Baby and Barack

I went to bed ecstatic. I woke up ecstatic. Last night's landslide victory felt like a dream to me, a great dream that will last four years! Hallelujah!

Canuche and I couldn't stop rubbing my belly and telling the little baby that's growing in there how much better the world is going to be when it pops out. That's right folks, for those of you we haven't been able to talk to, we're PREGNANT!
We're due April 7, 2009. Here's a picture of me today at 17 weeks along.

We've been excited since we found out about little Tex, but never more than we are right now.
Our baby will only know an America where an African American with all of Barack Obama's talent and capacity can win the presidency with a firm mandate. What a lucky little baby to grow up in such a hopeful time.

But oh there is still prejudice in our world. It appears that Florida, Arizona and California will all vote to include a ban on same sex marriage in their state constitutions. All of us and our children, Little Tex included, have plenty of work to do to heal our divided nation and bring understanding and tolerance home to roost.

Canuche and I send you love, laughter and hope on this glorious day! Let the change begin! Yes We Can!

Lucha Libre en Vivo

“No hay cupo” The man in the cantaloupe tie, matching jacket and slicked back hair said as he looked disappointedly back at me.

We arrived in DF (Mexico City) a few hours earlier and as soon as I saw the poster proclaiming “Ultimo Guerrero, Rey Bucanero y Toscano contra Mistico, Blue Panther y Shocker" Martes el 27 a las 7:30, I knew we had to be there. Lucha Libre is a Mexican version of WWF but with more panache. Mythical standing, slick costumes, and fanatical devotees give Luchadores hero status we reserve for pro-football players in Nike commercials. The luchadores are clearly delineated into “good” and “evil” camps. Teams have a following that runs within families, one fighter has a TV series, several are stars of their own movies and we were standing at the gates of the heart of the action.

The dedicated fighter’s stadium sold out its 17,000 seats before we arrived and it looked like we might be too late to join in the revelry. We were disappointed but it was hard to be sorry as our bellies were full of the world famous chile en nogada feast that delayed our arrival. Several well-dressed Mexican couples were turned away by the man in the orange jacket as we stood there looking plaintive. Finally the man relented, radioed “upstairs” and with an encouraging wink told us to wait. Around the stadium entrance ambulantes were selling chile-coated jicama, tacos, chicharon, masks, and plenty of other lucha paraphernalia.

After a few minutes of uncertainty a sharp dressed man descended the stairs with about a dozen tickets. He was mobbed immediately. Elbowing her way through in perfect Mexican fashion a women jostled me out of her way and grabbed three of the seats, I threw a hip bumping the mob back and secured our tickets. We were in!

Up, up, up the stairs we climbed till we came out at the top of the upper deck. Head high stacks of empty beer crates already lined the back of the balcony. Steeply pitched stands packed with families, fawning couples, men in suits, teenagers with pierced eyebrows and tight black jeans and old women in house dresses portrayed a cross section of Capitalinos. Fifty meters below us under a giant TV scoreboard the blue canvas ring was flooded in light. The well-greased muscle bound luchadores made a rock star entry flanked by bikini babes bouncing their wares and lathering up the crowd.

The first two fights put the crowd well into revelry. Big men in tights and satin masks were jumping and thrusting to overwhelming cheers. A tuxedoed announcer heralded the third battle of the night, stepping aside just in time as flying bodies overtook the ring. You can imagine how the fight progressed from there…lots of punching, thumping, flipping and grimacing. The collision force of these beefy boys revealed artistry and choreography as they emerged impossibly unharmed from each major smashing. They are acrobats, wrestling with the coordination and, to Mercy's surprise, the grace of dancers.

At 9:45 the good guys had an astonishing turn of fate and vanquished their foes. The elated crowd swarmed down the stadium ramps with kids in full lucha libre capes and masks body slamming their daddies. By 10 we were back on the street with thousands of others haggling for our own masks…keep an eye out for Luchadores Ultimo Guerrero Canuche and Rey Misterio Mercy bringing Lucha Libre to you.

