So instead we stayed up late and talked and laughed and in the morning my two new favorite children were even more adorable and Boo cooked a delicious breakfast and it was time to go home way too soon and thankfully I left before I had the chance to become "A Real Canadian" something I totally would have done just to prove I was tough enough to be "A Real Canadian" and as long as it didn't involve Mounties because I'm so over those dudes now.

I was sort of expecting to be arrested upon arrival at the airport but thankfully I got to go through Homeland Security instead of Canadian immigration and I will never, not ever talk shit about them again because on the way back it was all smiles and Welcome Home and Did You Have a Nice Time and I was all what the hell's up with Canada anyways and they were all yeah who knows those cats are way too uptight up here and with that I was on my way back home. Too short and perfect all at once.

northern exposure

We spent Thursday in the City with friends and then planning a bit of a getaway we drove off into the night. We were on our way to visit her and her brood, finally accepting an invitation that was long overdue. We arrived up north the next day and were captivated all weekend long by the smells and sights of the woods and the coast. We ate a delicious beyond description meal cooked with love and hard work and child dodging by Mr. Egg, went hiking through redwoods and creeks and ferns and sand, tended to exuberant children and in between snatched moments of adult conversation.

Our daughters were the stars of the show, racing around their lovely wooded home squealing and laughing and tumbling and shrieking while adults juggled wine glasses and beer bottles and tried to stay out of their way. We talked the spectrum, from childbirth to politics to travel, travel, travel, a mutual lust for us all and by the time we drove off headed back south we felt full and happy, M sobbed a good fifteen minutes for Monkey obviously knowing she was leaving too soon. It wad lovely to be welcomed so entirely and the ease of conversation and just being together was special indeed.

It's almost time for the Just Posts again, our Roundtable is on the 10th and all are welcome to participate. All you have to do is send me a social justice/social awareness post you wrote in November (or someone else's you appreciated) to me at girlplustwo(at)yahoodotcom by the 7th. If this is new to you click on one of the purple and white buttons on the sidebar to your right. Join us.

they should sell pre-made kits for this sort of thing

When you've never actually lived in the jungle before you might come to the realization you have absolutely no idea what you are doing. That thought might float past your consciousness like leaves on a stream or might burrow deep inside like a nasty tick in the summertime. It's clearly possible that we are absolutely crazy, giving up good jobs and a kind life, involved in work we believe in and stability at home and community. It's also quite possible that turning our lives on our heads might have been much easier in our youth, sans toddler. It's these things I think about when trying to decide how the hell do we best prepare ourselves for all things unknown.

That said, we need to get it together and one way I do this is by compiling lists. These lists are the transitory sort, written on old receipts or the back of my hand. Our latest dilemma is how we get our stuff down there. Shipping is an option but it's complicated, and the whole point of leaving was leaving it all behind. So we decided to get rid of almost everything, throwing that last little bit of caution to the wind. We've decided we'll bring what we can carry.

Things I think I cannot live without:

1. One pot and one pan. It's possible to get these things there but I hear they are expensive and cheaply made. If I'm to, for the love of all things holy, homestead, I want a few pieces of relatively decent cookware.
2. Spices. See above.
3. Towels/sheets. These things are ridiculously expensive there (who knew?) and they take up a lot of room. So does a pot and a pan. But I digress.
4. Books. This was an issue until I got a Kindle. J's construction books however are not friends of the mighty Kindle. See #3 for obvious space issues as these are no pocket readers, these books of his.
5. M's most important possessions. This is a good time, seeing which of her belongings she's actually willing to part with. Right now she's adamant that her 3' long stuffed horse comes with her. This item needs to go on a separate list, the one titled how to cut off my own head in order to make room for the 3' stuffed horse list.
6. Important documents. That's an obvious one. Passports and medical cards and laptops and international drivers licenses and tax information and immunization records. Oh wait, immunization records, that makes me think of getting sick. We should bring some medicine, but what am I going to be able to find there? Last time I was there the little shack at the end of town had little bottles of gripe water. That may indeed be medicinal, but is it a cure-all? I know my village woman friend uses tree sap as some sort of remedy, but for what? I mean, what about run of the mill fevers? Cuts? Colds? Shit. Malaria? Good lord. Mosquito netting. Time for a new list.
7. Medicines. See above rant.
8. Clothes. This one is a bit freeing because we'll get rid of most of our stuff and only keep a few things each and I'll get ripped biceps washing all of it by hand. Every single day. Wait, maybe a few extra sets. Socks. Will we need socks?
8. Entertainment. This is easy because entertainment will be pretty scarce. We'll get used to playing with sticks and bugs, right? I love sticks and bugs. Wait. Anyways, we are narrowing it down to chess, cards and a few games for M. Oh and I like Scrabble. Scrabble is a good jungle game. I forgot about Clue. Who doesn't like a rousing game of Clue?

How all of the above and most likely more is going to equate into the things we shall carry is a bit lost on me right now. In fact, I'm starting to revert to the beginning of this post: We have no idea what we are doing. And don't even get me started on the composting toilets. That's the topic of a future post.

the middle way: or where finally i spill the beans

I know, I've been such a tease. I am finally able to talk about it.

It all started back here when we realized we'd found the next chapter for our lives but had very little idea how to get there. Then we've spent the last few years slowly chipping away, paying off debt, saving money, making connections, doing research. We've lived frugally, our stuff is all old and somewhat shameful. Our cars are on their last more than a decade old legs. But we did it. I won't say it didn't cost us because everything has a price but the pound of flesh in the end tastes sweet.


We are moving to a small village in the Belizean jungle this fall. As in This Fall. J has already left his job, we've just pulled M out of school. I am slowly extricating myself, a process that went public a little while ago. We are getting rid of all of our stuff. We are only bringing what we can carry. We've got a list of things we still need to acquire and a longer one of things still left to do.


We've found a little place to rent and nice people to rent it from. It's a simple house but perfect for us while we build our own home, the one we will construct out of sustainable materials, one that we will power with the sun. We are committed to lowering our carbon footprint as low as possible, we will no longer have a washing machine or a dishwasher or a toaster, we will catch rainwater and dig a well and we will grow our own food. Chickens. We'll have some chickens. Our feet will always be dirty.


We are going to do this and it's equal parts terror and joy. It will all be unknown and there will be only the tiniest safety net. We will learn how to more deeply trust each other and to listen to the earth. We will move slowly and with intent. We will make mistakes and I will most certainly find myself huddled on the jungle floor in disbelief. We might fail but we've promised to look at it as an adventure and we expect it to be hard before it gets easier.


We'll teach M that there is more to life than producing and consuming, heading to work to school then back home every single day and repeat. We'll travel cheaply for extended periods of time and homeschool her in between as she gets older, or if she wants and it makes sense she'll go to the local school. Either way she'll have a say. We'll see that she puts her hands and feet on as many different parts of the world as she can, her science projects will be in the first person, she'll learn which trees heal and which ones can make her sick.


There are a thousand things we do not know and only a handful of things we do but we know we want to do this. We want off the production and consumption treadmill. We want to teach M how to live sustainably while teaching ourselves too. We are uncomfortable living such a sanitary existance, something so incongruous with so much of the world. We want to spend more time as family exploring for the sake of seeing what we can find. I want to get involved in regional relief and development efforts and see if I can lend a hand.

We want to push ourselves in the best possible ways. Or as J likes to put it paint our own masterpiece. It's the end and it's the beginning. It will be harder than I can currently imagine and I hope to come out on the other side victorious because the journey will be the reward.


