#my family is the last stop of las posadas!

[keshetchai]

Okay this wins my monthly "you literally could not be more wrong award":

Comment: tell me you don't know any Catholics without telling me you don't...

I'm cackling. This is the FUNNIEST thing said to me this week, if not the entire month.

The implication that I, a person who was baptized and raised Catholic, don't know any Catholics? HYSTERICAL.

I'll make sure to tell my family, I think my great aunt who used to be a nun would get a laugh out of that. Also really weird that my grandparents have a papal blessing for their 50 year wedding anniversary if they aren't Catholic, but what do I know?

[th3okamid3monart]

Things I’m going to miss this Holidays

There are a couple of traditions we do in my family that I havent seen in other places and with one search on the internet I realize that most of the things we do are from my own country + some that we make up ourselves. 

So Im going to share them here because... Well, there’s a big-ass chance I wont be able to do them this Christmas nor New years. 

NOTE: When I say ‘my family’ in a lot of this, I mean ALL my family. Which means, all my grandparents, all my aunts, all my uncles, all my cousins, and, yes, EVEN my great grandaparents, cousins, uncles, aunts and more. Because we all know each other and we even make a party once a year for my dad’s side of the family 

Here I go:

Las Posadas

There’s this thing that we do at one of my grandparents’ house that involves singing a carol about the time Maria and Jose were looking for a place to stay to rest before travel far away for the birth of Jesus. It is a song which is singed by 2 groups, one that is inside and the other that’s outside. What we do is the following: One group goes inside a room in the house while the other stays outside the door, the group outside sings one part and the other sings the other. We go back and forward until we finish the song. It is pretty funny because no one sings well and its just like a bunch of grown ups practically screaming but we always end up chuckling. I used to think it was pointless and boring but that was because I was an edgy potato, after I enter University i began to enjoy more things and be happier. This is going to be the second time I wont be with my complete family for Christmas and now its all the family who wont be able to go to my grandparents house for a celebration. 

12 grapes, 12 wishes

In both sides of my family we usually fill up 12 grapes in a cup and give everyone 1 cup each. I dont remember what exactly the grapes meant or the story about the wishes but it’s supposedly like before it strikes 12 am on New Years, we have to eat our grapes while also wishing for something. I remember when I was younger I’d wish for peace on the world or that everything went well for everyone. I think I’m going to buy a bigger bag of grapes this year. 

Something that was funny was that everyone would just... Stuff their mouths with grapes, mostly my cousins and I, just to see how many we could fit. Not everyone wished for many things in the family because I think we all feel we had and have enough. If my family does this again on their own, I’m pretty certain their wishes would be to be able to meet with the family. 

Piñata

Every year since I was little, my grandparents buy a piñata to smash before or during Christmas. They find it such a good activity for cousins and even for my aunts, my mom and uncle. They literally havent stopped buying them, the oldest grandchild in that side of the family its in her 30s, but they still buy a piñata. I think its mostly for the youngest which are below 16, never the less, its still super funny and hilarious because we go from youngest to oldest. By the time it gets to my brother, its still intact, he only swings it once and its completely DESTROYED. We just have a lot of fun, and sometimes we make my mom or my aunts to hit it. My mom wasnt as cheery when I was a kid, but now she laughs more and when it comes to the piñata she laughs and enjoys her time even more. 

Games 

Like any gathering, all cousins bring up something we can do to entertain ourselves. At first they were toys my grandparents had for us, then it was videogames and now... Its board games. My bro is the one obsess with different boardgames and DnD and other card games. So, about 5 years ago he began bringing boardgames for all cousins to play along. We either talk with each other or try to destroy each other with any game there is. Videogames are fun but we all find it a drag to bring the console to the place, besides we usually get so busy with each others banter and weird conversations that we just forget about the videogames all together. 

At my other grandparents house it becomes W I L D. Last time someone brough a beer pong table and they all began to take shots with mezcal (I’m trying to not drink a lot of the time ever since I puked one time. If I drink its light things like wine and only one glass). Then my aunts play music and began to sing and everyone follows up, and... Well last time they began to dance.... And all my cousins were very embarassed and I was hella confused. Suffice to say, my dad’s side of the family are super freakishly energetic and wild, while my mom’s side is more of a geeky, nerdy vibe with a lot of meme stuff and political conversations at times (Oh yeah, we talk a lot of different political stuff, but guess what? It never derails into a fight. I note this due to always reading people’s talks ending with fights and stuff and that kinda weirds me out a bit at times) 

Dinners 

I don’t remember the time exactly, probably since I was 15 maybe, my dad and I turned into the designated ‘chefs’. Every year we’ve been deciding and preparing foods for each house. We make the main course while my aunts do the sides (although sometimes it becomes like 3 main courses with 2 sides). Im waaaaaaaaay into the cooking and I try to make it perfect each year. I kinda chillaxed a bit with some foods because it wasnt that big of a deal. Besides the main course, I also decide to make a dessert and sometimes they arent eaten because my families have some sugar regulations. They are stored and kept after Christmas because thats better than eating it all in one sitting and having sugar poisoning (AKA, high sugar that needs a fast Insuline injection afterwards). 

It is always fun to make food with my dad, and to make the famous Tamales from my grandma’s recipe. Last time i think we made around 400? Between green salsa chicken, red salsa beef and pork, and some that were like... its like an adobe, its with achiote and orange juice. It was very tasty. We usually make a lot and freeze them. THEY ARENT COOKED, they are raw and then frozen. Every time we take some out, we make them with vapor, takes around 2 hours and they are always tasty. I remember I made a batch all by myself, I made the feelings, I mixed the masa, and I assemble 100 by my own, the rest was thankfully made by my parents. And it was the best when I gave some to my grandma and she told me that they were super good. Of course, I made a couple mistakes, Im not perfect but she still enjoyed it with the salsa I made. Maybe I can still make some this year and give each family a batch. 

Aunt’s cookies

Every year, every god damn year... We all wait for one thing... It’s not the presents, its not the food... Its the cookies. The motherfucking cookies. My aunt has made this cookies since I was a kid, and we all fought to get a bunch of them. She has made choco chip with nuts cookies every year without missing. And they always end before Christmas even hits. She once gave me frozen batch so I can cook them at home and she told me ‘Dont tell anybody’. Of course I cannot not tell anyone since I live with my parents and siblings but when I made them I made sure to make them when my dad wasnt home. Not only because Im a gluttonous fuck but because my dad is diabetic and he shouldnt be eating anything like that. 

It used to be a battle royal between my cousins, now its a battle against my uncles cause they LOVE TO FUCKING HIDE THE BIG ASS CONTAINER. I swear, i only got 1 or 2 god damn cookies last time. 

Breakfast at...Lunch at...

After Christmas, we always go eat at my grandparents house. Always. And it’s, most of the time, Menudo. The most delicious food you can make with cow stomach. It’s my grandpa’s recipe and it’s always good. Meanwhile, we lunch at my grandma’s house the leftovers of yesterdays dinner which it varies if its turkey or pork but it always ends up as a torta. Delicious, leftover, tortas. 

We end up... SUPER CONSTIPATED because you eat menudo with bread, and you make tortas with bread, and we all eat bread and like... A LOT. Its hella good but well... THERE ARE CONCEQUENCES!! 

I think thats all, at least the most relevant parts. There’s also The Toast of El Bohemio, the stupidity and over eating i do for fun for some cousins, the conversations that go from super deep to stupidity with cousins, the music we play, the hugs... 

THE HUGS

When its the New Year, we scream out HAPPY NEW YEAR. And we proceed to hug each and everyone, one time I waited to see everyone and they all were very very happy. Its something I didnt realize before, but that was a happy thing all the time. Last year we event celebrated with other family, most of this reunions are compose with the nuclear family, but we arent shy about involving more family or friends. So last year not only included some family and their friends, we also included a 2 new members of the family: My newborn cousin and my cousin’s now husband. 

It was like.. One of the best beginnings... Which kind of... didnt prepared us for what this...sucky year. 

I’m sure we’ll make it ok... I sure hope so, I wanna see my grandparents again... I wanna see my baby cousin, he is babbling and has already learned to walk. The little dude doesnt have cousins to play with anymore, I wanna make sure he doesnt confuse me by his aunt ajjajajaja. I want to talk to my cousins, I want to hug them and scream with them and eat with them all. 

But maybe this year it wont happen, and I rather it not happening than loosing any of them. 

Right now I cant smell, and everything hurts, but it kinda helps ease things when i remember this and when I think they all are still kinda healthy. 

Maybe when it all passes we can make a march reunion, to celebrate my grandma’s birthday. In the meantime, I’m going to try to get better and wish for this Christmas to not suck now that It’s only my main family and I. 

Hope everyone is safe, I hope you can at least see your parents or siblings. I hope you dont get sick nor have to spend time at a hospital or anything. I hope all who are, get help and dont get worse. I hope you all get better. 

Hope you have Happy Holidays. 

[estrelafics]

Warm Embrace

Fandom: Ducktales (2017) / The three Caballeros

Ship: Josepan (José x Panchito)

Words: 3,154

Summary: José and Panchito are invited to spend the holidays over in Duckburg. However, Panchito worries about José’s homesickness.

Notes:

The part by the fireplace was my favourite part to write from all the xmas fics I wrote. I wanted to give a sense of a peaceful Christmas night, surrounded by people we love. I hope I succeeded ♥

This one was so long, and it was a pain to edit too lol With the lack of time and the xmas rush, I didn’t have the time to polish it as much as I wanted, but I hope it’s still enjoyable to read.

Merry Christmas everyone ♥

Decorating the entire McDuck manor was a big challenge, but it was a challenge Panchito adored.

It was Christmas Eve and Panchito thought that the McDuck manor absolutely needed some more Christmas spirit.

Decorating had always been one of his favourite holiday activities, therefore he didn’t mind doing this while waiting for the dinner.

With his everlasting energy, along with excitement to spend his first Christmas in Duckburg with his two best friends, he decided to decorate every single room of the manor.

Making his way down to the first floor, placing glittering garlands on the staircase railing, he noticed at the corner of his eye his good old friend José.

The parrot gazed outside the large window with a nostalgic expression in his eyes. Panchito immediately thought that José looked sorrowful…which worried him. He knew José very well, and knew that he was one to always be eager for the holidays.

Curiosity tainted Panchito’s worry and he walked over to the parrot, albeit, carefully so that he wouldn’t startle the other.

“Do you want to decorate with me?” Panchito asked, showing him a string of lights that José could help put on the window. “I know, you like to decorate as well.”

José smiled, he took his part of the string and helped.

“You are on your own? I thought os pathinhos were helping you.” José asked.

“Well they did at first…We decorated the foyer and the living room together,” The rooster replied with a chuckle. “But then Louie realised that the more rooms we decorate, the more work it would be for us to take it down after…and now I am on my own.”

José laughed.

“They have a good point, you know.”

Panchito carelessly shrugged.

“This isn’t going to stop me. I will only stop when every room in this manor has been decorated…” He then glanced at the box of decoration that he had been carrying. “Or at least, until there are no more decorations left...” He added sheepishly since the box was almost empty.

He admittedly was surprised that Scrooge had so many decoration, since the old miser apparently really disliked this holiday.

“It will be gorgeous once everything is decorated.”

When he finished setting the last part of the lights, Panchito stepped back, plugged the lights and admired their work.

“Well, you are right. It really is beautiful.” José agreed.

Panchito beamed, a feeling of proud washing over him. Then there was a quiet moment between them; one that made Panchito notice once more that José was gazing outside the window instead of at the decorations.

“So are you excited for the holidays, Zé?” Panchito suddenly asked.

This question prompted a look of surprise from José.

“I am. Why the question?”

Panchito didn’t respond, he slightly raised a brow and gave him a knowing look...It was enough for José to confess.

The parrot sighed, he didn’t know why he thought he could lie to Panchito.

“Don’t get me wrong, I am very excited and happy to be here with everyone…it’s just that it’s the first time in years that I spend Christmas away from Brazil,” He chuckled as if he was saying something silly.

José sat on one of the stairs. “I suppose I am starting to be a little homesick...”

Already…? Panchito though. They only arrived 2 days ago!

Panchito was shocked of course, but did not judge his friend for feeling that way. He knew that José got homesick pretty quickly.

José had always been attached to his home and Brazil, and therefore it was normal for him to feel melancholic whenever he was away. Usually when they were exploring or adventuring, it was easy for the parrot to be busy or distracted. But here, days have been rather quiet so far and uneventful, Panchito realised it must been hard.

“I can sympathise,” Panchito said kindly, sitting next to his friend. He placed a hand on his shoulder for comfort. “It is also the first time I spend Christmas away from Mexico in a long time too. It is different here. But I am really excited about it.”

José smiled at him. Something about Panchito’s eagerness and warm smile always reassured him.

“I always wanted to spend the holidays with you and Donald,” Panchito continued. “And the fact that so many others are here too is wonderful. It makes for a lively holiday and somehow reminds me of home. It is always nice to meet new people and to make new memories with them.”

José nodded, but didn’t say a word. His eyes were glazed, mostly on the fake poinsettias decorations left in the box.

To get his friend’s attention back, Panchito gently held his hand. The parrot looked at him with curiosity as Panchito offered a smile.

“I promise it will be fun for you too! You won’t regret it José!” Without realising he softly brushed José’s fingers. “And next year, maybe we can even celebrate Christmas in Brazil together!”

“Thank you, but you really don’t need to do anything like this,” José shock his hands rapidly. “I am sure it would be very fun and I appreciate the gesture. But I assure you, my friend. I am happy, no matter where I am.”

Although, José loved the idea of spending Christmas in Brazil, it would be bothersome to everyone, especially to poor Donald who had to bring three kids along. It would add one more weight on Donald’s shoulders, and that was the last thing he wanted.

José stood up to leave before the conversation could digress further. But Panchito was still not convinced and followed him.

“It would have been a bother in the past. But now they have a pilot and can go anywhere!”

“You don’t know that. Many things can change in a year…”

“But—“

“Panchie, please don’t think too much about it!” José interrupted. “My homesickness will go away eventually. There is nothing to worry about.” He shrugged.

And before Panchito could even reply, José quickly reached for the remaining decorations left in the box.

“Now, come on! Let’s at least finish putting on these before the dinner starts! It’s getting late, you know.”

Panchito finally dropped the subject, only now realising the time.

“You can take care of the garlands and the wreath, while I will put on the last lights.” José suggested.

Panchito followed the instructions, but his conversation with José was still stirring on his mind…

He simply hoped the parrot wouldn’t leave without at least letting Donald or him know.

***

The Christmas Eve evening passed pretty quickly.

Panchito was sitting close to the warm fireplace, and so were many of the other McDuck manor residents. He stopped drumming soft Christmas melodies on his guitar, when he noticed that many were sound asleep in the living room.

After the dinner, came the caroling. And after singing together, Panchito had the idea to read some Christmas stories to the children.

It has been a family tradition from his childhood that he still holds dearly in his heart. When he was younger, he remember his tío reading Christmas stories to him, his siblings and many primos.

Tonight, he decided that it was a nice opportunity continue the tradition by reading to the four ducklings. He was even happier when he realised that the book Webby found in the library contained his favourite story from Mexico about Las Posadas.

Afterwards, Launchpad proposed that everyone should try to stay up until midnight to unwrap the gifts. And even if all agreed, almost everyone fell asleep way before then, tired from their day.

Panchito stretched his arms in the air, starting to feel drowsy as well.

Beakley had turned off the lights a few minutes earlier, only leaving the soft light of the fireplace to illuminate the big room. And along with Donald, she covered the kids (and Launchpad) with warm cozy blankets.

When the clock struck midnight, only three people were still awake in the living room.

Panchito glanced over at Scrooge, as the old duck was leaving the room.

“Merry Christmas,” He wished quietly.

“Bah humbug,” Scrooge replied, before leaving the room, though a serene smile was on his face.

Panchito smiled and looked over at Donald who was calmly asleep next to him. When the duck tucked Huey and Webby earlier, the two ducklings decided to use him as a pillow.

Donald’s irritation over that decision disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Not willing to fight, Donald let it be, snuggling them closer and slowly joined them in peaceful slumber.

“Feliz Navidad, Donald.” Panchito whispered, as he made sure to cover his friend with a blanket.

Then Panchito looked over at the last person awake in the room.

José was still reading the Christmas book from earlier by the dim light of the fireplace.

The rooster scooted closer to him to whisper.

“Feliz Natal, José.”

José stopped reading once he heard his voice and offered a warm smile. He had been so absorbed in his reading that he lost track of the time.

“Feliz Navidad to you too.” Panchito admired the gratitude in José’s eyes before the parrot started rubbing them.

“Are you getting tired?” Panchito chuckled.  

“Sim, very tired.” José replied, covering himself with the cozy blanket Donald had gave him earlier. “But I don’t want to leave the living room...the ambiance is really...soothing.”