Volcanic Misadventures

We’ll climb a volcano. It seemed so obvious a decision. Since mom and Robert left we’d struggled to find enthusiasm for continued adventures in Guatemala. We were weary of the so-so food after eating so well in their company. Our thoughts began to wander to home and all the uncertainty that awaits us on our return. A volcano climb seemed just the thing to bring us back to the present and shake up the “travel monotony”.

We found a great company, Kaqchikel Tours whose name we could neither pronounce nor remember. Their description captivated us, a strenuous two-day climb to a mountaintop 500 meters away from the active crater of Santiaguito. We would climb all day then relax in camp enjoying the show of eruptions throughout the evening. Eduardo, the owner, repeatedly explained that it was “the hardest hike they offer … very steep, very slippery.” He even showed us pictures of an insanely steep dry riverbed of slick rock that makes part of the trail. It looked like a long waterfall not a trail, but it must be a trick of the photo, right? I had my doubts, but I was intrigued at the prospect and certain that I’d done harder things before.

The misadventure of las Israelitas may have tipped the scale. A month or so ago one of Eduardo’s guides took a group of Israeli women and one American guy to Santiaguito. The group struggled through 2/3 of the first day’s hike. They made it through the initial steep ascent and the grueling descent. But when faced with the intimidating climb that would bring them from the rocky wasteland at the base of the mountain to the summit, they mutinied. The guide convinced them that they couldn’t sleep there; they had to go higher to find flat ground, the first beach, where they could pitch their tents and call for additional food and assistance. With what I can imagine was a lot of whining and bitching they ascended with nary a trail in sight over the ash covered boulder field and collapsed at the first beach. They were safe. They could rest and help from Kaqchikel was on the way.

My understanding of the girl’s psyche or my comprehension of Eduardo’s Spanish failed me at this point. From the first beach one of the girls called her mother in Israel to ask for help. “Mommy send a helicopter.” A huge mess ensued with embassies, Guatemala’s tourism agency and poor Eduardo stuck in the middle. While managing the maelstrom of officials, Eduardo sent in guides to get the girls and carry their packs back to Quetzaltenango.

Somehow hearing this story emboldened me. I reasoned that I’m certainly tougher than someone who calls mom in Israel from the side of a mountain in Guatemala. Aren’t I?

On our appointed day we began in the cool of morning. We climbed for one and a half hours, crossed into a new drainage heavily dusted with gray ash, plunged 1 hour down a knee brutalizing trail before arriving at the crux of the day; the impressively steep slick rock watercourse coated in an 1/8 inch of ash. Partially on foot and on tush we slid and scrambled down the rock face with my sphincter-o-meter redlining the whole way. We crossed the vast alluvial plain jumbled with ankle twisting lava boulders and after a sumptuous lunch of Cheetos, bologne, American cheese slices, mayo, and Bimbo bread we began the task of ascending the infamous slope toward the fog enshrouding the first beach.

All day and night Santiaguito releases small explosions. A few minutes after each rumble a fusillade of BB sized ash-mud pelted us. It rained down: covering our clothing, filling my hair, carpeting the land and foliage, and leaving our mouths gritty. As we climbed higher, we passed steam vents contributing to the eerie mist. The moisture and ash give the landscape a veneer of thick moss, rounding out the rock; creating hanging gardens of ferns that venture hopeful fronds from steamy crevices. The scene is magical and foreboding; an apocalyptic Dr. Seuss drawing in monochrome.

In what felt like descending darkness we laboriously hauled ourselves and our packs through thick fog and rain, enduring a final exposed un-roped rock climb. Our wet hands grasped for hold, occasionally falling away with a clod of ashy-moss. Steadfastly Canuche tailed me with a stream of encouragement and butt boosts. Dirty, wet and shaking we hauled me up over the edge to our campsite on the fourth beach. Our climb lasted 9 plus hours and, per my heart rate monitor, burned 6,000 calories. A doozie of a hike that left me light headed and queasy.

To welcome us Santiaguito sent a torrent of rocks, some the size of VW beetles, catapulting down its flank and released a huge plume of ash. We stared in tired awe.