And we'll have an internet connection. Oh yes, my lovelies, I've made sure of that. You aren't getting rid of me that easily and besides, something tells me I'll be needing you more than ever. From care packages and bail money to your wise thoughts and kind understanding, promise me you'll stick with me and in exchange I can offer you your very own in-country host for your next tropical vacation, the one where you bring your babies and sit on my hammock and we toast cold beers under Central American skies.

minus the fear and loathing

i used to cut loose. it's been a long while since i've truly done that, wild adventures and losing track of time. i can't say that i will ever truly experience that again in the way that i mean, the consequences are higher now, it's impossible to carve the freedom from the risk, older makes you softer and childbearing has made me wiser, or better said cautious and that's all right with me.

but giving all that the finger, arched ever so rebelliously towards the sky i'll head east to where the sun shines hotter and the artificial lights pulse round the clock. come east, they chant, come east, they sing. i'll leave momentarily the sippy cups and responsibility, the car seat and the halved grapes and i'll board that plane with four others, friends I've gone in and out of battle with shoulder meeting shoulder and we've come to a fork in the road, a fork taking us in different directions and yet the core remains. and no better way to commemorate the closing of this chapter than twenty four hours in the city that never sleeps.

i'll be back before you know it, but i hope it'll seem like longer to me. and besides, what happens in vegas should probably stay there, nicely nestled amidst the barren wasteland of old money and newly lost, heartache, seduction and the blues.

warmth

I thought sharing some vacation warmth might be nice right about now, especially with all the snow falling everywhere on so many of you. Because no matter how great snow is, nothing is better than the warm sun.

I mean, who needs snow when you can swim in this?
Or gaze at this?
Or eat dinner on the beach watching the sun slip behind the Caribbean?
Or curling up reading here? Without a jacket? Or shoes?

eight is the magic number

I've recently started getting to know Nengaku (he's a semi-hermit type, and that's just one of the many reasons I love the blogosphere because I am fairly sure we'd never have met otherwise and he's a cool cat). Anyways, he tagged me with this big ass meme with lists of eight things (but I am not one for taking very good directions) so I abbreviated it (a lot).

Without further rambling, I give you My List Of Eight Things I Want To Do Before I Die.

1. Walk on the beach in Madagascar
2. Live in Laos in a small rented flat
3. Ride in a rickshaw in Calcutta
4. Eat warm bread from a bakery in Morocco
5. Plant flowers in South Africa
6. Go back to Cambodia and revisit the farthest reaching temples at Angkor, the ones that take hours to find and that still have the landmine warnings
7. Drink a beer in Bolivia
8. Volunteer in Nepal

Sigh. I can't wait. Now leave me one or two or eight of your own.

arrival

Ah, yes. It's me, it's this. I sit quietly in front of my laptop grinning in anticipation of what I'll find and what you've been up to. And yet a part of me is reluctant. I'm indoors now. The first time besides sleeping in the past 10 days that I've been in an enclosed space. The routine, my routine, it's back in a flash and here I sit.

It's easy to forget how much time I spend inside until I don't and then I do again.

The trip was really lovely. Lot's of quiet times and long walks, minor adventures and the hot sun. And I am glad to be home.

uno momento en el sol

The Yucatan is by far the most touristed place we´ve visited on holiday. Something about the crowds sullies things, if vacation isolation can be any sort of prize. But crowds means infrastructure and it´s been an incredibly easy journey, no reservations anywhere and yet we´ve moved across the peninsula with the ease of wild dogs foraging for food and shelter each day with success. We were visiting some magnificent ruins yesterday and after being commandeered by dozens of touts I finally said no compro nada in poor spanish and probably poorer manners and the man stopped and smiled and sat down next to me but i really want your money, see and as he spoke the truth the divide closed a bit and I said I know, and this entire thing really is unfair. But that´s life, he replied and for a few brief moments we sat together in the same patchy sun. My mind is shifting back north, the knowledge of home just around the corner now. And that means I´ll get to see what you´ve all been up to while I´ve been away, too.