Panchito agreed. The fireplace was really warm and cozy, and as much as he always preferred colourful environments full of life, he was grateful for this peaceful moment. He felt so comfortable being here as well.

“Well you don’t need to leave. You can stay here, many people stayed here as well and I think will stay too.” He softly put his hand on top of José’s. “I hope you are feeling better and are having a good Christmas.”

José’s eyes remained a few minutes on their hands, but he didn’t comment on it nor moved his away.

“Yes, I am…” He then snuggled closer to Panchito and rested his head on his shoulder. “Muito obrigado, Panchie…”

Panchito was a little shocked, but didn’t say anything, there was nothing to say after all.

Instead, he nuzzled José and rested his head on top of the other’s.

***

Panchito slowly fluttered his eyes open.

The sunlight of the early morning was shining right into his eyes and he regretted not closing the curtains in his guest room last night.

After finally managing to open his eyes, he realised that he wasn’t in the guest room actually, but in the McDuck living room, in front of the now died out fireplace.

Looking around the room, he saw Donald and the kids still asleep. Even Launchpad was still slumbering on the couch…but something was missing…he realised that José wasn’t anywhere in the room!

As soon as the information hit his still tired brain, Panchito completely awoke almost in a panic.

“José?!” He asked.

He immediately turned to Donald, he didn’t want to accidentally wake up the kids or start a state of panic among everyone.

“Donald! Donald! José isn’t here! Do you know where he went? Did he tell you something?” He tried to remain calm, but he couldn't hide the wavering worry in his voice.

“He…forgot…to…”The duck mumbled, before turning around to sleep on his other side. Panchito frowned.

“What?! Donald, he forgot what?!” He was completely confused.

“Your friend left.”

Panchito froze when he heard these words. Words he begged were not true. He slowly turned to face the voice and saw Beakley not so far from the fireplace. She was carrying in wood to light up the fireplace again.

“What?” Panchito asked again, wanting to know more.

“I saw him leave a couple of minutes ago with his coat on.”

This alerted Panchito even more, sadness rapidly appeared in his eyes. It was then that she understood this was not an information he expected or wanted to hear.

“I’m sorry,” She genuinely added.

The rooster quickly got up. In a frantic, he put on his coat and left his scarf loosely around his neck. Before leaving he reached for his bag and immediately rushed outside not wanting to lose another second, while thoughts were rushing through his mind.

José couldn’t leave before saying goodbye to Donald and him, right? That wouldn’t be something he could do! But what if José got really homesick this morning? So homesick that he planned to leave and go back home suddenly?

Panchito didn’t even know if there was a plane in Duckburg leaving for Brazil this morning, but he didn’t want to risk it. He started to dial up a taxi.

Too caught up in his thoughts, once he stepped outside, he didn’t notice the condition of the ground and slipped on the ice, almost landing face on the snow.

“Panchito?!”

Panchito looked up and couldn’t believe his eyes for a second when he saw José…and the parrot had caught him right before he fell on the ice.

“José?!”

The parrot was looking at him with big eyes. Obviously surprised to see the rooster in such a panic state, he was barely wearing a coat and his loose scarf around his neck was almost on the ground.

“Panchie, did something happen?” José asked worried.

There was a sort moment of silence between them, enough for Panchito to think about the reality, what was happening and what he should say.

“¿Dónde estabas, José? ¡Te estaba buscando, y estaba muy preocupado!” He ran a hand over his head, trying to clearly express what was coming through his mind. “I-I thought you go really homesick and that you decided to leave in the end…”

José looked at him, still confusion in his eyes.

“Why would you think I would leave? I couldn’t…not after someone very caring and wonderful wanted me to stay.” He said with a soft smile.

Panchito smiled for a second, as he heard these comforting words his body was finally relaxing. José knew…he was staying...and Panchito was glad…

“Well, more than one person cared about you staying, actually.” He replied modestly, albeit he really appreciated the compliment and couldn’t help but to blush. “But why did you get up early? I thought you hated mornings, Zé.”

The parrot chuckled. “I do. I do. But there are stuff more important than sleeping in the morning.” He shifted on his feet. “I know we said not gifts between us…but you know me.”

“You always give us something Zé…” Panchito shock his head, trying to comprehend what José was getting at.

They always promise not to get stuff for each other, but never succeed in keeping this promise. Donald would always bake something for them, José would always draw an art piece for them and Panchito would make melodies dedicated to them. “I don’t understand why it would be different this year.”

“Yes. I do have the art piece for you and Donald…but I also wanted to get you something else. Just a little thank you for caring so much about me…” He showed him a gift that he had been hiding behind his back until now. “I left it in one of my bags in Scrooge’s airplane and didn’t had much time to wrap it correctly. But I hope you like it.”

“José…” Panchito was touched. Nevertheless, he took the box and looked at it speechless.

José imagined that ever-so-energetic Panchito would rapidly open the present as soon as he would receive it. However, that wasn’t the case. Panchito did not open the gift right away.

Instead, he gestured José to wait, before rummaging in his own bag and getting another box. “Here, I also got you something special…”

José didn’t said anything, but his eyes were showing gratefulness.

And as José imagined, Panchito then looked at his own gift so cheerfully. José didn’t wrap the box, but it still had a cute bow on it. A bow Panchito was certain José spent a delicate amount of time on making it perfectly to compensate for the lack of wrapping paper. He untied the bow and opened the box to find a lovely bouquet of poinsettias. A smile crossed his face as he picked them put to admire them, but then noticed that something else was in the box.

It was a notebook. He picked the notebook and opened it to see that there was so much of José in it.

On the first page was written “Sempre pensando em você” and had beautiful music notes design and scales through the pages, illustrated by José himself. He definitely could recognise his art style anywhere. Every page seemed to have a musical doodle or a special note on it.

Panchito beamed, loving his gift so much.

“It’s for when you need to write your lovely music. It is small enough that you can carry everywhere, but big enough so that you can easily doodle and write. I can assure you.” José said with a smile.

“ZÉ! GRACIAS!” Panchito expressed. He was about to hug him, but then stopped.

“You need to open yours, now, mi amigo.” He mentioned playfully.  

José nodded. He delicately unwrapped his gift, wondering what Panchito could have got for him. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he found a little heart-shaped pendant with a small star symbol on it.

“Panchito…This is beautiful,” He said almost speechless. “You didn’t have to…”

“Did you see how pretty it is?! I definitely had too!” He expressed with so much energy and cheerfulness. “When I saw it, I immediately thought of you! And look! It’s a locked pendant!” He grabbed hold of the object and opened it. “You can put a picture in it! Now you can carry your home in your heart wherever you go!”

José eyes glimmered at the thoughtful meaning of the gift. As much as he loved Brazil, he knew he would put the picture of someone instead.

“I know it’s not the same, but maybe you will feel less homesick?” Panchito added sheepishly. “I was so afraid that you would leave without—“

Panchito wanted to tell him more, but was grasping for words the instant José suddenly embraced him tenderly.

Panchito returned the embrace with as much love and care.

“I am so happy that you didn’t leave,” The rooster ended up saying softly, feeling his heart racing.

“I am happy that I didn’t either.” José chuckled.

And when Panchito thought things couldn’t get better, José gave him a soft kiss.

“It’s kind of cold, isn’t it?” José said, holding Panchito’s cold hands and bringing them closer to his beak for soft kisses. “We should go back inside before you catch a cold, caro.”

Panchito didn’t feel the cold, but he also didn’t object.

“It’s a good idea.” He said as he placed a small kiss on José’s beak.

[lunaamatista]

References to Mexican Culture in Coco

By now, you’ve probably heard Coco is one of the most well researched films about Mexico and its culture. There are many small details that make it feel like Mexico: the stone roads in a small town, the traditional embroidery patterns in the shirts of Miguel’s female relatives, an uncle wearing a soccer team shirt, even a bowl of limes in a stand of aguas frescas. Of course, the looks of papel picado, day of the dead altars, and cemeteries are also well represented. The clothes of the relatives Miguel sees in the world of the dead is accurate to their eras. While these are a nice touch, you’re ultimately not missing out on anything by not spotting them, so in this post I wanted to talk about the more culturally based details that show the most research and you might not understand if you’re not very well acquainted with Mexican culture:

Names and pronouns

1. Coco

This one is the most straightforward, so let’s start with the name of the movie. While the protagonist is called Miguel, we soon learn that Coco is his great grandmother. “Coco” is what we call a woman called “Socorro” (lit. “help” - it’s a very traditional name that’s considered old fashioned).

The Rivera family calls her “Mamá Coco,” which means “Mother Coco.” They also call Imelda “Mamá Imelda,” and so on. Calling your grandparents “mamá” or “papá” instead of “abuelita” and “abuelito” is a thing you can do, though I can’t say how common it is.

In the Spanish version of the film, Miguel’s grandmother, Elena, talks to Mamá Coco with “usted” (I didn’t notice other instances, but they might be there). Spanish has a formal and an informal version of singular “you:” “usted” for formal, “tú” for informal. The verb conjugation also changes depending on which one you use. It is used differently all through the Spanish speaking world, but in Mexico, other than older people you respect (like a teacher), you can talk to older family members with “usted,” which means respect rather than the distance the formality might imply. Nowadays, it has fallen out of use: as someone born in the 90s, my grandparents talked to their parents almost exclusively with “usted;” out of my parents, my mother talked to hers with “usted” and my father with “tú;” I speak to my parents with “tú.” I have cousins on my mother’s side that talk to their parents with “usted,” but I would say that makes them a minority nowadays.

Traditions and beliefs

2. Crossing to the world of the dead on a bridge of marigolds

If you paid very close attention, you might have noticed two children scattering marigold petals on the ground and their mother telling them not to scatter them, but to make a bridge so the dead could cross over. It was easy to miss, but that’s actually something we believe!

There are several types of flowers you can place in a day of the dead altar, but the one you can’t do without is the yellow marigold. Its petals are scattered all around the altar, and at the very front, you’ll form a path surrounded with candles. The bright yellow will help the dead properly make their way to the altar, and the candles surrounding the path will light their way.

3. Crossing to the world of the dead with a xoloitzcuintli

Several prehispanic cultures had a similar concept of the underworld as many other cultures around the world, in which there was a river they had to cross to get there. For both the Aztecs/Mexicas and the Mayas, a xoloitzcuintli would guide their souls so they could cross the river safely and arrive to Mictlan (Mexicas) or Xibalba (Mayas). To achieve this, a xoloitzcuintli would be sacrificed and buried with its owner. Day of the dead altars can have a xoloitzcuintli figure so that the dead can make it back safely as well.

4. Being thrown into a cenote

My screenshot isn’t the best but at some point, Miguel is thrown into a big pit with water. That’s not just any random pit, but a cenote.

Cenotes are naturally ocurring sinkholes caused by the collapse of limestone. The word “cenote” has Maya etymology, as cenotes are commonly found in the Yucatán peninsula, where they (still!) live. In old times, they would sacrifice animals and people as tributes to the gods, and also throw ceramic objects and jewelry as part of the tribute.

5. Alebrijes

I left these for last because they don’t have any deep meaning. Alebrijes are colorful fantastic animals that a man called Pedro Linares saw in a fever dream. He was a skilled artisan, so when he woke up from his long sickness, he brought them to life in his art.

In Coco, alebrijes are spiritual guides, and while their designs are to the likes of the real alebrijes, the film actually gave them a more important role than they have for us.

Music

6. Genres of Mexican music

The songs in Coco all belong to genres we’ve grown up with, so even if someone isn’t that knowledgeable in music theory or genres, we could vaguely tell they sounded “Mexican” (some more than others). Someone who is more knowledgeable of music genres can help me out here, but I think:

- Remember Me / Recuérdame is a bolero ranchero.

- Much Needed Advice / Dueto a través del tiempo is a ranchera.

- Everyone Knows Juanita / Juanita is a corrido.

- Un Poco Loco is a son jarocho.

- The World Es Mi Familia / El mundo es mi familia is huapango inspired.

- Proud Corazón / El latido de mi corazón is a a son (son de mariachi? I’m most uncertain about this one).

6.5 Un Poco Loco

Un Poco Loco starts in English as

What color is the sky, ay mi amor, ay mi amor, You tell me that it’s red, ay mi amor, ay mi amor

And in Spanish as

Que el cielo no es azul, ay mi amor, ay mi amor, Es rojo dices tú, ay mi amor, ay mi amor

(You say the sky isn’t blue, oh my love, oh my love, It’s red, you say, oh my love, oh my love)

This might be a deliberate reference to a huapango called “Cielo rojo,” which says:

Mientras yo estoy dormido Sueño que vamos los dos muy juntos A un cielo azul Pero cuando despierto El cielo es rojo, me faltas tú

(As I sleep I dream of us close together Going towards a blue sky But when I wake up The sky red, I am missing you)

Within the universe of the movie, this would make it an anachronistic reference, though. Additionally, Cielo rojo is a song of loss and Un poco loco is about a woman who thinks very differently and likes to say everything backwards, and that makes him crazy (in a good way!). Hence, in English we’ve got her saying to put his shoes on his head instead of his feet, and in Spanish him saying she might think with her feet and also how she keeps playing with his thoughts. Cielo rojo is a pretty sad song.

7. La Llorona

And I purposefully left La Llorona out of that list (it’s originally a son istmeño, though).

There’s a full musical number in Spanish, which seems to have suprised some people. For those of us who watched Coco in Spanish, it wasn’t too hard to guess it was this one: La Llorona was likely left in Spanish because it’s a very old folk song, one of those that are so old it has no known author and there are many different versions of the lyrics.

“Llorona” just means “weeper,” which is not really as unusual of a word in Spanish as it is in English. It’s closer to “crybaby” in use. She’s also what we call a character in a Mexican folktale. If you’re curious, the version used in Coco says the following, with “llorona” being the singer herself:

Poor me, llorona, llorona dressed in sky blue Even if it costs me my life, llorona, I won’t stop loving you I climbed the highest pine tree to see if I could spot you Since the pine tree was so green, llorona, it cried upon seeing me cry

What is grief and what is not grief, llorona: it all is grief to me Yesterday, I was crying to see you, llorona; today, I’m crying because I saw you

Poor me, llorona, llorona dressed in sky blue Even if it costs me my life, llorona, I won’t stop loving you

Famous people

8. Ernesto de la Cruz

“Isn’t he an original charact-” NO LISTEN STAY WITH ME.

Remember how I said Remember Me is a bolero ranchero? Guess who we associate boleros rancheros with?

That would be Pedro Infante, who happens to have a strong resemblance to no other than Ernesto de la Cruz.

It’s probably not a coincidence at all, as later on we see Ernesto with Pedro Infante and Jorge Negrete at his party. Ernesto de la Cruz was explicitly stated to be inspired on both of them and another singer of the same genres, Vicente Fernández.

My parents left the movie saying “Pedro Infante didn’t deserve that burn,” lol.

9. Frida Kahlo (and Diego)

She does have a rather prominent role so she’s hard to miss. For those unaware, Frida is the artist who made the flaming papaya.

The themes in Frida’s are autobiographical, as she had a rather unusual life due to polio and injury. She painted herself and her suffering a lot. That might be why we get performances with many Fridas and things like a crying cactus that’s herself.

Bonus: her husband, Diego Rivera, is also in the same studio where we meet Frida. He was an important artist, specifically a muralist. 

10. Other Mexican celebrities

I already brought up Pedro Infante and Jorge Negrete as characters that appear right beside Ernesto de la Cruz.

But we also get to see a cameo of many other famous Mexican names in Ernesto’s studio! Excluding the people at the piano, from left to right:

Emiliano Zapata, a revolutionary; (my best guess is) Adela Velarde, another revolutionary; Ernesto and Miguel; (probably) Agustín Lara, composer and singer; (probably) Dolores del Río, actress (in Hollywood too!); Cantinflas, comedian and actor; Pedro Infante, singer and actor; María Félix, actress; El Santo, wrestler and actor; Jorge Negrete, singer and actor.

They kind of looked like this:

Another bonus: this gal looks like the calavera garbancera / the Catrina illustrated by José Guadalupe Posada.

There might be more things I’m missing or forgot; if that’s the case, feel free to let me know! You can also fix my music genres for me since that’s never been my forte.

I hope this was of interest to someone! 

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Next entry for @badthingshappenbingo! (Also, mods from that blog, if you’re reading this--seems like Tumblr hiccuped when I made that last post and didn’t tag you properly, so here’s the other story I wrote, too.)

Reminder that I am still accepting prompts for this! Check out my initial post for the guidelines. Also note the current bingo card on this post–the things I mark with crossbones are completed prompts, and ones with a single bone are ones that have been requested, but not written yet.

(Fics are also posted to AO3 and FFN, but please just use the links in my blog desc to get to those ‘cuz I’m too tired to make links for them.)