At many points during the day I had questioned the wisdom of my choice to join Canuche on this adventure, but at no point was that question more present than at dinner. It out did lunch. It began quite well with a hot brothy soup, but then our guide presented us with the main course: two boiled hot dogs, a pile of unseasoned refried black beans, and an artistic array of Doritos chips. I forced in a few bites and was swept away in a sea of nausea and exhaustion. I gave up, settling into the tent to rest only to awake to the primal need to purge my gullet. I staggered three paces out of the tent and promptly erupted in honor of Santiaguito, spattering my socks, Chacos and pants. Lovely.

Darkness fell as I sat recovering. In my final moments of wakefulness Santiaguito offered up an impressive conciliatory eruption sending red lava, crimson rock, and ash sprays up into the sky as high as fireworks. It was an incredible show. Did it merit the perils of the day? I’m still not sure. But I survived and I didn’t call mom to bail me out.

Traveling with Donna and Robert….San Pedro Sula to Antigua…

In the days leading up to their flight emails full of food needs, packing lists, and last minute treats for two weary world travelers “ping pong-ed” between Roatan and Seattle. Thrilled Donna and Robert were planning to make it but trying not to get too attached to the idea we bussed up to San Pedro to meet their flight. San Pedro has all the crime, grime, heat, and sprawl of a modern Latin American city. The streets are wide, the buildings low, walls are topped with barbed wire or broken glass and good people don’t walk around town after dark. Hunting for a nice place for them to land their first night in country proved to be too much for us. We found a crappy little hostel with a Honduran heavy metal band practicing in the lobby, no doorknobs on the bathroom, a shower that would only trickle out scalding water, and a huge pile of disgusting dishes waiting in the communal kitchen. Perfect. The saving grace was a swanky little steak house with an extensive wine list waiting across the street. We were psyched to get out of town on the first bus in the morning.

In celebration of Donna and Roberts arrival, or to make up for our shitty hotel choice, we hopped on a first class bus to Copan Ruinas. We headed north in icy air con comfort enjoying a new-release Hollywood movie and ample reclining chairs. The gleam of the authentic chicken bus and crammed collectivo was fully tarnished.

M found us a beautiful home to rent in the small highland town of Copan Ruinas, just south of the Guatemalan border. Strolling into a restaurant called Llamada del Bosque I took advantage of the opportunity to share the four-person meat fest that I never could convince my recovering vegetarian wife to enjoy with me. A mighty meaty meal with true carnivores…

Lingering breakfasts, late afternoon happy hours on the patio, and explorations of the1200-year-old Mayan ruins of Copan kept us entertained. After four days, we were sad to say goodbye to Honduras as we boarded the mini-bus “shuttle” to Antigua, Guatemala. Six hours later we uncurled ourselves from the van to wander the sparkling colonial cobblestone streets in search of lodging for our group. We found a charming posada whose profits support kids who live in the dumps of Guatemala City.

Food in Antigua is world class. From sushi to Mexican to Lebanese you can find it easily in the colorful Spanish style town. Though Donna was knocked down with stomach struggles, days passed quickly for the rest of us as we wandered the streets, met local iron workers, lingered in the plaza and generally did a great job of soaking up the place.

No less dramatic and remarkable was our next stop, Lago Atitlan. With its rugged terrain and steep volcanoes, many of the 15 villages arrayed around the lakes shores are only accessible by motorboat taxis. We were drawn to San Marcos, a small village now famous for the alternative lifestyle expat community that supports half a dozen meditation centers, drumming circles, and aura workshops. This, surprising as it may seem, was not what drew us there. No, it was Aaculaax, a small beautiful guesthouse built with an innovative collection of construction techniques using waste, natural materials and a whole lot of artistic flair. Stuccoed walls were filled with plastic bottles crammed full of plastic bags to insulate the structures. Beds, lamps, sinks and countertops were all natural materials or creatively used alternative stuff.

Long conversations about life and futures continued as we headed back to Antigua for our final days before sending the suegros back to Seattle. The best part of their visit was sharing some of the adventure with loved ones “real-time”. I am thrilled they made time to come visit us and look forward to sharing stories with the rest of you when we return…in just about 3 weeks!

It was a week of picture perfect Caribbean beach scenes. Water too blue to be real lapping at white sands, hammocks swaying, palms rustling, and a reggae rhythm leaking out of thatched roofed bars. Roatan is all of this plus good cheap diving in crystal clear water. It´s the sort of place folks find excuses never to leave.

