Sunday, January 31, 2010

Guanajuato to Sayulita

Here in Sayulita, Mexican population: 1500; gringo population: 500.  Clearly an exaggeration but there are so many white people here.  I know, I'm part of it (and one of the whitest).  But nowhere else in the trip, Puerto Vallarta, Guadalajara, Guanajuato, have I heard so much English or felt so spring break.  It's grown significantly in these nine years and now resembles a surf mecca similar to those in Costa Rica that I've visited.  Doesn't matter, the beach, the ocean are incredible.  It's a nice way to finish the trip, although I'm very glad it wasn't the whole trip.  Today is overcast so Jamie and I will probably set out to explore a beach north of the city.  The trip here from Guanajuato was, well, long.  The night bus ride was punctuated by screaming babies, often in a duet.  Kinked necks and cramped legs later, we boarded a public bus to Sayulita (the driver was kamikaze, according to Jamie).  Upon arrival we learned that our reservations had been canceled.  Hot and sweaty and exhausted two hours later, we found a place with one room vacancy.  Mmmm, beach time.





[written 01/29/10, unable to post due to internet connection]

Mexico!

My last day in Guanajuato.  I'm waiting around in a cafe with tenuous internet connection for the night bus back to the coast, to Sayulita, for the last part of the trip.  I love Mexico.  I've been here once before, in Sayulita in fact, about nine years ago for less than a week.  I've crossed over the border in San Diego/Tijuana and Nogales with my family for an afternoon.  That's all.  Why?  This wonderful country, so close to my own but absolutely dissimilar.  Jamie and I have spent four days here in Guanajuato, a city of callejones and colores vibrantes, exploring.  The city is in a bowl, creeping up the sides of the surrounding hills, colorful house stacked upon colorful house--colors, red, orange, yellow, blue green purple pink, as the only divider.  A city of Legos, built by some imaginative child in the hills of Mexico.  Every time we set out, we somehow complete a huge circle and end up back where we started even though we began climbing westward and didn't seem to turn the other way at any point.  Yesterday, Jamie and I adventured into the hills to find La Bufa, a shrine marked by a cross at the top of one of the peaks.  With vague information from the internet and vague directions from the tourist booth, it took us over an hour to find the trail.  The entire trip was mostly sketchy, with many-a "Uhh, this way?".  It was one of those hikes that only happens in Latin America.  Sweaty, incredible.

Today we went to the famed (infamous?) mummy museum.  So extremely creepy, I can't begin to say.  Desiccated bodies--men, women, children, amazingly preserved.  I've seen mummies in museums before, but they've been wrapped in cloth.  These were simply skin, bone, cloth, most were naked, some clothed.  The skin was so thin, delicate.  Their hands were like claws, their mouths contorted in what the living would perceive as pain.  There were babies, by far the most disturbing.  I now understand why there are mummy horror movies; I did not want to turn my back on some of them.  The museum was fascinating and (as Jamie pointed out) provided a momentary glimpse into Mexico's relationship with death, something we Americans can only try to understand.

I have that feeling again, where I've begun to fall in love with a city, and there's a small heartbreak when I leave.  San Sebastian, Sarajevo, Leon, Dublin, Guanajuato.  The trip is going too fast.  Already, too many "next times".  I must return.

Friday, January 22, 2010

"You boys like ME-XI-CO!? Yeeeee-hawwww!"

(Kudos to those who get the reference.)

Procrastination, of course.  Instead of packing or finishing my Simmons application or preparing for my trip or worrying about my car, it's time to blog because...  I'm leaving for Mexico tomorrow!  Jamie and I are flying into Puerto Vallarta, quickly trading that city for Guadalajara, Guanajuato, and the coast.  It hasn't sunk in yet as I've been working on and worrying about applications for the last several weeks.  I have three to submit before I leave.  All but one are done.  Also: my car was stolen several days ago so I'm dealing with that situation too (not dealing like mourning but dealing like police and insurance, etc.).

Anyway, poorly written.  My mental powers--what's left after this long week of 5:30am shifts and grad school apps--are still reserved for this last one.  All day I've been fretting about getting it all done.  It's almost there.  It's closer than I think.  Tomorrow at this time, I will be sitting, exhausted, in Puerto Vallarta somewhere.  I can't wait: the food, the smells, la lengua (figuratively, or literally as you can never be sure what you're eating). 

The beach.  Twelve days away from Seattle and my job and the winter and school applications.  This will only whet my wanderlust, I fear.  I promise I'll come home.


....update, one hour later.
I submitted the application.  Pre-packing ritual: clothing, toiletries are spread around me on the floor, the bed.  The dryer hums, with intermittent zipper.  Harvey Danger's Private Helicopter.  How to pack for twelve days?  I'm taking nearly as much stuff as when I moved to Spain, or traveled in Central America.

This trip may offer salvation, for the time being.  I hadn't succumbed to wanderlust for months.  I kept it at bay, fending it off with promises of exciting future plans (like graduate school).  But, lately.  Everywhere I turn.  I went to Ocho, the Spanish tapas bar in Ballard this week.  Shit, I want to go back to Spain.  Jamon serrano?  No!  I want jamon iberico!  The tortilla espanola was, to say the least, disappointing.  Dry and flavorless, when compared to a true tortilla.