Aaand here’s our next prompt, submitted by @shouldernova​!

Prompt: Worked Themselves to Exhaustion Characters: Imelda, Coco, Óscar, Felipe, pre-movie

A week after Héctor left with Ernesto on the train out of Santa Cecilia, Coco’s left shoe began to fall apart. Ever the frugal one, Imelda had set about to fix it on her own, and found she wasn’t too bad at the task. This got her thinking, and as soon as she was able, she wrote to Héctor about her desire to learn to make shoes.

Héctor had been more than supportive of the idea. Not that she’d ever needed his approval, of course, but it always made her smile to see his support, even in written form. He’d even filled the letter with little drawings of shoes, which had gotten a laugh out of Coco. A shoemaker and a musician—they would be quite the pair!

He would send letters detailing the people he and Ernesto met, the places they would see, and the things they did. But of course, he would always go on about how much he missed his girls and how he couldn’t wait to see their faces again. He even wrote separate letters for Coco, usually on short scraps of paper and with big lettering for her to easily see. He would even send her poems and song lyrics, which delighted her to no end. (Sometimes Coco would ask Imelda to try to sing the new poems he would send, but it usually ended with the two of them laughing at Imelda’s woeful lack of songwriting talent.)

Every time he sent his letters and earnings, Imelda would immediately write up a letter to send back to him. It was an annoying process, having to mail it to the inn it was mailed from, with instructions to forward it to the next hotel (Héctor would always leave a note with the hotel staff to have the mail forwarded), but it made sure they both kept up with each other. Imelda was able to tell Héctor everything that happened while he was gone—about how she had been doing with her shoe-making apprenticeship, how Coco was doing and how much they missed him, how they’d been visiting regularly with her parents and brothers, and so on. She’d let Coco dictate a bit of the letter, too, which she could imagine made him smile.

But it wasn’t the same as his being there.

Coco was always asking Imelda about when Papá would come home, and unfortunately, the answer was always changing. Along with all the other things Héctor wrote to them about, there would also be the occasional update about their tour—invariably, about how it was going to be extended. A few more days, a few more weeks. Another month.

While Héctor had never been a doormat, he’d always had trouble saying no to Ernesto.

Still, Imelda admitted, he was working hard for them, and so was she.

She’d already started preparing to set up shop, but it was more difficult work than she’d anticipated—and not just in terms of paperwork and preparing the supplies. Even with the money Héctor sent her, the supplies she had to buy went a bit over her budget. Despite this, she was determined to keep going with one less meal a day for herself, as long as Coco was fed.

When the first orders came in, Imelda was nearly overwhelmed. She knew how to make all of these kinds of shoes, of course, but now she wasn’t apprenticing under a skilled shoemaker—she was working on her own. Still, she wasn’t going to let Coco know just how overwhelmed she felt. Instead, she would send Coco off to visit her grandparents and tíos while she worked alone at the house. Years from now she would probably think back to this moment and laugh at how overwhelmed she’d been at a handful of simple orders—she knew this, because she wasn’t going to give up. She knew things would be bumpy at the start, even if it was a bit more than she’d expected, and she knew that it wouldn’t be quite so hard once Héctor was home.

Several days later the orders were done and paid for, and the money came in. And sure enough, so did Héctor’s earnings. It still didn’t quite make up for the cost of starting the business, but that was okay—she could manage like this for a bit longer until more money came through. She could keep going until Héctor returned.

But as the weeks wore on, so did the tour.

“Don’t worry, mi amor, I’ll be back for Dia de Muertos.”

Dia de Muertos passed. Imelda lit candles for Héctor’s parents alongside the ones for her own relatives, and went back to work on her orders.

“It really shouldn’t be for much longer. I’ll definitely be there before my birthday.”

His birthday passed. Imelda and Coco wrote him birthday wishes and mailed them off to him.

“I’ll put my foot down this time. I’ll take the train home, and be there before Las Posadas.”

Las Posadas, Nochebuena, and Navidad all passed, and the letters had stopped coming.

When she and Coco came to stay at her parents’ place over the holiday (and after she managed to get away from explaining the shoe-making process to her brothers for the dozenth time), her mother drew her aside. “No man with any respect for his family skips Navidad,” she said. There was a long pause, as Imelda struggled for the words to say. “I told you this would happen event—”

“He’s coming back,” Imelda snapped back, and that was the end of it. She didn’t speak with her mother for the rest of her time there, and the next day, she and Coco went home.

Imelda was just getting back to her work orders when Coco stepped up to her. “When is Papá coming back?” she asked, and Imelda paused.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, staring at the shoes numbly. In all honesty, she’d answered her mother out of sheer stubbornness, though she knew that there had been some truth to her mamá’s words.

He’d said he would be home. He’d said he would put his foot down, and take the train home.

That was the last he’d said.

As she mulled it over, a worry came over her—what if he had taken the train, but something had happened?

The next opportunity she got, she headed for the train station, demanding to see the records of the passengers from Mexico City to Santa Cecilia. After a bit of prodding, the workers at the station relented, and she scoured the records for any mention of Héctor’s name, starting from the day he’d sent the letter and onward.

Nothing.

He’d never boarded the train, like he said he would. That meant one of two things: he’d changed his mind, or he’d been lying, and she wasn’t sure which was worse.

Imelda found herself partially saddened and partially angry at the thought, but there was another worry that gnawed at her: if he wasn’t sending letters, he wasn’t sending earnings, either. While part of her was angry at herself for thinking about money when her husband was surely the more important thing, she reminded herself firmly that their daughter was important, too. And even if Imelda could go without dinner every day, Coco could not.

So later that night, after tucking Coco in and after making some last-minute touches on her current orders, she did not immediately go to bed. Instead she sat at her desk with a pen and paper and began to work out the budget for her meager savings and earnings.

With the cost requirement for her shoemaking supplies combined with the cost for food, the money she made was simply not enough to cover both. The supplies were too important—she needed them to carry out the business. Feeding Coco was important as well, and making her go without a meal was unthinkable.

Two hours into the night, Imelda could find no other solution—she would have to limit her own meals again. She’d been learning to deal with going hungry in the evening, and she could learn to deal with a little less food. (Or she could ask her parents for help, but that would mean admitting she was wrong and that she could not take care of her family, which she refused to do.)

As the weeks went on, her limited budget and limited meals wore on her more than she’d anticipated. She was finding herself growing more and more tired, but people were pleased with her work, and the orders kept coming in. This should have meant more money, but she couldn’t keep up with the orders on her own, and the work continued to pile up.

And to twist the knife, Coco was still asking about Héctor.

“Why hasn’t he sent a letter, Mamá?” “Can you read me another letter?” “When is he coming home?”

When, indeed.

The thought made her angrier the more she thought about it—why hadn’t he come home? Why would he stop sending the letters? Stop sending money? Did he not care if Coco starved? Did he truly care more about his stupid friend, his stupid tour, his stupid music more than his family?

Imelda tried to put the thoughts out of her head—she had to focus on Coco and shoes right now. She had to, or there was no way she would survive.

But surviving was getting harder. It seemed sometimes that no matter how much work she did, it never got any easier, and the pile of orders never grew smaller. She was making shoes, ordering supplies, shopping, making food, and taking care of Coco, and it felt like it never ended.

At least before, relief would come in the form of Héctor’s letters—until she got to the parts stating that his tour was being extended yet again. Now she didn’t even have that, and instead of the thought of her husband bringing her joy, it brought her anger. That no-good músico—how could he leave her and Coco like this?! But… fine. If that cabrón thought he didn’t need her anymore, fine. She didn’t need him anymore, either, and she could take care of this business and raise Coco all on her own.

Imelda let her anger fuel her. It was all she had left.

But even stubbornness and anger were no match for the slow, steady stream of trouble that continued to chip away at her. Deep down, she knew it was only a matter of time before she would finally crack.

One day she sat at her work table, eyelids drooping as she worked on a pair of wingtips that was giving her trouble. They never had before, but in her exhaustion she’d made a mistake with the leather and had to start over on the left shoe. Even though she’d gone for some time with her adjusted diet, she still felt hunger gnawing at her—the eggs she’d had this morning didn’t make up for her small lunch and skipped dinner. On top of that, she found herself nodding off—sleeping through the night on an empty stomach was never easy—and had to constantly force herself to focus. She was so tired, and so hungry, but these shoes weren’t going to finish themselves, and money wasn’t going to keep coming in the mail.

No thanks to that no-good, stupid musi—

“Mamá, when is Papá coming home?”

The half-finished shoe struck against the table with a bang, followed by loud clattering noises as several tools fell to the floor.

“He’s not coming home, Coco!”

Imelda was standing, though she couldn’t remember getting up, and her mind didn’t immediately register the expression on her daughter’s face as she went on: “That man does not care about us anymore, and he is never coming home!”

It took her a moment to realize that Coco was taking several steps backward, eyes wide and hands covering her mouth. She then realized that she’d shouted at her daughter, and had struck the table, and had been glaring down at her, and—

Fiery anger was quickly drowned out by the cold numbness of shock. “Mija—”

“No!” Coco cried, taking a more deliberate step back and shaking her head. “Papá said he was coming home! He is! He’s going to come back!”

Angry tears stung at Imelda’s eyes, and she tried to keep them away. Stupid musician, look what you’ve done to your daughter, sending her those letters and making her hold onto a foolish hope for so long…! She shook her head, and she spoke again, not quite as harshly as before: “That man lied to you, mija. He stopped sending letters months ago. He’s not coming back.”

“No! No!” And Coco bolted, running past Imelda and out the door. “PAPA!”

“Coco!” Imelda cried, turning to run after her, only to step on one of the tools she’d knocked off the table and fall to the ground. She dropped to her knees and caught herself on her hands, scraping both palms against the floor, and shakily rose to her feet. The world seemed to spin for a moment at the thought that she’d lost her husband, and she couldn’t lose her daughter, too.

Fighting against the pain in her knees, she rushed out the door and looked around the courtyard, but Coco was nowhere in sight. Furthermore, the gate had been pushed open, just enough for a small child to get through.

“COCO!” Imelda shouted, yanking the gate open and looking down the road one way, then another.

She didn’t have to search long; a short distance down the road, Óscar and Felipe were crouched down, trying their best to soothe a sobbing and frantic Coco. Imelda heaved deep sigh, grateful that her brothers had apparently decided to pay her a visit today.

She walked toward the three at a careful pace, wary of making Coco run off again. As she got closer, she could make out some of the words her daughter was babbling: “G-gonna be back… o-o-on the train… s-s-said he’d be…”

Felipe was the first to look up at Imelda, giving her a questioning look as he rubbed Coco’s back. She only shook her head—she didn’t want to talk to them about this while Coco was there to hear. Seeming to sense this, Felipe wordlessly nudged Óscar, who patted his niece’s back before standing up.

While Felipe picked up Coco, Óscar approached Imelda, looking her up and down. He seemed to note the scuff marks on her apron and red patches on the heels of her hands, but his gaze lingered on her face. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

In spite of the shame she felt in her chest, she refused to look away from Óscar’s gaze. “I… I snapped at Coco,” she admitted, hating the way her voice was beginning to waver.

“She wanted to go to the train station,” Óscar said, looking back to Felipe, who was bouncing Coco around. The little girl gave a soft, tired giggle. “I… guess she thinks Héctor will be there.”

“He won’t be,” Imelda said, finally turning away. “He never will be.”

Seconds later, she felt Óscar’s hand on her shoulder. “You’re working too hard, hermana. Don’t think no one’s noticed.” He paused. “…Even Coco.”

Imelda gave a start, glancing over her shoulder.

Óscar nodded. “She told us that you told her that… that adults don’t need to eat as much as little niñas.”

“It’s true,” she said, looking her brother in the eye. “Coco’s a growing girl.” But, seeing his unconvinced look, she heaved a sigh. “I’ve been cutting some of my own meals. But I’ll be all right, once I earn enough money to—”

“How long have you been going like this?”

Imelda paused, not because she didn’t want to answer, but because she’d been doing it for so long she’d legitimately forgotten when she’d started. It wasn’t after the letters stopped—no, it was sometime before that, when… “…Since I started the business.”

“Imelda!” Óscar cried, throwing out his arms. Some distance behind him, Felipe and Coco looked up in surprise before her brother quickly went back to distracting her. “You’re going to kill yourself like this!”

“You’re one to talk!” Imelda snapped. “I can’t count the times you two would get hurt from your absurd experiments!”

Óscar flinched back, arms wrapped around his middle. “W-we’re just… worried about you,” he said, looking away. “You… you haven’t been yourself since Héctor left.”

Slowly she realized that she’d snapped at someone, again, and rubbed at her forehead. “…Lo siento,” she said, heaving a sigh. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

“It’s okay,” he said, though his tone didn’t say the same. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him motion to Felipe, who came closer. “Listen, um… We weren’t sure if this was the right time, but—”

“—Óscar and I were thinking,” Felipe went on. “Mamá and Papá have been wanting us to get a job for ourselves, and we’re—”

“—both very interested in the whole shoe-making process.” Now Óscar was starting to perk up. “You won’t have to—”

“—teach us much, since we’ve already—”

“—memorized it from what you told us.”

“Just need to watch it a few times.”

“Two.”

“Or three.”

“And then we could join you!” they finished.

Coco, still in Felipe’s arms, giggled at the two’s back-and-forth speech. She still had dried tear stains on her face.

Imelda looked from her daughter to her brothers, thinking this through. Her brothers would be two more mouths to feed, but she knew they spoke the truth when they insisted they were fast learners. If they could help her with work, she could finish the orders faster, and take on more orders at once… meaning more pay. Meaning she might not have to skip meals any longer.

It was hard, knowing that Héctor would probably never come back, but…

Looking at her two brothers staring at her eagerly and her daughter looking up at them, she knew—that musician may have abandoned her, but her family had not.

She was going to be okay.

[damleon24]

Blusas

This essay appeared in the January 2018 Issue of under the gum tree. 

Digital: https://www.underthegumtree.com/digitalissues/issue-26-january-2018-digital

Print: http://www.magcloud.com/browse/issue/1383639

I recently asked my mami for one of the traditional Mexican blouses that she wore when I was younger (by which I mean pestered her for weeks). She said she didn’t have any (by which she meant I shouldn't be wearing women’s clothing).

She had accepted my queer inclinations when they were jokes, when she needed a best friend. Now they were costing her a son, her first son, and that she could not allow. 

When she gave me a very final no, I asked my Abuelita Ofelia. She nodded excitedly and said she’d put them away in the garage. She came back with the clear plastic bag that once held my mami’s wedding dress; it was covered in dust and cracked. Inside were six white shirts that seemed to glow. I gave the smallest to Bianca, my twelve-year-old cousin. 

It looks funny, she told me. 

Try it on, I said. I put on the biggest of the shirts to encourage her. Bianca laughed at me and pulled on the shirt. 

Te ves bonita, Abuelita told her. Bianca looked like a vision from heaven: the white shirt hung loosely around her torso, and her dark skin and hair shone all the more for the contrast. 

I can’t wear it. It’s weird. 

I told her of all the hipster white girls that wore traditional Indigenous and Mexican clothing as fashion statements. They felt comfortable wearing Mexican femininity as a performance piece while Mexican girls and women were denied the freedom (I wondered where that left me). 

I can’t wear it, she told me again. That made two of us. 

My family went to Mexico every year when I was small. My papi used the trips as opportunities to instill his Mexican machismo, he and my uncles tried to take me out into the fields to do “trabajo de hombre”. They wanted to show me how to foster life in those fields, that you could tell good dirt by the color. They made a show of including me in their drinking circles and offering cerveza. 

Cuantas novias tienes, they would ask to try to develop my identity around how many mujeres I was playing. 

Si te hablan patras las madreas. Part of being a man was keeping mujeres (and femininity) in check. 

I always found opportunities to slip away while they weren’t watching. I ran across the dirt street and around the corner to my Bisabuela Julia’s yard. There I’d find her sitting in the sun with an extra chair for me though no one had warned her of my coming. 

Sientate, she’d say. 

She’d sit quietly and look at me. I was convinced that her life had moved from her body and into her eyes; they were a brown that would have grown enough crops to feed all of Mexico. 

When I shied away from her gaze she would start speaking. 

No eres comos los otros niños. Her voice wheezed out between coughs. Hoye me, mijo. Each word sounded so fragile that it should be wrapped up for safe keeping (now shattered and lost). Yet her stories were long and heavy. She spoke of when my father was young, when my grandfather was young, and when her hands were strong enough to support all the hombres that relied on her. 

I took to rubbing Abuela Julia’s hands while listening to her stories. They were bony and weak. Her skin was dark brown and as thin as her breathing. She always sat in the sun with a reboso around her head and shoulders. 