8 kilometers of sweetness

We´ve been languishing on an island off the coast of Mexico for the past few days. Every single thing about our trip so far has been smooth, from the bus rides to the water ferry, the finding the perfect hotel on a whim without reservations. We´ve spent the days on swimming in the caribbean and the nights in outdoor bars and restaurants people watching and talking quietly. It´s enough to make you forget you´ve come from something, enough to almost make you believe this is all there is.

But tonight as I watched the sun slip into the sea, cold beer in hand and book nestled in my lap I thought of so many of you and wished for a sunset gathering of our own where we´d all dance round the fire toasting each other in community.

I can´t come visiting as the connection is spotty and the smell of garlic reminds me it´s time to eat in the darkened corner of some tiny little cafe. But consider this your salty kiss on the cheek and the promise of warmer weather soon.

like john denver on crack

We are getting ready to take off for some glorious sun laden adventures. I am running around ferociously packing bags, finding passports and quietly unpacking a few odd items M has put in her own case (she's off to the grandparents for a week or so of relentless adoration) and on top of it all have gotten sick.

Sick before vacation? A pox on that, vacation gods. But otherwise life is good. And some sun can't hurt, right? I'll squeak out one last post before we hit the friendly skies and then I'll be tossing internet capacity to the winds and will blow in and out and around (blogging in foreign places while holding a beer, anyone?)

it's something

dusting off the backpacks. arranging dates. searching the cheapest airfare. securing the time off. finding passports. researching ruins. excitement bubbling. pretending to brush up on spanish. the yucatan is calling. next month we'll go. we'll have to come back when it's over. but maybe next time we won't. there is always a next time. but this time is now. or next month. it's soon. travel is my remedy. a homeopathic balm for my soul.

bedtime stories

Jennifer wrote this really terrific post recently about the beds she'd slept in. I liked it so much that I had to do a version of it myself.

1. Puerto Nuevo, Mexico. A hammock on a roof of a little house under the stars when I was 20 and fearless. I remember that night with such sweetness because it came unexpectedly after several years of really bad things.

2. Khao San Road in Bangkok. It's 3am and we'd just arrived in Asia. We are weary and stumble onto a little guesthouse made of teak and swaying colored lights. The vibe is beyond cool, hushed voices and smoke. Chill out music. We get the last room the size of a closet with a pad on the floor and we fall asleep immediately..

3. The Smoking Lounge (and I use the word lounge loosely here) in the Taipei airport. I think the title is sufficient enough.

4. Belize in two parts: A cinderblock cabana on a deserted island. There was nothing to do and no way to leave and we sat there for three days. Divine. And a treehouse in the jungle. I've never seen spiders as big as I did that night and they were in our bed at the time. Under the sheet. Dude.

5. A really nice hotel in Phnom Penh. I had my heart set on staying in the same hotel as the last of the journalists did before PP fell. I had read vivid descriptions of the courtyard and how it looked in the 70's and I knew I had to stay there and sit among the ghosts. Problem was it was one the most expensive hotels in the city. We stayed one night and after a few weeks on the road it was comfort (and hot water) beyond measure. We had a little balcony that opened onto the said courtyard and I was in heaven.

6. A really bad hotel in Phnom Penh. Bedbugs. Dirty sheets. Towels cost extra. Penance for the earlier decadence.

7. A log cabin on the Russian River. J and I stayed in this delectable little A-frame with the softest bed and the whitest sheets. We made good use of that room on that trip.

8. A writer's quarters in Suchitoto. The room was maybe 7'X9' and bright blue with a bright pink bathroom. The owner brought me cafe con leche in the morning and it was sweet and hot and delicious.

9. Tikal, Guatemala. We slept in a little room with howler monkeys in the trees overhead and they screamed all night long and we had too many beers. If you've never heard a howler monkey then you are missing out. Especially at 3am. Drunk.