We were ready for a vacation from bus rides, repacking, hostel searches, and restaurant food. We were also ready for some new conversation and hanging out with our friend Cory. Alas, a stomach bug wrecked his trip before he even left Seattle, but he set us up in the lap of luxury in Roatan. Without him we roamed around the big two bedroom apartment with a kitchen and a great porch right off the beach wondering what to do with so much real estate. A kitchen might not sound like much of a treat to those of you who live with one but for us a chilled glass of ice water, breakfast cooked to our desire, a fridge full of food, ice clinking in our rum drinks, and a midnight snack are things of our dreams.

Thanks to Morgito directing us to Coconut Tree Divers we launched into a week of warm water psychedelic reef dives with coral in such shapes and colors no drugs were necessary. Outstanding diving brought us face to face with hawk-billed sea turtles, leopard rays, and green moray eels. M conquered her fear of enclosed spaces 110 feet under water on El Aguila wreck and learned to love the back roll entry (get your heads out of the gutter! It´s the best way off the boat in your gear.) The dive boat ¨Wish You Were Here¨was about the only motorized vehicle we used all week.

Paradise don´t come cheap. . . that beach side plate of garlic shrimp sets you back ten bucks at the cheapest joint in town. You want an avocado? Those are two for a dolla´. That juicy mango? Buck a piece, ouch! We put the kitchen to good use and relished the chance to host one dinner party and a cocktail hour. We missed Cory but stuffed our bellies and managed to enjoy some new conversation anyway.

As if a week of diving wasn´t enought to test M´s fear of water, we spent the last two days doing some white water rapid swimming, rock jumping and rafting. We think she´s stronger for it.
All the excitement was for C´s belated B-day, thanks Miss Patti & G-pa. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat, except when the river whirlpooled his head. Check out the video on Flickr in our Honduras section (I know, just turn your screen.)

Next up, Donna and Robert are joining us for 10 days of adventuring in Copan Ruinas and Guatemala. Maybe we can get a guest posting!

Central American Studies

When we planned our trip to Central America I knew almost nothing about Nicaragua. I had a vague notion of a dangerous war torn country. I was too young in the '80s to understand what was happening in the news, but I was aware enough to have my image of Nicaragua shaped by cold war political pundits and media coverage of controversy.

It's now impossible to marry my pre-arrival conception with my in country experience. Nicaragua is astounding. It is a breath taking ring of fire. Volcanoes rise up shoulder to shoulder across its surface. The austere peaks and dry jungle are tempered with vast lakes, many now filling extinct volcanic craters. Aside from its natural beauty, Nicaragua is full of proud, kind people who are quick to laugh, easy to engage in discussions and unerringly helpful to wandering travelers.

Surprises ruled our travels in Nicaragua. Our first night on Isla Ometepe in the middle of vast Lago Nicaragua, we ran into Alyssa Martin, Pomegranate's Vista volunteer who we haven't seen in a few years. We spent the next days catching up, climbing Volcan Concepcíon and eating our hearts out. Together we booked into the best hostel in Granada, Oasis Backpacker's Hostel. As we slipped our hot sweaty selves into their postage stamp pool we realized that our splashing companions were a trio of Mastatal folks we'd said goodbye to just three days before. That same night the seven of us, eagerly led by Alyssa, made a mad dash to catch the second half of a local baseball game. We sat on the dry grass to the side of the stands, drinking beer, cheering for the Granada Tiburones and entertaining a gaggle of giggly admiring kids.

We escaped the mind melting heat of Granada to Laguna Apoyo, a jewel of a crater lake where we planned to dive and spend one night. We were so seduced by the cool rippling waters lasso of bucking body core temperatures and a star lit night dip that we couldn't leave. We stayed a week studying Spanish with Lorenzo, the most adept language teacher I've ever studied with. Our short two week visit to Nicaragua yielded too many good experiences to keep my blog short... A sunset volcano tour, crawling into a cave swirling with bats, talking politics with Lorenzo, asking directions from a family in Ocotal during a blackout only to go on a town tour in their car and share dinner in their home. Where to stop...