During one of our last talks, she said she wanted to rub my hands. I rested my arm on her leg as she took my left hand in both of hers. Her touch was so soft that it tickled, but I tried not to pull away. I slowly put more effort into holding my arm up because she rearranged her leg under the weight. She laughed and pushed my chubby arm back down onto her leg. 

I’m trying to read the story in your hands, she told me. Quieto.

She passed away a few years ago. I never learned her story. Never saw it in her hands. The same men she always talked about had little if anything to say about her. I love my Abuela Julia, but I resented that she’d never told me about her life. Yet my Abuela had given me femininity, and her story rested in it. 

The traditional Mexican blouse is cotton and of varying styles and cut, but they all share detailed embroidery. My Abuelita is from Michoacán, and the blouses her side of the family wears are in the style of the P'urhépecha people. The material is a non-stretchable white cotton or linen, and the embroidery is thick along the collar or and chest. Each blouse has a mosaic of flowers, animals, or patterns derived from Indigenous cultures; and all of the shirts are embroidered by hand. The shirts and the skills to weave them are passed down from other to daughter, so these blouses are labors of love. 

My mami and tia wore them on special occasions when it was acceptable to be proud of being Mexican and feminine, but through the years my family shifted into the “normalcy” of Americanness. Other Mexican families loved the Salinas Rodeo and Cinco De Mayo festivals. They celebrated Dia De Los Muertos and the Posadas. Often these cultural events were left to mujeres to organize, but my mami was raised American. She didn’t know how to celebrate these events, so my family did none of these. 

My papi tried to push both Mexican pride and machismo onto me, so they became tied together. Mexican culture was masculine; it was violent; and it was everything I hated about my life. The only time my papi seemed happy with me was when I wore boots and a cowboy hat with him. He didn’t smile, but a deadpan expression and calm voice were better than the usual scowl and yell. 

Te ves como hombre. (As if the appearance might make it true.)

My mami allowed me to be emotional and feminine. She often told me that I was her best friend, and both a son and daughter to her. I was twelve when my sister was born, and I often watched her while my mami ran errands. 

She’s going to think you’re her mom, she would joke. I needed the affection that I thought was tied to being American and the freedom to express myself how I wished. 

Eventually, even my mami tried to shut down my femininity. She appreciated it when I was her support system, when she was raising her best friend. I guess she thought that at some point I’d grow out of it. That I would be an hombre, the femininity a phase she could tell girlfriends about. 

She still asks my opinion on hairstyles and outfits. She still relies on the femininity she gave me when it’s useful, but she wants me to live up to my papi’s expectations. My femininity has outlived the laughs, she only ever looks uncomfortable when I try on blusas or rebosos. 

Don’t be dumb, she tells me when I mention wanting to wear feminine clothing and wanting a man more than I want to be one. 

After graduating from college I moved to San Francisco for an internship. Up until that point I didn’t think of myself as queer. I knew that I wasn’t straight, but I fit into the messy idea of “men” at Vassar. In San Francisco, some men brought attention to my style of dress and painted nails. Others asked me what my favorite bar in The Castro was like I’d know gay spaces I’d never been near. 

It took coming home to Salinas to figure out that I just didn’t fit the world’s idea of masculinity anymore. The space that made me so comfortable in my Mexican identity now made me scared for my feelings of gender. Some boys in a class subbed for caught me crying and didn’t speak to me again. A man avoided shaking my hand when he saw my nails. Another man in the gym saw me wearing just tights and said, I thought we were friends. 

Even worse, people read me as white or American more often. The woman at the Mexican corner store that I’d shopped at my whole life refused to speak Spanish to me. Students pronounced my name in English and tried to hide things from me by talking Spanish. Few people I spoke to believed that I’d grown up in Salinas. My queerness marked me as other, as non-Mexican.

There is no way to identify with my chosen gender in Spanish, yet I know that I’m not an hombre by the standards of Mexican culture. Hijo, Maestro. These terms are attempts to give me strength perceived in machismo, but the languages rigid gendered forms erase the strength in my femininity. I was taught how to survive by women, and when I let people refer to me by masculine terms I let my Abuela’s stories slip away. 

Others do not see the violence in the words. It’s normal for them, and the language demands it. 

I’m reminded of my papi’s lessons. 

Don’t talk back to your madre, o te voy a madrear. The word swallows the person that loves me most, replacing her with my papi’s fists and how these words are inadequate. 

I tried on my Abuelita’s shirts when I was alone. I wanted to see myself wrapped in the stories of the mujeres that raised me. The embroidery told me what words had never managed: the mujeres in my family had survived and prayed and built. The material was tight around my chest and hung loosely around my arms and belly. My collarbone looked amazing in the low cut collar, and the swaying blouse gave an elegance to my love handles. The white linen made my dark brown eyes shine as bright as my Abuela Julia’s. 

That femininity would not be accepted by hombres at Mexican festivals where there are no words for my reflection. Still, my Abuela Ofelia offered her blouses to me when I asked. 

Machismo created a limited language, but that never stopped mujeres’ ability to pass on their stories. Mujeres never stopped surviving and fighting and creating. They never stopped loving. 

The people who raised me where both Mexican and feminine. I cannot give up either. 

[newsfact]

Alec Baldwin speaks in public for first time amid ongoing ‘Rust’ movie set shooting investigation

Alec Baldwin spoke out amid the ongoing “Rust” movie shooting investigation Saturday.

Baldwin, 63, spoke to photographers in Vermont where he said he is cooperating with police and has been speaking to them every day. Baldwin maintained that he could not speak on the active investigation.

“It’s an active investigation in terms of a woman died, she was my friend,” Baldwin said.

“We were a very, very well-oiled crew shooting a film together, and then this horrible event happened,” he added.

Baldwin admitted the fatal shooting on the set is a “one in a trillion event.”

“There are incidental accidents on film sets from time to time, but nothing like this,” he said. “This is a one in a trillion episode. It’s a one in a trillion event.”

Baldwin said he is “extremely interested” in limiting the use of firearms on set following the fatal incident.

“But remember, how many bullets have been fired in films and TV shows in the last 75 years. This is America,” Baldwin said. “How many bullets have gone off in movies and on TV sets before? How many, billions in the last 75 years? And nearly all of it without incident. So what has to happen now is, we have to realize that when it does go wrong and it’s this horrible, catastrophic thing, some new measures have to take place. Rubber guns, plastic guns, no live — no real armaments on set. That’s not for me to decide. It’s urgent that you understand I’m not an expert in this field, so whatever other people decide is the best way to go in terms of protecting people’s safety on film sets, I’m all in favor of and I will cooperate with that in any way that I can.”

Baldwin and his wife Hilaria exited their car to speak to photographers. (Fox News Digital)

Baldwin and his wife Hilaria had been on the road before making the impromptu press conference. The actor pulled over and agreed to talk to photographers if he could have some space.

Baldwin discharged a gun on the set of “Rust” in New Mexico on Oct. 21, killing cinematographer Halyna Hutchins and injuring director Joel Souza. Assistant director Dave Halls had told Baldwin that the gun was a “cold gun,” meaning “not hot” or unloaded, after armorer Hannah Gutierrez Reed had placed the gun on a cart on set.

Prop master Sarah Zachry also handled the gun before the fatal shooting, according to a search warrant executed by the Santa Fe Sheriff’s Office.

Alec Baldwin and his wife Hilaria were spotted enjoying drinks at a bar in a small ski town Friday night.

HILARIA BALDWIN DRIVES HUSBAND ALEC AROUND IN POSH SKI TOWN AFTER DEADLY ‘RUST’ SHOOTING

During his impromptu press conference, the actor discussed limiting the use of firearms on movie sets moving forward. (Fox News Digital)

Earlier Friday, Hilaria was seen driving Baldwin around the small town. At one point, she exited the car to pump gas. The author and yoga instructor attempted to shield her face from photographers as the couple tried to maintain a low profile amid the ongoing investigation of the shooting that took place on Baldwin’s “Rust” movie set.

Later, Hilaria was spotted sans Baldwin as she stopped at a local Italian market to pick up groceries. The family’s nanny accompanied her.

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Baldwin appears to have been in the New England area since Monday afternoon when he was spotted at the same Italian market that Hilaria shopped at Friday.

He was previously spotted getting breakfast Sunday morning with Hutchins’ husband and son at the La Posada hotel in New Mexico.

Baldwin discharged a gun on the set of “Rust” in New Mexico on Oct. 21, killing cinematographer Halyna Hutchins and injuring director Joel Souza. Assistant director Dave Halls had told Baldwin that the gun was a “cold gun,” meaning “not hot” or unloaded, after armorer Hannah Gutierrez Reed had placed the gun on a cart on set.

Prop master Sarah Zachry also handled the gun before the fatal shooting, according to a search warrant executed by the Santa Fe Sheriff’s Office.

CLICK HERE TO GET THE FOX NEWS APP

The Santa Fe County Sheriff’s Department is still investigating the incident and said it was “too early” to comment on potential charges during a press conference Wednesday. However, Sheriff Adan Mendoza has since referred to the department’s efforts as a “criminal investigation.”

“I’d be careful using the word ‘accident,'” Mendoza said during an appearance Thursday on “Fox & Friends.”

“This is obviously a tragedy and it was avoidable, so right now it’s a criminal investigation.”

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[iishipallthethings]

The Wager Chapter 16

Story Summary:  Another Day of the Dead is finally here. La Muerte goes to the land of the living and is shocked to see Maria, the jewel of the town, unsatisfied with her marriage with Manolo. Another wager is struck and La Muerte finds herself falling hard for a human. 1 year after movie! Main ship: Maria X La Muerte (kind of slow burn) but there is another :)

Chapter title:I’m Sorry

Coffee?

It was now the Day of the Dead. Mary wanted nothing more than to disappear into her castle but Maria had specifically asked her to come with her and the others. Mary could not say no.

So she was standing outside Maria’s mansion, knocking on the door with one hand and clenching a bouquet of roses in the other. She waited a minute before Joaquin opened the door. He smiled at Mary and beckoned the woman inside. He was wearing a very stained apron, however the uniform underneath was as pristine as always.

“We’ll be ready to leave in a few minutes,” he said, leading her towards the kitchen. “We’re making some traditional foods for our families and it got a little out of hand.” Joaquin’s eye caught sight of the roses. “Whose are those for? Maria said you don’t have family here.” His eye fell to the floor as he gave an embarrassed cough. “Sorry, I just meant,”

“It’s okay, Joaquin,” Mary interrupted his unnecessary apology. “They’re for General Posada, Maria’s father.”

Before Joaquin could respond and possibly make the situation more awkward, the smell of food drifted over to them. They entered the kitchen and Mary stopped in her tracks.

The entire place looked as if a tornado had passed through it. There was batter splatter on several places on the walls and the sink held a precariously tilted stack of dirty dishes. Mary was somewhat surprised to see that the counter where the three had placed finished plates of food to be clear of any mess. Mary spotted Maria bent over to grab a metal sheet from the oven, warm loafs of bread perfectly cooked to a nice brown situated on them. There were three different types of bread, or rather it was apparent that three different people made the same type. Joaquin’s came out the best with noone being surprised. Maria’s was a bit lumpy, along with Manolo’s, but they still looked good.

Maria grinned at Mary and took off her oven mitts after setting the bread down to cool. “Mary, we weren’t expecting you for half an hour.” Without hesitating, she pulled Mary into a hug, turning her head to kiss her cheek.

“I know, but I couldn’t stay in that apartment for another moment.” It was true. Since she received the page from Xibalba a month ago, Mary had been restless. Her mind was constantly wondering back to how that future could possibly occur and how it could be avoided. Like before, Maria had noticed and asked if Mary wanted to talk about it. Mary had declined, fearing that talking about the page or even trying to give a half truth would cause everything to spiral out of control. Maria had relented but her patience only made Mary’s heart ache more.

It took another half an hour to clean the kitchen, even with Mary helping. Chuy tried to help as best as he could, like licking off the splatters from the walls where he could reach. Joaquin tried to chase him out but as soon as he turned around, Chuy would dash back in to lick at another splatter. After five times of chasing the pig out only for him to run back in, Joaquin gave up and left the pig to happily lap at the batter on the walls. He did vow to wash the entire kitchen once over when they came back, earning laughter from the other three. The cleaning gave the bread more than enough time to cool down enough to safely transport. The four people and Chuy headed out of the mansion and made their way to the cemetery.

Other families joined their journey and soon there was a steady river of people walking and holding their offerings. Mary felt some stares from people when they noticed she only held a bouquet of roses. She almost somewhat jokingly told Maria that she should slip away and get some other offerings but the river became several streams as they passed under the archway to San Angel’s cemetery.

Joaquin, Manolo, and Maria split away from each other, the three heading to their respective family graves. Mary and Chuy followed Maria as she strolled to her father’s grave. Mary could not help but recall how Maria had looked at the last Day of the Dead. She was glad that Maria seemed much happier and that she had a hand in creating that happiness.

Mary and Chuy stopped a few feet away from the grave, giving Maria some privacy to place the offerings in front of the grave. Afterwards, Maria closed her eyes and tried to feel her deceased father’s presence. Mary saw General Posada stand next to his daughter, lifting a hand to rest on her arm in a comforting gesture. The corners of Maria’s lips tilted up in a small smile, somehow knowing that her father was with her.

“You can come closer, you know,” Maria told Mary and Chuy, opening one eye to look at them.

The two walked to the grave, keeping respectfully silent. Mary laid her bouquet of roses in front of the statue. She studied the statue more closely, trying to ignore the fact that she could see General Posada standing not five feet away from her.

“He was a good man,” Maria whispered. “I know most daughters say that about their fathers, but he truly was a good man. He helped build the town’s brigade to stop Chakal and his bandits from raiding the town.” She nodded towards the hook that replaced General Posada’s hand. “He even gave up his left hand to protect this town and its people.” A few tears budded in Maria’s eyes but she made no move to wipe them away. “Even though it hurt him, he sent me away to Arroba to become a proper lady. It took me so long to realize that he only did it because he thought it would be best for me. It would have been safest for me to be a proper lady.” Maria chuckled. “But I have his blood. I could never be a proper lady. I was a fighter, just like him.”

Mary, not caring who might have been glancing at them, wrapped an arm securely around Maria’s shoulders. “He’s proud of you.”

“How do you know?” Maria’s question had some humor in it but it also shined with her curiosity.

Mary shrugged. “I just do. Any father that has a daughter like you can only be proud.”

The two women listened to the people around them talking quietly but happily, feeling their deceased relatives coming from the Land of the Remembered to visit them. Several children, the same ones from the previous year in fact, were running about in a game of tag. Mary could see Carmelo waving at her from a few tombstones away to where Manolo’s family was. She had to resist the urge to wave back. Mary looked back and noticed that General Posada was watching her, a frown on his face. This took her aback but she schooled her features.

After seven minutes, Maria looked over at Manolo, unable to see his family standing around him. “I should be the dutiful wife and see if he needs anything.”

“I thought the husband was supposed to check up on the wife,” Mary teased. She heard General Posada huff in annoyance at her.

“I’ll be back soon,” Maria said, sneaking a kiss on Mary’s cheek before moving towards Manolo.

Chuy glanced between the statue and Maria and decided to trot after the woman, giving a bey of goodbye to Mary.

Mary watched and once she was sure they were out of earshot, she looked at General Posada. Now that his daughter was not in the vicinity, he fully glared at Mary. She glanced away, almost ashamed, before meeting his gaze again.

“I don’t care that you’re La Muerte in disguise,” General Posada said evenly. “If you hurt my daughter I swear I’ll,” he continued in a mutter that Mary could not understand but the message was quite clear.

A flash of the illustration passed in her mind’s eye. That damn page was never far from her mind. She turned her head to look at Maria and Manolo laughing at something, but the laughter was tinged with sadness. She looked back at General Posada. “Can I have your blessing,” she asked suddenly, unaware that the words were out of her mouth until she heard her own voice asking the question.

“No.” There was a frankness to the answer that shocked both Mary and General Posada. It shocked General Posada because he had refused a goddess’s request and it shocked Mary because of the swiftness he gave his answer.

“Why?” Mary had to know. She was afraid of the answer, she knew what it was, but she had to know.

General Posada gave her a quick glare  as if she was a teenager caught out late with his daughter and not the ruler of the realm he presided in. “Because what you’re doing is wrong.” He waved his hooked hand to his daughter. “You’ve been lying to her this entire time. Even before you two started seeing each other.”

“I had to,” Mary replied.

It was General Posada’s turn to ask, “Why?” The expression he gave her made it clear that whatever excuse she could possibly give was not going to be enough.

Mary almost did not answer. At first she had no excuse. Her wager with Xibalba had all but won, she made Maria happy as she could and she was happy as well. Xibalba had left her and now she was free to explore her feelings with Maria. All in all the only reason why she had not told Maria she was La Muerte was because she was afraid. And she blamed that twice damned page.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to explain herself, General Posada continued. “If you truly care for my little girl, maybe even love her, you’ll tell her the truth.” With that, Posada left the realm of the living.