10. Florence, Oregon. A side of the road motel on our way to meet friends for Xmas in 2003. We made M that night but didn't know it for another three or four weeks. Florence stands for Fertility!

Now it's your turn. Tell me a sleeping place that still lurks around in your memory.

the friendly skies

There is nothing quite like being kidless for two days in the company of the women who knew you when and love you anyways and more. We ate way too many tacos, drank a couple of mojitos and talked ourselves silly. It was a lovely, lovely time. And I did mention my blog and after getting over the snickers and misunderstandings about what a blog is, (because it's NOT a creepy desperate place where weirdos congregate) but rather a lovely intentional community where I've met and come to adore dozens and dozens of like minded, brilliant, amazing people I found it well received and after being assaulted with many questions we were able to move onto other topics. I bragged a bit about all of you and it's fascinating because when you stop to think about how much your mind has been expanded by this place it's clear that is it something to be very proud and fiercely protective of. And I am.

I returned today sans child (M is staying at the grands for a few more days). My flight was cancelled at the last minute (bastards) so after a three hour walkabout I finally flew home. We all have airport stories now, because the absurdity of plastic bags and matches and little bottles of goo are all a part of our bizarre domestic travel and I like everyone else silently tolerate and amuse myself with the nonsense but sometimes it's still a bit too much. Like today when two security guards were searching a teenage girl in a wheelchair. A girl with Down's Syndrome who was wailing a gutteral wail while her mother held her hand and tried to calm her as they searched all around her body. Things like that push the envelope of absurdity because nothing screams National Terrorist Threat like a young girl with DS in a wheelchair.

I missed you all. Can't wait to come around and see what's what.

round and round

we've been on a mission for the last two years. a mission to become debt free and own as little as possible and we are almost there. we will be in a position to leave our work in about 12 months, this coming from stories that are long and hard won and are better told in person.

if you've been reading for any length of time you know we want to end up in Belize, but we've been contemplating a detour for awhile now and are close to the choosing. The detour is practical in some ways, we still don't know how to live permanently in Belize and the thought of going and coming back isn't really what we had in mind.

we are considering selling everything we own and put the rest in storage and hitting the road. around the world for a year, the year before M starts school and responsibilities beckon. the year of living in flats or guesthouses around the world soaking it in.

going with a child means certain things; longer stays in one place, less travel time in between. we keep going back to the same places. South Africa (Hel, I wasn't kidding earlier about coming to see you but I wonder how you feel about us sleeping on your lawn), Morocco, India, Laos. Or a South American journey, starting at the top and ending at the bottom. Longer periods of time in each place, flats rented by the month. Less around the world than travelling north and south in big chunks of it.

and already the fear creeps in, international sicknesses and doing right by M. what we are leaving and what we will return to. all of that seems manageable for the most part, we feel pretty comfortable that we can easily find work when it's over, might not be the best work the first time around, but we know we can find it. we know where we live now is not our home, we have no remorse setting it free. we know the open road creates possibilities, who knows what we'll find or where we'll end up.

it's the great unknown, of taking the leap, of looking at security and americana and laughing in it's face. of strange places and food, of dusty roads and washing clothes in the sink. of showing M the world, the hard bits and the good bits, of getting rid of the TV and living simply. of carrying our lives on our backs for a while. of doing something off the rails.

we've always dreamed of this and J has done it in his youth. having M requires shifts in thinking but i remind myself there are many families in the places we want to go, that it is indeed possible to live outside the box for awhile. others do it and do it well.

it's a long way off yet, a year from now i hope to be posting about selling our cars and the seventh garage sale in a row. but it takes time to figure this sort of thing out, to map our journey and consider our options. to close up shop and sing kumbayah. more than that it takes time to say yes and mean it, to choose this freedom over the illusion of security and capitalism, To rid ourselves of the ingrained notion that one needs to produce and consume to be a contributing member of the planet. and essentially to put our money where our mouth is, to see how ballsy we really are or if we are just a lot of hot air.