Nicaragua is working hard to recover from a century of bad governments and American Foreign Aid. The Samoza family cruelly ruled Nicaragua from the 1930s through 1979, stealing from the populace and sending its people deeper into poverty. In 1979 the popular Sandinistas rose up and ousted the dictatorship. Quickly American "aid" began flowing, not to the new left leaning governemnt, but in the form of clandestine, subversive support of the Contra fighters working to put Samoza back in power. For ten years the Contra tried to overthrow the Sandinista government using U.S. training and arms. The Sandinista's potential to reform their country was hobbled by U.S. Interference. Thousands died in the struggle before the U.S. backed out when the Iran-Contra fiasco came to light.

Our role here is disgraceful. When we should have been helping the people, we were hindering. Luckily the Nicaraguan people are strong and resilient. It gives me hope for the future to see what a country can overcome, and is still overcoming. I leave Nicaragua with a better understanding of Central American history and much thanks for its many lessons and warm embrace.

Communing in Mastatal

We boarded a bus and fled San Jose, Costa Rica, eager to find the much lauded Rancho Mastatal (RM). Our Seattle Academy friend, Melinda, described RM as a paradise of sustainability, a perfect match for us. In a dusty, rusty, dilapidated school bus we climbed into the mountains jostling over rocky roads and precarious curves. Each turn sent vegetable sacks lurching and crated chickens squawking in indignation. Two sweaty hours later we hopped off in a dust cloud. Welcome to Mastatal. It looked bleak until the bus pulled away revealing Rancho Mastatal´s bougainvillea strewn entryway across the road. We trundled through the gate and entered another world where nary a telephone, plastic bag, cinder block or pig product could be found.

Rancho Mastatal is a visionary endeavor. It is first and foremost an environmental education center. The owners, Robin & Tim, host experts who lead workshops ranging from cob construction to tropical ecology to wilderness first aid. They also run an internship/volunteer program where folks stay at the Ranch for two weeks, three months, or even years. The volunteers get their hands dirty in sustainable building projects, permaculture, furniture building, cooking and whatever else they have the initiative to dream up. Finally, there are guests like us who troop into the mix just to soak up the fabulous creative community vibe for a few days.

The Ranch is gorgeous. Tropical gardens surround small open air structures perfectly fit to their environs. All of the buildings have been hand built or rehabbed using local hard woods, bamboo, cob (like adobe), mosaics, natural plasters and locally available materials. Sleeping spaces, classrooms, composting toilets, and outdoor showers all rise to the height of art pieces with their natural textures and hand made details. These amazing spaces Tim, Robin and hundreds of volunteer hands constructed over the last 6 years.The meals at Rancho Mastatal are nothing short of astounding. The cooking crew of three volunteers turn out scrumptious vegetarian, whole foods meals for the 20 to 30 people living at RM. Incredibly, Robin has designed a system where she can feed everyone without creating a mountain of garbage. She buys in bulk, provides beer and sodas in returnable bottles, and all the produce goes straight from the delivery truck into her collection of vegetable baskets. Each meal generates almost exclusively compostable waste. Three times a day we´d hear the conch shell calling us to gather around the hand made wood tables stretching through the Ranch´s shady portico. With praise to the cooks and our fellow Ranch mates we´d dig into tasty meals and good conversation.
We spent our days contemplating our future careers, reading through the Ranch´s sustainability library, taking hikes to swimming holes in the jungle, and making trouble in the kitchen. Canuche even weaseled his way into the last couple days of the Ranch´s timber framing workshop.

It was a treat to put the packs down for a week, get to know great people and join in Rancho Mastatal´s vibrant no waste lifestyle. It was inspiring to see Tim, Robin and the crew living a life that exemplifies their ideals. We even pondered joining the ranks of those who fail to leave, but Nicaragua called us on. Only a few hours away from the ranch we were chagrined to find plastic disposables creeping back into our hands. We know it is hard to make a plastic free paradise in this modern world. We´re eager to take inspiration from Tim and Robin on our own crooked path. We dream about a life that combines our ideals, our professions, our lifestyle, and our community in a tidy holistic little package...we´ll keep dreaming. We´ve got another two months to come up with a plan, right?

http://www.flickr.com/photos/7927406@N06/ for more picutures of the adventure.

Click here to see Rancho Mastatal´s website