Mary stared at the spot that General Posada had previously occupied for a minute. She looked back at Maria and noticed that she had ended the conversation with Manolo and was heading back over to her. Mary glanced around the area, hoping that Posada would return as his daughter neared. When it became evident that he wouldn’t, she knew she had to tell Maria the truth.

“Sorry that I was gone for so long, Mary,” Maria said. There was only happiness in her eyes and Mary felt cold. She leaned against her lover, looking back up at the statue of her father. She sensed something was amiss with Mary and looked at her. “What’s wrong, mi amor?” Maria whispered the last bit and it stung Mary more than she expected.

“I need to show you something,” Mary answered. She took one last gaze at the statue before leading Maria away from the cemetery. Luckily, the families around them were too busy celebrating and praying to notice the two women slipping away.

Mary and Maria did not exchange any words as they walked. Maria was growing more and more concerned as Mary led her first through the town and than out on the bridge leading away. Finally, the two stopped in front of the old tree.

“What’s going on, Mary?” Maria asked. Her instincts told her she didn’t want the answer but she was going to get it nonetheless.

Instead of answering, Mary kissed Maria. Soon she backed Maria against the tree, her heart hammering in her chest in desire and fear. Mary broke the kiss, studying Maria’s eyes. There was desire in them too, so much that Mary was enticed to go back to the apartment and forget all of today. However, there was a burning curiosity in them too, and Mary knew she could not leave this place until she told Maria what was in her mind.

“Please,” Mart begged, her voice trembling, “please understand why I did it.”

“Did what?” Now there was fear in Maria’s voice as she stared back at Mary, the desire and endearment still present in her eyes. She probably thought whatever Mary had to tell her was some dark secret but nothing that could split them apart. Mary prayed to whatever god that could hear her that Maria was right.

Mary kissed her desperately one more time. “Close your eyes,” she whispered, her forehead pressed against Maria’s.

Maria did as she was asked and Mary took a few steps back. She tried to snap her fingers but she was too nervous that no sound was made. Mary had to try again before a sound rang out, much louder than what should have been produced.

“Open them,” La Muerte said.

Maria frowned at the change in voice but her gut told her it was still Mary. A part of her wanted to keep her eyes closed, to tell Mary to stop whatever trick she must be playing. Still, her eyes fluttered open and then gaped wide at the goddess standing before her. For a miraculous second, Maria thought Mary must have somehow used makeup and changed her clothes to look like La Muerte. She appeared different than when Maria remembered seeing her two years ago. The eyes were much dimmer and the marigold flowers in her hair were dull, like they were on the cusp of dying. But there was no denying that this was indeed La Muerte, the ruler of the Land of the Remembered.

“I don’t understand,” Maria finally said, taking a step back. Her eyes dashed around, searching for Mary even as her heart told her she wouldn’t find her. She focused back on the goddess. “Where’s Mary?”

La Muerte looked saddened for a moment before replying. “I think you already know, Maria.” She said the name like a lover would and everything fell into place in Maria’s mind.

“What? You, you can’t be Mary!” Maria exclaimed. She could feel the panic raise inside her, along with betrayal. She searched into La Muerte’s eyes and gasped as she recognized them. They were different to be sure, but they held the same fondness as did Mary’s.

“Maria, please, listen to me,” La Muerte said, seeing Maria accepted the truth of her identity. “I didn’t want to lie to you.” She took a step forward, intent on pulling Maria into her arms like she’s done a hundred times before. Maria took a step back, holding up a hand and stopping La Muerte without having to say a word.

“Why?” Maria asked, tears welling in her eyes.

“I had a wager with Xibalba,” La Muerte began.

“Another one!?” Maria yelled out, cutting La Muerte off before she could get another word out. “How could you?” She gestured between them. “Were you - this entire time did you - did this mean nothing to you? Was this just some sort of sick kick for you?”

“No!” La Muerte tried to take a step forward again and Maria took a few steps back. Each one hurt as if Maria had struck her. “The wager was if I could make you happy.” The words were wrong, she saw that in Maria’s eyes. “I only meant to be your friend but then I fell for you, Maria. I wanted to tell you the truth for so long. Please, I lov-”

Maria shook her head wildly, her eyes now angry even as several tears fell. “Don’t! Don’t you dare tell me you love me after all you’ve done.” She shook her head again, hands coming up to grip at her locks, her vision blurry as she recalled every moment she spent with Mar- no La Muerte, and all of them tarnishing at this confession. Maria stilled and looked up at La Muerte, fear now the main emotion on her face. “Xibalba, you’re married to Xibalba!”

“Yes but we’re not together anymore. You don’t have to fear him,” La Muerte tried to console Maria. “I will never let him harm you,” she vowed.

Maria saw some of the fire return to La Muerte’s eyes and could not help but sense the truth in those words. It was a small comfort, but nowhere big enough.

La Muerte saw the walls start to come up around Maria’s heart. In a last ditch effort, she flashed forward in a cloud of marigold petals. Too fast for Maria to stop her if she wished, La Muerte pressed their lips together. She poured everything into the kiss, all her love for the woman in front of her, all the happiness that Maria made her feel, and all the hope for their future.

SMACK!

Maria gaped at her own hand after it had smacked against La Muerte’s face, ending the kiss instantly. She turned her eyes up to the goddess, her face pale and her body slightly trembling. When La Muerte reached out for her, surely to punish her for attacking, Maria gave a trembling gasp of fear and held up her hands instinctively.

The illustration.

“No,” La Muerte whispered in despair. Her arms went limp at her sides as she looked at the horror on Maria’s face at what she had just done. At the fear of La Muerte retaliating. “I won’t hurt you. Please, mi amor, don’t be afraid of me.”

Maria flinched at the words ‘mi amor’ and La Muerte felt her heart break. “I never want to see you again.” With that, she turned and ran away.

La Muerte only watched her go, a hand pressed against her throbbing cheek.

[nickgerlich]

Dining Car Blues

Two of the coolest family road trips I took as a kid weren’t on the road at all. They were by train, and, in both instances, from Chicago to Amarillo. My mother had family living here at the time, and little did I know then that I would wind up living in the area after my university years.

Of course, that was when Amarillo was serviced by passenger rail. The first trip, in the 1960s, was on the famous Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad, while the 1970s trip was on Amtrak. Either way, I thoroughly enjoyed the private compartment for sleeping and the double-decker cars for sightseeing. The clickety-clack of the long passenger cars on those rails provided a rhythmic flow as they swayed gently from side to side.

As for the dining car, it was almost like going to a fancy restaurant. White linen table cloth. Fancy china. Real silver utensils. I felt like my parents had won the lottery.

Amtrak took over the nation’s passenger rail services in 1971, consolidating what had historically been a very unprofitable, albeit mandated, service offering. Freight had always been the profit center for the railroads, but the government thought better. Never mind that Amtrak has been a money-losing entity ever since. I am not exactly sure what the government was thinking, taking over a sinking ship. I think they call that good money chasing bad.

And now comes word that Amtrak, losing more money than ever, is going to eliminate the dining car as we know it on all trains in the eastern US. Say hello to microwaved food and snacks. Whereas the old dining cars often asked passengers to share tables with complete strangers, the newly imagined feeding stations will be more open and airy, and not require people to--you know--have to mingle too much.

The effort is an attempt to woo more Millennial passengers, those people born between 1980 and 1996, and now with enough adulting years under their belts to be able to afford travel that does not include driving all night long to avoid a motel bill. And Millennials are not all that big on fancy schmancy, you know. It’s good if it looks like an artisan somewhere hand-crafted it from unrefined grains and so forth, but only if it is served without pretense.

Which is too bad. I rather like sharing tables with strangers. Call me old fashioned, but I think you broaden your horizons by doing so, and you might just make new friends. But if you’d rather sit in a cheap IKEA chair and play with your phone (because WiFi), knock yourselves out.

Actually, what Amtrak is doing sounds a lot like what Hilton did with its new Millennial-friendly chain, Tru. I have stayed at one before, and I felt like a grandparent chaperone to the young adults slathering Nutella on their multi-grain bagels. To be honest, Tru is how it would look if IKEA went into the hotel business, but the customers did not have to assemble anything. (Check out my photos here.)

Now don’t get me wrong. I am not one of those folks who bashes Millennials for every little thing, or blames them for ruining all the things we hold dear. I’m cool with them. But the dining car on a train? Stop it, please. Passenger rail is on life support as it is; let’s don’t kill it entirely. After all, for us old timers, it is a throwback experience, and one that needs to be done with period accuracy.

I am planning to do a short Amtrak trip from Las Vegas New Mexico to Winslow Arizona, staying at the historic hotels on both ends. La Castaneda just reopened in Las Vegas, and La Posada has been back in business since 1997. Both are owned by husband-wife Allan Affeldt and Tina Mion, who painstakingly oversaw every last aspect of the renovations of these historic Harvey House hotels.

Sure, I could drive, but that is kind of missing the point. These old hotels were originally intended to attract customers from the railroad, not the paved road. And while I doubt there will be a meal on such a short trip, I can at least pretend and reminisce, and then have a fine meal at my destination.

Because everyone should take a train trip at least once, and experience things as they were, not as they are. You can spend the night at Tru if you must do that, and knock yourselves out with the Nutella.

Dr “Train Kept A Rolling“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

[samanthasroberts]

Xilitla, Mexico: where Day of the Dead meets carnival

Forget what youve seen in James Bond films, the best town for this November festival is Xilitla, amid the hills and waterfalls of the eastern Sierra Gorda

‘Where exactly are you taking us?” my friend asked. Stars sparkled over black mountains as we drove along steep, dark roads into the lush Sierra Gorda of eastern Mexico. High in these hills lie the ancestral lands of the Huastec people, with villages, coffee farms, rugged slopes and powerful waterfalls. Centuries-old traditions flourish here, and we had come to experience one in particular.

In the colonial town of Xilitla, in San Luís Potosí state, where clouds swaddle mountain tops and citrus trees abound, each October the locals prepare the town’s whitewashed square for Xantolo (pronounced shantolow), the local version of Day of the Dead.

xilitla map

Xantolo has all the aspects of classic Mexican Día de Muertos celebrations: marigolds, sugar skulls, elaborate altars and skeleton decorations. But, while Day of the Dead is mainly celebrated within families on 1 and 2 November, with visits to cemeteries to clean graves and leave gifts of food and flowers, Xantolo is a rowdy, days-long party in the town square. It’s Day of the Dead with a carnival atmosphere, typically running from 29 October until 2 November throughout the Huasteca region.

Xilitla is in the foothills of the Sierra Gorda. Photograph: Alamy

Extensive public celebrations in places well-known for Day of the Dead celebrations, such as Pátzcuaro and Oaxaca, are organised primarily to entertain tourists. (Don’t let James Bond fool you: there was never a Day of the Dead parade in Mexico City before 2015’s Spectre film, though the city decided to organize one afterwards.) But at Xantolo, the partying is done by and for the locals.

As we arrived in Xilitla this time last year, we fell into a parade of revellers in wooden masks, depicting elderly people, skulls, animals and demons. We felt underdressed, but there were papier-mâché masks for sale, so we bought a couple and put them on while drinking cans of Sol beer as we watched the spectacle.

A man dressed up as a scantily clad woman cut through the crowd on a dirt bike, popping a wheelie to the delight of dancing children as a truck passed by, full of people dressed as skeletons twerking in the back. The parade led young and old to the town centre where a three-piece band (a violin and two guitar-like instruments, the bassy haupanguera and the higher-pitched jaran) played traditional Huasteca music. The town’s mayor greeted the crowd of more than 1,000: mostly people from surrounding villages and other parts of Mexico. We were invited to join the parade into the town’s cemetery, where bottles of tequila were passed around and no one seemed to mind one bit that we were strangers.

A giant skeleton figure in the town centre. Photograph: Megan Frye ​

The following night, 1 November, was notably more solemn. It was dedicated to the procession of women dressed as Catrina: Mexico’s elegant female skeleton character. We joined a parade at least 100 strong, all in long gowns, flower headdresses and skeletal face paint (we brought ours from Mexico City), each holding a single candle. We moved at a slow pace through the cobbled streets, in silent homage to the dead. The following day is more aligned to the traditional pastime: families gathering in their homes to share stories about deceased loved ones.

Xilitla is one of the largest towns hereabout, but sees mostly Mexican tourists, with just the occasional foreigner. Its hotels and guesthouses include the impeccably clean, colonial Posada el Paraíso (doubles from £19 room-only) with a terrace for catching the sunset or sunrise over the jungle, and about 90 Airbnb options (from £15 a night). Bars and restaurants line the town square; the best is the 18th-century Casa Vieja, serving wine, tequila and gourmet Mexican food (the cecina – cured beef – tacos were phenomenal) with live latin jazz.

Hands of a Giant sculpture at Las Pozas. Photograph: Alamy

Xilitla is known for its coffee farms, its perpetual fog, its verdant hills, and a surrealist garden built by an eccentric Englishman, Edward James. His spirit lives on within the Las Pozas estate, where his strange structures coexist with the jungle. Open all year, it’s well worth a few hours of exploration. The nine pools (pozas) that give the property its name offer the chance for a dip and relief from the sticky heat.

Just steps away from here, and minutes from downtown Xilitla, bohemian Casa Caracol has three-person cabins (£35 a night), private rooms (£28), and beds in dorms and large tipis (£7pp).

Kayaking at the Tamul waterfall. Photograph: Alamy

The region abounds with waterfalls, including the 105-metre Tamul, about two hours’ drive from Xilitla. A small adventure outfit is based there, and booking isn’t necessary except in high summer. We showed up and took a three-hour round trip by kayak, with a stop at a cave that allows in just enough sunlight to quell doubts in swimmers’ minds about anything lurking under the water.

On the way back we stopped at Paco’s Seafood restaurant, along Highway 85, and enjoyed fresh-caught seafood from the nearby Veracruz coast (the grilled huachinango – snapper – was delicious) by the slow-flowing Tanquilín river. We washed the afternoon away with a couple of micheladas, crisp Mexican lager served with spicy tomato juice and lime, in a salt-rimmed mug.

Swift exit: thousands of birds fly out of the Sótano de las Golondrinas. Photograph: Stephen Alvarez/Getty Images/National Geographic RF

Another popular excursion is the Sótano de las Golondrinas, or Basement of the Swallows, near the Querétaro border, which involves neither a basement nor swallows. About an hour and a half from Xilitla, it’s the largest known cave shaft in the world, 512 metres deep. It’s a popular destination for vertical cavers and base jumpers, but the main attraction is the swirling exodus of thousands of swifts and green parakeets at dawn each day, and their return at dusk. Witnessing the spectacle requires a 45-minute hike on well-marked trails through the jungle – remember to bring a torch.

There’s so much to do that’s fun and thrilling here, it’s easy to spend more than a few days in La Huasteca. And if they coincide with Xantolo festivities, all the better.

• Xilitla is about five hours by car or bus from San Luis Potosí, and about seven hours by car and nine by bus from Mexico City. The nearest airport is Ciudad Valles, about a two-hour drive from Xilitla, with flights from Mexico City. Mundo Extreme based in Xilitla, organises kayaking, rappelling and other tours with English-speaking guides from £8pp

Source: http://allofbeer.com/xilitla-mexico-where-day-of-the-dead-meets-carnival/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2019/02/12/xilitla-mexico-where-day-of-the-dead-meets-carnival/

[allofbeercom]

Xilitla, Mexico: where Day of the Dead meets carnival

Forget what youve seen in James Bond films, the best town for this November festival is Xilitla, amid the hills and waterfalls of the eastern Sierra Gorda

‘Where exactly are you taking us?” my friend asked. Stars sparkled over black mountains as we drove along steep, dark roads into the lush Sierra Gorda of eastern Mexico. High in these hills lie the ancestral lands of the Huastec people, with villages, coffee farms, rugged slopes and powerful waterfalls. Centuries-old traditions flourish here, and we had come to experience one in particular.

In the colonial town of Xilitla, in San Luís Potosí state, where clouds swaddle mountain tops and citrus trees abound, each October the locals prepare the town’s whitewashed square for Xantolo (pronounced shantolow), the local version of Day of the Dead.

xilitla map

Xantolo has all the aspects of classic Mexican Día de Muertos celebrations: marigolds, sugar skulls, elaborate altars and skeleton decorations. But, while Day of the Dead is mainly celebrated within families on 1 and 2 November, with visits to cemeteries to clean graves and leave gifts of food and flowers, Xantolo is a rowdy, days-long party in the town square. It’s Day of the Dead with a carnival atmosphere, typically running from 29 October until 2 November throughout the Huasteca region.