Within the last week, I have had several conversations with different customers at work about travel.  The first was with a couple who had done the camino.  That, with the tapas bar, made me yearn (yearn!) to go back.  To contemplate which camino to do next.  The camino portugues?  Tackle part in France?  As far as Istanbul?

The next conversation was with someone who had recently returned from Russia.  Russia--I want to go.  It's been the back of my mind for awhile, but then he gave me a ruble that he found in his bag and a pass from the Moscow subway system. It's my next big trip, this summer.

Then, a customer had a pile of travel books.  She was planning an eight week trip to Egypt, Israel, Turkey, and Eastern Europe.  We talked about Bosnia.  Please, let me go.  Just let me go.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Adventures in Veganism

I continue to struggle to define exactly what I eat.  I was a strict vegetarian for ten years, followed by a binge of pork and other sometimes indeterminate animals while in Spain.  Currently, there is a broad spectrum with anything-and-everything-as-long-as-it-smells-good while traveling on one end, and healthful vegan fare on the other. 

While I was readjusting my focus for the new year (some may cry, "I smell a New Year's Resolution!"), I considered eating strictly vegan.  Just to see.  Just to taste.  Just to say that I'd done it.  To become more aware of what I eat.  I thought about it for over a month and decided that I don't need to prove it to myself.  I don't know how much I would gain from that type of dietary restriction.

With vegan on my mind, I threw myself into vegan creations.  Even more than vegetarianism, veganism has negative connotations for many people.  Based on comments, I can only assume that these [ignorant] people view vegan dishes as tasteless piles of vegetables.  Or maybe these people don't understand spices and smother meals in cheese to make them palatable.  Some meats and nearly all cheeses are wonderful, I do agree.  But part of the beauty of cooking vegan is the creativity that it requires and inspires.  For Christmas I received a 500 recipe vegan cookbook from my brother and a 1,000 recipe vegan cookbook from my roommates.  So if I make two recipes per day, it should take me slightly over two years to... 

I have come a long way since my first year(s) cooking for myself.  Bland tofu with poorly sauteed vegetables and pasta with tomato sauce and a mountain of cheese during my sophomore year of college.  Slightly more adventure in the two years following--but mostly as a prep cook for Sydney, the epic chef with whom I lived.  I didn't know it then, but I learned so much from watching her cook.  It wasn't until after I came home from Spain that I truly began to cook and experiment.  While in Spain I realized how absurd it was to fear failure in the kitchen.  I'm pretty good at most things I want to do well [tongue in cheek], so why would cooking be any different?  Upon return, I started small, with a simple, foolproof cookbook (the "Cancer Cookbook", thus named by Em) and constant moral support.  I cooked weekly with my friend Jeremy, taking turns picking recipes and buying ingredients.  We giggled our way through many a recipe--almost always creating something delicious and nutritious (except for when the bulghur didn't cook and that failure of a stew that was my recipe choice--I was banned from stews for period).

This past summer, my roommate and I subscribed to a weekly community supported agriculture (CSA) box.  In the beginning, it was a bit of a challenge to incorporate the random vegetables into meals ("What the $hit is a kohlrabi?!").  When the CSA box ended in mid-October, I was desolate for a few days (this can be partially attributed to the unpalatable rutabaga spice cake I made with the second-to-last rutabaga of the season).  I can't describe the forced creativity the box fostered in kitchen.

Then, aha! the year-round Sunday farmer's market in Ballard.  Currently, the pickings are a bit slim but it still amazes me that this produce is still available locally.  Another joy of this whole vegan kick is that my gentleman friend Jamie is as excited as I am about these vegan experiments with local produce.  There is a plan for a food blog in the works.

...I set the cookies on the table.  Before anyone can say anything or reach  for one, and with barely contained excitement, I exclaim gleefully, "And they're vegan!".

Friday, January 1, 2010

This is the New Year

Last year, I was flying to Costa Rica.  Now, I'm sitting home on this wet and windy January day--definitely Seattle.  I didn't go big last night to celebrate the new decade.  I mostly slept on a couch and tried to ingest any kind of food that didn't make me nauseous.  At work today I had the same inane, repetitive conversation about the new year, New Year's Eve, blah blah blah.

"So how is the new year treating you?"
"I dunno, feels pretty much like last year."
"Yeah, but without the snow and ice!"
"Yeah."  Just so I didn't have to explain that I meant last year as in yesterday as in who cares because it's just another day?

Maybe I'm just bitter because I was working and this dolt wasn't.  I wish I were heading somewhere exotic.  There's a possible trip to Mexico in the works.  The application process appears more positive (if only I could motivate on my end now!).  I haven't really had a chance to reflect on the year past but I've gotten much further toward future goals.  This year could be the year that I start graduate school.  I feel unmotivated and uninspired but that's probably the mild flu talking.  As with every year, 2010 promises adventure.  I'm building up to being ready.