Xilitla is in the foothills of the Sierra Gorda. Photograph: Alamy

Extensive public celebrations in places well-known for Day of the Dead celebrations, such as Pátzcuaro and Oaxaca, are organised primarily to entertain tourists. (Don’t let James Bond fool you: there was never a Day of the Dead parade in Mexico City before 2015’s Spectre film, though the city decided to organize one afterwards.) But at Xantolo, the partying is done by and for the locals.

As we arrived in Xilitla this time last year, we fell into a parade of revellers in wooden masks, depicting elderly people, skulls, animals and demons. We felt underdressed, but there were papier-mâché masks for sale, so we bought a couple and put them on while drinking cans of Sol beer as we watched the spectacle.

A man dressed up as a scantily clad woman cut through the crowd on a dirt bike, popping a wheelie to the delight of dancing children as a truck passed by, full of people dressed as skeletons twerking in the back. The parade led young and old to the town centre where a three-piece band (a violin and two guitar-like instruments, the bassy haupanguera and the higher-pitched jaran) played traditional Huasteca music. The town’s mayor greeted the crowd of more than 1,000: mostly people from surrounding villages and other parts of Mexico. We were invited to join the parade into the town’s cemetery, where bottles of tequila were passed around and no one seemed to mind one bit that we were strangers.

A giant skeleton figure in the town centre. Photograph: Megan Frye ​

The following night, 1 November, was notably more solemn. It was dedicated to the procession of women dressed as Catrina: Mexico’s elegant female skeleton character. We joined a parade at least 100 strong, all in long gowns, flower headdresses and skeletal face paint (we brought ours from Mexico City), each holding a single candle. We moved at a slow pace through the cobbled streets, in silent homage to the dead. The following day is more aligned to the traditional pastime: families gathering in their homes to share stories about deceased loved ones.

Xilitla is one of the largest towns hereabout, but sees mostly Mexican tourists, with just the occasional foreigner. Its hotels and guesthouses include the impeccably clean, colonial Posada el Paraíso (doubles from £19 room-only) with a terrace for catching the sunset or sunrise over the jungle, and about 90 Airbnb options (from £15 a night). Bars and restaurants line the town square; the best is the 18th-century Casa Vieja, serving wine, tequila and gourmet Mexican food (the cecina – cured beef – tacos were phenomenal) with live latin jazz.

Hands of a Giant sculpture at Las Pozas. Photograph: Alamy

Xilitla is known for its coffee farms, its perpetual fog, its verdant hills, and a surrealist garden built by an eccentric Englishman, Edward James. His spirit lives on within the Las Pozas estate, where his strange structures coexist with the jungle. Open all year, it’s well worth a few hours of exploration. The nine pools (pozas) that give the property its name offer the chance for a dip and relief from the sticky heat.

Just steps away from here, and minutes from downtown Xilitla, bohemian Casa Caracol has three-person cabins (£35 a night), private rooms (£28), and beds in dorms and large tipis (£7pp).

Kayaking at the Tamul waterfall. Photograph: Alamy

The region abounds with waterfalls, including the 105-metre Tamul, about two hours’ drive from Xilitla. A small adventure outfit is based there, and booking isn’t necessary except in high summer. We showed up and took a three-hour round trip by kayak, with a stop at a cave that allows in just enough sunlight to quell doubts in swimmers’ minds about anything lurking under the water.

On the way back we stopped at Paco’s Seafood restaurant, along Highway 85, and enjoyed fresh-caught seafood from the nearby Veracruz coast (the grilled huachinango – snapper – was delicious) by the slow-flowing Tanquilín river. We washed the afternoon away with a couple of micheladas, crisp Mexican lager served with spicy tomato juice and lime, in a salt-rimmed mug.

Swift exit: thousands of birds fly out of the Sótano de las Golondrinas. Photograph: Stephen Alvarez/Getty Images/National Geographic RF

Another popular excursion is the Sótano de las Golondrinas, or Basement of the Swallows, near the Querétaro border, which involves neither a basement nor swallows. About an hour and a half from Xilitla, it’s the largest known cave shaft in the world, 512 metres deep. It’s a popular destination for vertical cavers and base jumpers, but the main attraction is the swirling exodus of thousands of swifts and green parakeets at dawn each day, and their return at dusk. Witnessing the spectacle requires a 45-minute hike on well-marked trails through the jungle – remember to bring a torch.

There’s so much to do that’s fun and thrilling here, it’s easy to spend more than a few days in La Huasteca. And if they coincide with Xantolo festivities, all the better.

• Xilitla is about five hours by car or bus from San Luis Potosí, and about seven hours by car and nine by bus from Mexico City. The nearest airport is Ciudad Valles, about a two-hour drive from Xilitla, with flights from Mexico City. Mundo Extreme based in Xilitla, organises kayaking, rappelling and other tours with English-speaking guides from £8pp

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/xilitla-mexico-where-day-of-the-dead-meets-carnival/

[gvitarrista-blog]

                                              JUKEBOX HERO 

                                                  ( a manolo sánchez playlist )

“ if music be the food of love, PLAY on. ”

                                                                                     ---- WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

----- SIDE A

mi credo k-paz de la sierra* i’m on fire bruce springsteen. young blood the naked & famous. lethargy bastille. línea de luz kinki. girls talk boys 5 seconds of summer. friday i’m love the cure. espacio sideral jesse & joy. breezeblocks alt-j. young volcanoes fall out boy. read my mind the killers. do or die 30 seconds to mars. creep radiohead. sympathy for the devil the rolling stones. the kids aren’t alright fall out boy. home edward sharpe & the magnetic zeros.

----- SIDE B

under pressure queen ft. david bowie » ( pressure pushing down on me / pressing down on you no man ask for / under pressure that brings a building down / splits a family in two )

the lyrics right away describe manolo’s situation: born into a middle class family, the sánchez were well-known because of their bullfighting skills. the last name wighed heavy on manolo’s back and thoughts, and it was only a matter of time before the through was let out and disappointment reigned in the streets of san ángel. the young man was no bullfighter -- no, he was no sánchez, according to his father. ever since that dreadful day, he’s lost contact with his family, choosing to be on his own.

viva la vida coldplay. » ( i used to rule the world / seas would rise when i gave the word / now in the morning i sleep alone / sweep the streets i used to own // one minute i held the key / next the walls were closed on me )

here’s how the story goes: madly-in-love couple bring a baby into the world. the mother’s unfortunate demise comes when the boy is seven years old. he is raised to do what his father’s always wanted, and what all the men in the family have become. the boy refuses, ending up becoming disgraced. there was a brief moment where manolo sánchez became san ángel’s golden boy. there was no one else the people wished to see. ‘the best matador’, they’d call him. the signs with pictures of him garnished the old neighborhood’s walls. his name was chanted by children and adults alike. in less than ten minutes, it all went to the sewage. god helped him shall he wished to put a foot back in méxico. all he owned was either lost or left behind in an attempt to start over and redeem himself. 

wrote my way out lin manuel miranda, aloe blacc, dave east and nas » ( i wrote my way out / when the world turned its back on me / i was up against the wall / i had no foundation / no friends and no family to catch my fall )

what manolo aims to do. truly, there isn’t much he’s got to worry about for now. disgraced, aimless -- all the man wants is to fix the messy state he left things back home in.

i’m still standing elton john » ( and did you think this fool could never win / well, look at me, I'm a-coming back again )

a song with encouraging lyrics and an upbeat melody make up a great combination. music being his second biggest crush, songs with such optimistic lyrics, in a way, keep him going. he just hopes he can have an successful enough of a comeback. 

believer american authors » (i’m just a believer that things will get better / some can take it or leave it / but I don't wanna let it go)

damned be his optimist. truly, there’s still a hint of hopeful youth inside the man, one that keeps his spirit from faltering even in the thoughest cases. inside, he does believe changing his father’s mindset is achievable, and that redemption is just within his reach. things always look up, and the youngest of the sánchez men is one to know. 

breathe mandy gonzález  » ( this is my street / i smile at the faces i’ve known all my life / hey regard me with pride / and everyone’s sweet / they say you’re going places // as the radio plays old forgotten boleros / i think of the days when the city was mine / i remember the praise ‘ay the adoro, the quiero’ // what will my parents say? / can i go in there and say / ‘i know that i’m letting you down / just breathe )

one minute, it seemed like manolo sánchez was too great of a man for san ángel. had he decided to become a matador like the rest of his family, not only the city, but surely the world as well, would’ve certainly been his. ‘he has the gift’, his dad has said. however, this was wrong. senseless suffering and killing had no place in manolo’s mind, ultimately going against his dad’s expectations and desires. san ángel turned its back on manolo sánchez. however, the man is a believer in the saying ‘after the storm, comes the rainbow’. it can’t get any worse now, can it? 

warmth bastille » ( hold me in this wild, wild world / ‘cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be / and in your heat I feel how cold it can get )

your song elton john » ( i hope you don’t mind / that i put down in words / how wonderful life is while you’re in the world )

para maría. she’s different. she’s brilliant, and funny, and kind and brave. her eyes, her smile. that little boy fell hard, and he has yet to stop falling. he finds it hard to believe he’s lucky enough to be around her.

house of gold twenty one pilots » ( she asked me son when i grow old / will you buy me a hous eof gold / and when your father turns to stone / will you take care of me ? )

para mamá. for mom.

luck american authors » ( how can we make amends when we said all we said ? / i call and you don't pick up //  i'm sorry, father / i know I let you down / i'm sorry for how I up and left this town / please just listen 'cause I don't ask for much / i am my own man, I make my own luck )

para papá. for dad.

wake me up avicii » ( hey tell me I'm too young to understand / they say I'm caught up in a dream / well life will pass me by if I don't open up my eyes / well that's fine by me )

not only by his father, but also by general posada, manolo constantly felt patronized back at home. was it because he’d refused to take a creature’s life ? was it because he didn’t have brute force like his friend ? was it because his interest in playing an instrument ? whatever the reason was, manolo never had a good relationship with the people back in the city, and he’s not been able to shake off that feeling that they believe he’s still a child. still, he refuses to listen to them. one day, they’ll see. 

wait for it usher » ( love don't discriminate / between the sinners and the saints / it takes and it takes and it takes / and we keep lovin' anyway //   i am the one thing in life I can control /  i am inimitable, I am original //  everyone faces an endless uphill climb / you got something to prove, you got nothing to lose / everyone’s pace is relentless, you waste no time, time  )

firstly, maría. cursed be the young man, he who posses such tender yet passionate heart. it was at a young age that the bright-eyed boy fell for the brunette, and he’s been trying not to drown in the rough waters of love ever since. secondly, the lyrics hit a spot within him, as if they were an encouragement for him to continue pursuing his passion. finally, the lyrics fit like a white glove. the young man hit rock bottom after having disappointed his family. the ai became the only choice, and a good one, if one may add. however, the man is now determined to go back as a victor, hoping to open his father’s eyes & earn his respect once more.

[gravity-hasfallen]

So one of my best friends just made me watch The Book of Life. I’m saying this right now. Stop what you’re doing. Go watch this movie. Not only is it completely fucking adorable, but one of my favourite parts is that it didn’t really have a consistent villain. All the characters who are shown to have a negative impact on the story aren’t really 100% bad guys. They are the results of their upbringing, of their environment, their experiences, their good intentions. The one exception to this, as far as I can tell at this time of night thinking about it, is Chakal, who is shown to be an asshole character but he was brought in at the end of the film to bring everyone together. 

Joaquin has spent his whole life being told that he is a hero and that everyone wants him around, why would they not. So his assumption that Maria would want to be with him is just a carry over from what everyone else has ever shown/told him. He gives her a picture of himself because that has always made other people happy, surely it would make her happy too. 

Xibalba has spent the last who knows how long rotting in the land of the forgotten, a miserable, frozen wasteland. He just wanted out. He truly loved La Muerte, and to be completely honest, to him, humans are just, well, humans. They’re going to die eventually, going to the land of the remembered, and then one day to his wasteland to fade away. If he can toy with one or two of them to get him out of his wasteland then why the heck not? 

General Posada wanted to protect his town and his daughter. He was desperate for Joaquin to stay and provide this more permanent protection, even if it meant being a bit of a dick and trying to push his daughter into a marriage that she was clearly not too sure about. Even though he was an absolute ass for pushing it when he did, with the death of her friend very fresh in her mind (which even Joaquin could see was a dick move and tried to protest a little) he was trying to protect that which was most precious to him. 

Carlos Sanchez wanted the best life for his son and the preservation of a long line of family tradition. Yes, he was also pushy and a lot harsher than he needed to be, but like Maria’s father, was at least in part trying to look out for his son. 

The people who were initially presented as potential villains and caused a lot of the issues in the film weren’t bad characters or people. They were a product of their lives and experiences, and didn’t set out to be bad people. Ok, I guess Xibalba kinda always knew he would cheat if it came down to it, but look where he’s been stuck for hundreds of years, can you really blame him for just wanting to get out? When it came down to it, he wasn’t a bad guy. None of them were. 

Except Chakal. Chakal was always an asshole. 

[hauteseeker]

Seven days in the Southwest solo. How can I describe my experience?

Unexpected. Exhilarating. Fulfilling.

There is so much to cover, so I am breaking down my time spent between the two different states and ten various cities that I visited in two parts.

Let me first start off the introduction to New Mexico by saying this; God made this area. You can see it in the landscape. It’s hard to be in this part of the country and not fathom that a higher power created such a beautiful scenery. My three-day stay in Santa Fe also consisted of travel through the cities of Albuquerque, Madrid, Cuerellos, Abiquqi, and Ojo. During my stay in New Mexico, I was able to experience various parts of this unique ecosystem along with art, people, and individual towns that are indeed one of a kind.

Day One: Albuquerque

The official day of my road trip started on Wednesday, October 10th. I took a late flight out the Tuesday before with the goal of arriving at a decent hour to my Airbnb in Albuquerque. That was not the case. I got about 4 hours sleep at the Airbnb( which was a waste of money) and quickly had to make my way to the festival grounds in time enough to catch a balloon ride.

Let’s backtrack just a little. I went to Albuquerque to attend the International Balloon Fiesta. I stumbled across the festival a couple of years ago and thought it looked amazing and knew I some point in my life I just had to go. It is recommended to get to the fairgrounds early. I didn’t realize I how soon until I hit the entrance. Boom. Traffic. I knew I was not going to let the lack of a ride ruin my trip when my goal was just to be apart of the unique experience anyways.

Waking up at the crack of down to see beautiful balloons rise to the skies was fantastic. During my time there I met some wonderful characters who had a long-standing history with the fiesta. One older woman shared some incredible insight with me. “What other sport in the world can you find that an any and everyone can participate in,” she said. It was true! Men, women, young, old, were walking the festival grounds, refereeing the balloons, and even navigating them that day.

Even though I did not make it into a hot air balloon, just being there was totally worth it. My biggest advice when attending this event is for sure to dress in layers. It is a bit cold that early in the morning in the area. You should also stay a couple of days for the festival if they can, at least one additional day to attend evening events, as well as explore other parts of Albuquerque.

After the balloon fiesta, I had plenty of time to kill before my Airbnb stay in Santa Fe, so I decided to drive the scenic route of Old Route 66 and the Turquoise Trail. The trail is a 50-mile drive along Highway 14 that encompasses small mining towns, authentic restaurants, and eccentric art communities. My first stop was in the city of Madrid. An older artsy community full of land art, small boutiques, and of course, turquoise jewelry. When visiting this town, be sure to stop at some of my favorite little shops:

Shugarman Little Chocolate Shop

Connie’s Photo Park

Ghost Town Trading Post

Jezebel Glass Studio and Sculpture Garden & Soda Fountain

Collaboration

Crystal Dragon

Next, I stopped at the tiny, almost ghost town of Cerrillos. Stop by the Casa Grande Trading Post Museum and Petting Zoo for low-priced raw turquoise and other jewels and gems, One of the last stops where you can find the unique gems for a really good deal before entering Santa Fe. Before departing the town of Cerrillos, I made my way to a saloon and bar with a modern take called Black Bird, a very modern restaurant compared to the others I had seen along the trail. I met the owner and indulged in a delicious Angus burger called the ‘Black Jack Ketchum’, topped with a gun-powder rub, gouda cheese, onion, cilantro, bandit sauce which was some smokey flavor that reminded me of almost a sloppy joe type of taste all served on a kaiser roll. The perfect meal to keep me moving on my way to Santa Fe.

The ride through the Turquoise trail was amazing. I was I had one of those Google cars so I could have had a video of the area around me. It was amazing! So much land art, random bits of it everywhere. If you have time, be sure to stop by the After a long day one, I decided to grab some fast-food grub and chill out the rest of the evening at my cozy Airbnb residence.

Day 2: Ojo and Santa Fe

Day two of my trip kicked off pretty early. I had a spa appointment North of Santa Fe. Before hitting the road I Yelped a spot to grab a quick breakfast burrito. I learned, unlike maybe Chicago’s brunch only burritos, that the compact version in New Mexico is an everyday “thing” there. I stopped at El Chile Toreado and grabbed a breakfast burrito full of mixed meats(polish sausage, chorizo, and bacon) along with potatoes, cheese, and peppers. It was simple and fantastic.

About an hour outside of Santa Fe is Ojo Caliente and it’s well known natural hot springs. The springs at Ojo Caliente feature the only hot springs in the world with four different types of mineral water. The spa waters range between 80 – 109 degrees and are sulfur free. Before diving into the enchanted waters, I first indulged in a lovely spa service. My services included a included a 50-minute Essence of Ojo Custom Massage, a Native American Blue Corn and Prickly Pear Salt Scrub, and reflexology foot therapy all performed by Chris, my therapist for the day. After my fantastic treatment, I made my way to the hot springs and spent the remainder of the afternoon soaking and savoring the majestic surrondings.

Before making my way into the city of Santa Fe, I took a brief detour to the Santa Fe Opera House. Unfortunately, it wasn’t open, but I managed to find a way in and peruse the grounds. The space is absolutely beautiful, I can only imagine what it would be like to attend a play or show here. Also, the views from the opera house on the lustrous hilltop neighborhood are awesome to take in as well.

I made my way back into to town to grab a quick nap and conduct my next moves for the evening. In New Mexico, the traditional and notorious eats contain chile peppers. They are literally everywhere you go. For dinner, I made my way to La Choza, a favorite among locals for its traditional New Mexican cuisine. For dinner at this colorful and casual eatery, I chose the combination plate, which contained a blue corn burrito, carne adovada, and chile relleno, served “Christmas style”( red and green chile). It came with side pinto beans, posole( hominy never had it, but it was great), lettuce and tomato with a side of Sopilla, a puffed bread that essential soaks up the heavy chile sauce. It can also be enjoyed plain or with honey as well. The summary of this dish was heavy and very, very spicy. If you don’t like spicey, get the chile sauce on the side.

During dinner and over a separate drink at a hotel, I had the pleasure of meeting two very interesting fellow travelers. One was a teacher from Indianapolis who used to live in the Chicago area, the other, a producer from L.A in town working on a film, who I met at the trendy LA Posada Hotel during a nightcap. It’s amazing the type of people you can meet over food and drinks when traveling solo. During our conversations, we talked family, creative careers, and of course, Chicago. A great way to conclude my second day in Santa Fe.

  Day 3: Santa Fe

My third day in New Mexico was spent seeking out the art scene in Santa Fe. The first stop was a tour of Museum Hill, a combination of five different museums. I made my way to three, International Folk Art, Museum of Indian Art and Culture, and The Wheelwright Museum of American Indian. Each offered its own unique aspect of history and relevance to the New Mexico area. My favorite out of all three had to be the International Folk Art Museum. It was definitely the most culturally mesmerizing and relatable space that I have ever been too! The museum featured everything from a special exhibition on Tramp Art to global Folk Art in all of its various forms.

After hopping to various museums, I made my way back into the center of town to check out some the iconic Canyon Road and its many galleries along with The Plaza. Canyon Road has 40+ galleries that feature both local and global artists. My favorite was the contemporary ones that featured distinctive and conversational pieces. Some of my favorites that are worth checking out are:

Intrigue Gallery

Corazon

Rockaway Opals 

Santa Kilm

Turner Carroll Gallery

Jim McLain

Mark White Fine Art

McCall Fine Art 

Canyon Road Contemporary 

Pippin Contemporary

Dark Bird Place

Poetic Threads

Robert Nichols Gallery

While along the Plaza, be sure to not only to check out the higher end shops for inspiration but definitely barter for handmade goods with local merchants who hang out outside of the shops at as well. Get a little dose of architecture by checking out the historical churches, Loretto Chapel( climb the staircase if you can I did not have a chance to) and the Cathedral Bascialla of St. Francis Assisi.

  I needed to refuel before making my way to Meow Wolf, so I had dinner in the neighborhood at a spot called tune-up cafe, recommended by my Airbnb host. Tune-up Cafe is a modern take on New Mexican style food. While there, I dined al fresco and watched the sunset on a truly beautiful day and took in my surroundings. The restaurant was full of young families and couples that were composed of a more hipster-ish crowd.

For dinner, I decided to try out their version of Chile Relleno. I had read the reviews beforehand and noticed and just had to try the El Salvadoran Pupusa as an appetizer. I went for the steak flank as a filler.This was my first time having the pupusa and it was fantastic. Light and flakey in taste with killer filling. The steak was well seasoned and contained just enough spice. My main dish of chile relleno was also very good. It was hearty but not too heavy. Very well seasoned and just enough to keep me full as I made my way to my next destination.

Meow Wolf was a completely unexpected experience. It is something that a person has to try out for themselves to get the full experience. It’s one of that artistic endeavors that is made for any and everyone to understand and participate in. No need for Master level analysis, its really about immersing yourself into the art itself. Be sure to check the events calendar for Meow Wolf, as they constantly have some form of live entertainment happening weekly.  While I was there, I had the chance to vibe out with the locals and enjoy some West Coast Hip-Hop artists from around the area, such as Zion I, Wakeself, DJ Element, and Def-i, whose lyrics touched on everything from love and unity to racial injustice and Indigenous oppression.

It was by far my favorite part of the trip and a great way to end my last night in Santa Fe.

Many people questioned me about my trip to New Mexico. “Who goes there?” ” There won’t be any black people there” What’s there?” “You are going along.” All of these questions came to mind as well for me, as well as “who cares?” The whole point of traveling is to experience places you never knew existed. It was an escape from my current reality. It was a look into someone else’s reality. It was a taste of a reality that includes happiness and fulfillment, something that I am still seeking.

Getting to that point of living my best life takes some self-evaluation. During part one of my Southwest trip, I addressed some of the things I have lost sight of. One was realizing how important my independent is and how is. I’ve become attached to certain people I’ve met since living and Chicago and that attachment has made me very comfortable. Being comfortable has made me complacent, a little lazy, and stuck. No more of that. This trip also made me recognize how much I love planning and researching, and if I can do this for myself, I can do it in a career. It affirmed how easily it is for me to strike conversations with people and throw bashfulness to the wind. It reminded me that I cannot depend on other people to bring me happiness or fulfillment.

It reminded me that I have to continue on to my next journey, and not get distracted by dumb stuff. No matter how attractive it looks from a distance, I have to make it to my next stop.

  Albuquerque to Phoenix: Seven Days Seeking the Southwest Pt.1 Seven days in the Southwest solo. How can I describe my experience? Unexpected. Exhilarating. Fulfilling. There is so much to cover, so I am breaking down my time spent between the two different states and ten various cities that I visited in two parts.

[ericpoptone]

In June 2016 I went to Tulum and Mexico City. Although I’d by then lived in neighboring California for 17 years, my prior experiences  in California had been limited to Baja California — namely Cabo San Lucas, Ensenada, Mexicali, Rosarito, San Felipe, and Tijuana. While I certainly didn’t expect the Yucatán or capital to closely resemble the border and resort towns of Baja California, nothing prepared me for just how different they turned out to be.

TULUM

The first stop was Tulum. Every year Una and I travel for our June birthdays. Where we go involves some negotiation. She prefers rest and relaxation whereas I quickly lose my mind if I relax for too long. That said, I believe that it was me that suggested Tulum. Several of my friends had gone their and found it sufficiently relaxing while at the same time I hoped the ancient ruins of a Maya city would temporarily satisfy my taste for urban life.

Tulu’um is the Yucatec name for the ancient walled city located on the coastal cliffs of the Yucatán Peninsula. It was one of the last cities founded and inhabited by the people retroactively named the Maya and reached its zenith between the 13th and 15th centuries. Well-preserved and scenic, it has long been popular with tourists drawn to the area.

I have long been interested in ancient urban Native Americans like the Chachapoyas, Chico, Chimú, Inca, Olmecs, Mexica, Mississippians, Puebloans, and Maya. The Maya famously established several cities and towns, including Chichen Itza, Coba, Copán, Calakmul, Caracol, Cival, El Pilar, Mixco Viejo, Motul de San José, Quiriguá, Q’umarkaj, Río Azul, Santa Rita Corozal, Sayil, Seibal, Tikal, and many others — which I’ve attempted to include on the map above.

I believe that my introduction to the Maya came when I was about eight years old. My older sister had a copy of the Choose Your Own Adventure book, Mystery of the Maya, which repeated the oft-told tale of a once mighty, urban culture which apparently vanished after the collapse of its empire.  I remember an adult suggesting the possibility that extraterrestrials had shown the ancient Mesoamericans and North Africans how to build pyramids but my mother pretty quickly and logically dismantled that silly notion. When I made myself a tunic with an old sheet and fabric crayons, it was adorned with Mayan temples (and other motifs).

It was quite a bit later that I discovered that the reality of the Maya was more complicated than I’d been led to believe by either interactive children’s books or pseudoscientific loons.  Although the Maya peoples had abandoned their cities in antiquity, the Maya people never vanished. In fact, there are some seven million Maya people, mostly living in Belize, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, and Mexico. Several dozen Maya languages are still spoken by an estimated six million Maya. Furthermore, the “Maya Empire” was never really an empire, so to speak, it was more properly a culture or civilization comprised of fluctuating political alliances between various states and chiefdoms. Even if I could, it’s more than I want to thoroughly explain here although I will point English speakers to the excellent historical podcast, In Our Time, which broadcast with perfect timing a program titled “The Maya Civilization“ as I was relaxing in the Riviera Maya.

Tulum seems to have really only emerged as a massively popular tourist destination in the past decade or so. Nearly everyone that I know that’s visited, anyway, has only done so in the current decade. Mexicans, on the other hand, seem to have been aware of its charms for quite a while, though, and our friend Roger told me that as a child his family used to vacation their regularly in the 1980s. He also expressed doubt, based on our conversations and my photos, that whether he’d even recognize the modern Tulum — an oasis of yoga studios, rich hippies, and fine dining — as being the same place as the largely undeveloped coast dotted few cabanas of his memory. Substantial development of the “zona hotelera” really began in the early 1990s. Still, although I’ve never been to any of the massive, self-contained luxury resorts of nearby Cancún, Tulum’s tourist path seems happily to be heading in a different direction. Although nothing in Tulum really qualifies as “roughing it,” I doubt that many of the tourists who choose Cancún would soon trade their swimming pools and upscale, air-conditioned hotel rooms for occasionally leaky thatched huts frequently shared with insects, spiders, and lizards.

The actual town of Tulum is located inland a bit from the tourist area, separated by the dense jungles of the Parque Nacional Tulum. To the south is the even more vast Sian Ka’an — a biosphere reserve and UNESCO World Heritage Site. I’m not sure how many tourists make it into town except, perhaps, when arriving or leaving. Aside from a breakfast and a bit of time spent in a market and bus terminal, I didn’t see much of the pueblo. However, from the presence of internet cafes, bicycle rentals, boutiques, gyms, and tour operators, it would seem likely that at least some visitors find themselves spending more time there than we did.

The breakfast we had in the town of Tulum was at La Coqueta, where we devoured a heap of chilaquiles. It seemed excellent… and may’ve been. Then again, as exhausted and famished as we we were, a meal at Home Town Buffet might’ve just as easily felt like a life-changing event. Whatever the case, after finishing we took a cab to Coco Tulum, dropped off our luggage, and then collapsed on the beach for an indeterminate amount of time, albeit one sufficient for me to acquire a sunburn even in full shade.

Cabañas Playa Condesa

La Coqueta probably really was good, I should point out, simply because almost everything we ate in Tulum was delicious — even when I was fully rested and only half hungry. During our stay I remember enjoying meals at Cabañas Playa Condesa, Juanita Diavola, La Creperia, Tunich, and Posada Margherita. My favorite meals, though, were at Hartwood, Mur Mur, and Restaurare.

Riding to Tulum

Ancient town of Tulum

To the north of town, along the coast, are the ruins of ancient Tulum, formerly a major port and obsidian trading center and once home to an estimated 2,000 or so people. The ruins are strikingly situated atop twelve meter tall sea cliffs and afford a breathtaking view of the Caribbean. The word “tulum” is Yucatec for fence, trench, and wall — and apparently refers to the city’s peripheral barrier. It’s also possible that the inhabitants actually referred to it as Zama, meaning “city of dawn.” Though faded and cracked, still vibrant murals decorate many of the structures, often depicting a god believed by many to be Ah-Muzen-Cab, who was associated with bees and honey.

CENOTES

The most striking natural feature of Tulum and the Yucatan is its network of sinkholes, usually referred to even in English by their Spanish name — cenotes. I grew up in Missouri, which you may or may not know is “the Cave State.” Missouri is also home to 15,981 documented sinkholes, the largest of which was located in the county of my upbringing, Boone. I remember sinkholes only as objects to be feared. Tales were told of them swallowing livestock, houses, pets, people, and golf courses. Even though I worked at a scuba shop for nearly half my Missouri childhood, I never ventured into one until visiting Tulum. Maybe its like the case the Patagonian toothfish, an ugly animal rebranded “Chilean Seabass” to make it desirable for fish eaters. Cenote, derived from Yucatec “ts’onot,” is a more pleasant sounding word than sinkhole.

When planning to visit the cenotes, I came across many online tales written by tourists who bragged of circumnavigating the local guides in the name of saving a few pesos. My advice is to not be one of these terrible people who deprives locals a chance to make an honest living, and additionally deprives the visitor the opportunity to learn anything of the local lore. We used a service called Adventure Tour Center. Our guide, David, was an amiable guy who taught us a few Maya words, including “kis,” which means “fart.” It amused David that someone might confuse “kis” with “beso.” Not that this was the sort of local lore of which I wrote — but I thought it was worth mentioning.

Expectation vs. Reality (Photo: Una)

Our first stop was Playa del Carmen, where we picked up another guide took us snorkeling in Akumal Bay amongst (albeit maintaining a respectable distance) some green sea turtles, various species of fish, and a couple of Caribbean reef squid. It was Una’s first time snorkeling, which in retrospect, was probably something we should’ve practiced in a swimming pool or somewhere other than the open water. The filming and photography she attempted mostly yielded blurry photos and shaky footage. Had we used an action camera instead of a phone, some of the footage still might’ve been interesting. You live and learn, hopefully.

The Bay Cave (Photo: Una)

David then took us to Sistema Dos Ojos, a vast underground network of flooded caves which explorers only began charting in 1987. We snorkled in the two adjacent cenotes, the titular Dos Ojos, as well as into the Bat Cave, so named for obvious reasons. Although signs clearly stated that snorkelers must use a guide to enter, there were tourists there without them who were told to leave. Yet another reason to pay a few extra pesos for a guide.

The water in the caves was very clear albeit quite bluish, an effect resulting from the rainwater which fills them passing through limestone. Their were also occasional low rumbles, possibly the echoes of thunder, although David jokingly warned that it was the rain god, Chaac, and that our presence had angered him. Although they shouldn’t be viewed as substitutes for the actual experience of swimming in the cenotes, there are at least two documentaries, Journey Into Amazing Caves (2002) and Planet Earth (2006), which provide glimpses into these scenic cenotes.

Our final cenote was a smaller, community-maintained one named Cenote Nicte-Ha. As we drove toward it along the jungle road, we saw a coati dart across our path. David described the animal’s flavor, and that of several birds which he pointed out. I kept to myself the fact that I don’t eat animals. Arriving at the cenote, David pointed to a small yellower bird and described a method of preparing it before we took in the site of a colorful pool enjoyed by a handful of locals and tourists. Although I was eager to head to Mexico City for the second half of our vacation, I had completely fallen for the charms of the Yucatan and David suggested other locales to visit in the future.

MEXICO CITY

After five days on the Yucatan, I was ready for Mexico City, the largest city in North America. Home to roughly 20,893,000, only São Paulo has a larger metropolitan population in the Americas. Upon exiting Aeropuerto Internacional Benito Juárez we entered a taxi and were thrust into the hustle and bustle as our driver aggressively squired us to our temporary digs in the Roma Norte neighborhood.

My earliest associations with Mexico City were probably formed in the 1980s, when a deadly earthquake thrust it into the spotlight. What the world and I saw was a huge metropolis whose population had swelled with the arrival of Mexicans from the countryside who came in search of industrial jobs. It was also a city apparently plagued with corruption, crime, and pollution. I’m assuming that many my age formed — and in many cases stubbornly held onto — similar associations, even if 31 years have rendered them less unrecognizable and increasingly inaccurate.

Many American friends (none, though, who’d actually been to Mexico City) expressed concern about safety in Mexico City, with some telling me categorically that under absolutely no circumstances would they ever visit any part of Mexico. Data reveals, however, that Mexico City has a lower violent crime rate than the American cities Albuquerque, New Orleans, St. Louis, and Oakland — all cities which I’ve visited and escaped with nothing worse than a sunburn or headache. Research also showed that only one US state is home to two of the top ten most murderous cities — my home state of Missouri — and never have I heard an American express concerns about the safety of being there. The gulf between Americans’ fears of Mexico and the reality of violence in the US was tragically underscored by the murder of 49 club-goers in Florida, news of which I became aware whilst having my breakfast in Mexico’s capital.

Of the 26 million Americans who annually visit Mexico, few make their way to its most vibrant city. About twelve million tourists visit Mexico City annually — and about half of them come from other parts of Mexico. In five days in the capital I only met two Americans — a couple of young women from Chicago with whom we shared a ride-hail one night. We struck up a conversation and they revealed that they’d both recently graduated from college and were enjoying an adventure before the business of getting jobs. We compared our itineraries and discovered considerable overlap. Even so, I was surprised to bump into them again a couple of days later, at the Mercado de Artesanías La Ciudadela.

Aside from the two Americans, ourselves, and a few people in a hotel, I heard almost no languages other than Spanish spoken, albeit in various dialects. There are substantial numbers of Argentinians, Chileans, Colombians, Cubans, Guatemalans, Hondurans, Salvadorans, Spanish, Uruguayans, and Venezuelans who live in Mexico City. Living in Los Angeles, my Spanish skills are indefensibly mediocre, albeit apparently better than most Defeños’ English skills. In other words, whilst you can charade your way through most situations, being able to speak the local language is helpful. 

There are also many Defeños not from Spanish speaking countries. Substantial numbers of Americans, Brazilians, Canadians, Chinese, Egyptians, Filipinos, Germans, Haitians, Koreans, Lebanese, Romanians, Swiss, and Syrians also live there — although most presumably speak Spanish or have children who do. As far as I could tell, there are really only two proper ethnic enclaves in Mexico City, Barrio Chino and Pequeño Seul.

Barrio Chino

Barrio Chino appears on many maps and in tour books, but is little quite small, limited primarily to two blocks of Dolores Street, in part because most Chinese were driven out of the area in the 1930s. Chinese immigrants began arriving in Mexico in the 1880s, primarily to work on the railroads. Many moved from northern states to the capital in 1910, when the Mexican Revolution began, fleeing warfare and nativist violence, such as the massacre of 303 Chinese at Torreón in 1913. In recent years, Barrio Chino has also been promoted as a tourist destination and symbol of increased Mexican-Chinese relations, and as such is the site of the annual Lunar New Years Festival, and it remains the symbolic center of the Chinese-Mexican community.

Strangely, Pequeño Seul appears on no maps that I’ve seen (so I made my own map) but although less promoted seems like the more vibrant and distinct of the Mexico City’s two ethnic enclaves. The first Koreans immigrated to Mexico in 1905, not long after the Chinese, and originally favoring the Yucatán where most worked on Henequen plantations. The original immigrants were mostly migrant workers. Since the 1990s, most Koreans have chosen Mexico City, specifically the western half of Zona Rosa. Today it’s home to a fairly vibrant Korean community, with markets, restaurants, social services, and the like. Unlike Barrio Chino, however, with its paper lanterns and paifang, there are few obvious indications of Pequeño Seul’s existence beyond the presence of Korean-Mexicans themselves and the businesses they run.

It’s worth remembering that Mexico was not founded as a Spanish city, though, it was founded by the indigenous Mexica. Today, roughly 19% of Mexiqueños speak an indigenous language such as Nahuatl, Otomi, Mixtec, Zapotec, or Mazahua. The Spanish Empire’s Ciudad de México was built atop a pre-existing metropolis, Mexico-Tenochtitlan, founded on an island in Lake Texcoco in 1325.  It became the capital of the Mexica’s Ēxcān Tlahtōlōyān (meaning “Triple Alliance”) although it is referred to by most non-Mexica as the Aztec Empire. It remained the Mexica’s capital until 1521, when it was conquered by Spain. Atop the Mexica’s main temple, Huēyi Teōcalli, the Spanish built the largest cathedral in the Americas, the Catedral Metropolitana de la Asunción de la Santísima Virgen María a los cielos, beginning in 1573. Today you can visit both the beautiful cathedral and spy through glass on the ground, parts of the temple whose stones were used to build the conqueror’s house of worship.

According to Native accounts, the semi-nomadic Mexica had arrived in Lake Texcoco as they fled the forces of the king of Colhuacan. According to their own legends, the Mexica were being pursued because they’d flayed the king of Colhuacan’s daughter — but only because they were ordered to do so by their god, Huitzilopochtli. The same god also gave them a sign, of an eagle atop a nopal, which is why they chose to found their city there. The symbol now, of course, is familiar as the basis of the Mexican coat of arms. Lake Texcoco was historically the largest of an interconnected chain of five major and several smaller lakes; it was also the lowest-lying, and the network of surrounding lakes drained into it. After the Spanish conquest, the lake was drained, and most of the basin is today occupied by Mexico City. The city was for century subject to severe flooding until In 1967, when the Drenaje Profundo network of tunnels was installed under the city. As a result, the city today suffers from a variety of ecological consequences ranging from water shortages, a sinking city, and soil liquefaction during earthquakes. There is currently a movement to restore some sort of balance between the historic network of lakes and the now semi-arid basin. For at least a decade, activists have called for the city’s 45 rivers, paved over with motorways and turned into drainage canals, to be turned once again into open rivers which would recharge the aquifer — something akin to Seoul‘s Cheonggyechon River, which though originally contreversial has now long been popular with both that city’s residents as well as tourists.

Biblioteca Miguel Lerdo de Tejada

El Monumento a la Independencia

Paseo de la Reforma

Bus, bike share, and pedestrians

Even with the rivers still covered by cars, there’s still much to enjoy for both Mexico City’s residents and tourists, including the Biblioteca Miguel Lerdo de Tejada, the picturesque Centro Histórico area and its famed Zócalo, the floating gardens of Xochimilco, the National Autonomous University of Mexico, the National Palace, the Paseo de la Reforma (with its iconic Angel of Independence statue), the Fine Arts Palace, the many beautiful parks, the countless shrines, the nearly three dozen concert halls, a robust live theater scene, and the world’s supposed largest concentration of museums (about 160).

Frida Gato Realness (Photo: Una)

On the question of why more Americans don’t visit Mexico City, I wonder if some simply (and wrongly) assume that it will resemble one of the US’s city’s with a large Mexican population, cities like San Antonio, Albuqurque, Tuscon, or Los Angeles. Even though Los Angeles is home to more Mexicans than any city in the world outside of Mexico, Mexico City barely resembles it any more than it resembles the cities of other people whose populations can make the same claims, i.e. Armenians, Canadians, Filipinos, Iranians, Koreans, Salvadorans, Taiwanese, Thai, and Vietnamese. Conversely, Mexico City is home to more Americans than any city outside the US and I doubt many visitors to the DF would mistake it for NYC.

The city that Mexico City most reminds me of is Paris — only Chilangos are on the whole better dressed than Parisians and their city is much cleaner. Last summer, well dressed Chilangos seemed to favore tailored suits in blue and gray, often with pink or check dress shirts, and paired with brown or blue suede desert boots or black monk shoes. Shirts were worn as they were designed to be — tucked in and with a belt — and in this city of nearly nine million, I only saw about nine bun boys — and one wasn’t so much rocking a “man bun” as a French twist so he doesn’t really count. It’s harder for me to rate the style of Chilangas. For me, women seem almost supernaturally capable of making anything work — although I’ve yet to see any pull off acid wash mom jorts (aka Daisy diapers). There seemed to be more freedom of style, though, among Mexico City’s women than one sees in Los Angeles, for example, where last year blue hair was de rigueur for the female ultra conformist. In Mexico City, by contrast, this shade of dye (now featured on Mattel’s Barbie) was completely unknown.

A hallway in Chapultepec Castle

The physical resemblance between the capitals of France and Mexico isn’t coincidental, by the way. In 1864, after rising to power, Emperor Maximilian commissioned the construction of a grand, Champs-Élysées-like boulevard between the city center and his residence, Chapultepec Castle. During the reign of Porfirio Diaz, Baron Haussmann‘s modernized Paris was the explicit inspiration for a city promoted at home and abroad as the “Paris of the Americas.”

If you still find it hard to shake your associations of Mexico City, let me further add that in my five days there I heard a great deal of music but not one, single narco corrido, norteño, sureño rap, ranchera, mariachi, or Tejano tune. At not one restaurant did a musician perform “La Bamba,” “Cielito Lindo,” or “La Cucarachacha.” I did, on the other hand, hear cumbia, industrial, banda, heavy metal, teen pop, jazz, and rock… including songs I recognized by Prefab Sprout and the Feelies. Oh, of course I heard Morrissey tunes. Mexico City isn’t Bizarro Mexico, after all.

https://open.spotify.com/embed/user/1269581343/playlist/5bKot9ADLS2jVpQ0BiVE0B

Naturally I made a playlist of Defeño artists to soundtrack my stay there  — including mainly artists I didn’t hear on the radio at any point — artist such as Emmanuel, Maria Luisa Landin, José José, Lila Deneken, Cesar Costa, Gualberto Castro, Los Hermanos Castro, La Malinche, Gabriela Ortiz, Carlos Sanchez-Gutierrez, Javier Alvarez, Daniel Catan, Enrico Chapela, Mario Lavista, Carlos Chavez, Melesio Morales, Francisco Lopez Capillas, Jorge Muñiz, Javier Solis, German Valdés, Jotdog, Hello Seahorse!, Elefante, Los Daniels, Fobia, Caifanes, Los de Abajo, Los Dandys, Los Tres Ases, and others.

As with Tulum, the food in Mexico City was mostly quite good. It’s not the same as Cal-Mex or Tex-Mex, of course, nor even Northern Mexico — but in case you doubt I saw not one burrito, cemita, chimichanga, fajita, or tostada. There were zero fiesta packs, fresca bowls, naked chicken chalupas, waffle tacos, volcano burriots with lava sauce, or doritos locos anything — because there are zero locations of either Taco Bell or Del Taco (both American chains). Mexico City has its own regional style of Mexican food, which draws inspiration from indigenous culture, traditions from other parts of Mexico, and foreign influences. Street food, taco stands, barbacoa, birria, cabrito, carnitas, mole, and tortas are all common. Foreign cuisines, including Argentine, Italian, Japanese, and Korean are also popular.

Hotel Carlota (note hipsterjugend with no socks, high waters, untucked shirt, and undercut messaging on Ello)

Our food at Hotel Carlota was, though good, not especially memorable. We stayed their toward the end of our trip, hoping to trade AirBNB location for a bit of hotel pleasantry. Both the food, the drinks, and the rooms were fine, I suppose, although the subway tiles-Edison bulb-chalkboard menu-reclaime wood aesthetic feels increasingly  oppressive the longer it exists and the wider its hegemony spreads.

Mercado Roma

The ambiance of Mercado Roma, a trendy food hall, was a bit more inspiring, although the meat-heavy food options mostly left me underwhelmed. We also ate at the Gran Hotel Ciudad de Mexico, where we did not stay. The food there was also satisfactory if unexceptional, but the decor and aesthetics of the building were enough to make the visit worthwhile.

Inside the Gran Hotel Ciudad de Mexico

I was more impressed with the food at Cafebrería El Péndulo, Churrería El Moro, LALO (recommended by a waiter at Hartwood), La Casa de Toño (where I ate so many flautas I nearly exploded), Cirene (where I had my pre-birthday dinner), Maximo Bistrot Locol (where I had my birthday dinner), and the Por Siempre Vegana Taqueria taco truck — all of which were truly excellent.

The almost birthday boy patiently waiting for his palm heart ceviche (Photo: Una)

Por Siempre Vegano

Mexican cuisine, to me, seems to be one of the world’s finest, surely as varied and refined as any in the Americas — so why it continues to be so underrepresented in Asia and Europe is to me one of life’s great mysteries. In the meantime, all the more reason to explore Mexico.

LALO

TEOTIHUACAN

During our stay in Mexico City we took a side-trip to the ruins of Teotihuacan, located about 40 kilometers northeast of Mexico City. Teotihuacan was established over 1,000 years before Mexico-Tenochtitlan — somewhere around 100 BCE — and much less is known about its inhabitants. It seems to have reached its zenith somewhere around 450 CE, when it was one of the largest cities in the world. Its major monuments and structures associated with the ruling class were systematically destroyed around 550 CE but the city may’ve continued to function for another 200 years or so. The ethnicity of the city’s Teotihuacanos is another subject of debate, with the Nahua, Otomi, and Totonac all suggested along with the additional possibility that it was multi-ethnic.

Before they founded Mexico-Tenochtitlan, the Mexica arrived in the Valley of Mexico from the north around 1250 CE. By then, Teotihuacan had long been abandoned but the Mexica adopted aspects of their architecture and what else they could glean from the city they named  “Teōtīhuacān,” Nahuatl for “birthplace of the gods.” It’s possible that Maya texts which refer to an ancient city as puh, or “place of reeds,” were also referring to this city — and that bundled reeds were a metaphor for the large concentration of the estimated 125,000 people who lived in the densely populated place.

Although the massive pyramids — especially the Pyramid of the Sun — are its most famous features, the still-vibrant murals, ruins of multi-story apartments, and civic infrastructure including the Avenue of the Dead and complex network of sewers are, if less ostentation, arguably equally impressive.

Although there had previously been minor excavations of the site, it wasn’t until 1905 that Mexico conducted a major excavation and restoration, in part timed to commemorate the centennial of the Mexican War of Independence in 1910. As with any ancient ruins, it’s easy to wonder, if not accurately imagine, what life would’ve been for the citizens of this mysterious stone age city.

It’s also easy to wonder about the rest of Mexico. My adventurous grandfather told me that Guadalajara was his favorite city on earth. Our guide in Tulum recommended Mérida. I’ve long had my eye on Chiapas and Oaxaca and want to explore more of Mexico City. And Una keeps asking when we’re going back to Tulum.

Eric Brightwell is an adventurer, writer, rambler, explorer, cartographer, and guerrilla gardener who is always seeking writing, speaking, traveling, and art opportunities — or salaried work. He is not interested in generating advertorials, clickbait, listicles, or other 21st century variations of spam. Brightwell has written for Angels Walk LA, Amoeblog, Boom: A Journal of California, diaCRITICS, Hidden Los Angeles, and KCET Departures. His art has been featured by the American Institute of Architects, the Architecture & Design Museum, the Craft & Folk Art Museum, Form Follows Function, Los Angeles County Store, the book Sidewalking, Skid Row Housing Trust, and 1650 Gallery. Brightwell has been featured as subject in The Los Angeles Times, Huffington Post, Los Angeles Magazine, LAist, Eastsider LA, Boing Boing, Los Angeles, I’m Yours, and on Notebook on Cities and Culture. He has been a guest speaker on KCRW‘s Which Way, LA? and at Emerson College. Art prints of Brightwell’s maps are available from 1650 Gallery. He is currently writing a book about Los Angeles and you can follow him on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

Click here to offer financial support and thank you!

Where Fools Fear to Tread — A Snapshot of Mexico (Tulum, Teotihuacan & Mexico City) In June 2016 I went to Tulum and Mexico City. Although I'd by then lived in neighboring…

[hattonandfinn]

The Hills Go West

Dallas, TX (Quanah, TX) > Amarillo, TX (Tucumcari, NM) > Santa Fe, NM (Albuquerque, NM) > Kingman, AZ (Flagstaff, AZ) > Los Alamitos, CA (Needles, CA)

Leg 1 - Dallas to So Cal

The first leg of our epic road trip out West was a huge success. Seriously, it went better than Ross and I ever imagined and all thanks to our amazing puppy and happy baby. I have a feeling both have been to more states and definitely more breweries than the average adult human ;)

Day 1 

We left late on Wednesday afternoon, February 15th, 2017. Ross had flown in from Detroit that afternoon and met me and Finn at Baylor Medical Center. I had noticed a lump on my breast just a couple days before. Finley and I saw Dr. G on Tuesday and were able to line up an appointment the day we left. Thank goodness it was just a cyst with milk that needed to be drained, but it set us back a fair bit and we didn’t head out of Dallas until 5pm. We got a slow start but by 6:30 and a stop and Starbucks, our little girl was fast asleep and we were on our way! We made it all the way to Quanah, TX for our first of many stops at a Sonic Drive In.  It was heaven! A corndog for me and breakfast burrito for Ross… and THAT LIMEADE!! The perfect treat. Hattie got a nice little walk and Finn an after dinner snack. We did have a bit of a scare when Ross’ window wouldn’t roll up after getting our food delivered…… turns out there is a bug in the F-Pace where you have to do this laundry list of things from opening and closing doors, unlocking and re-locking and starting and killing the ignition…. Good news is it worked! Safe to say we were all relieved since I wasn’t thrilled about the possibility of staying the night with all the truck drivers in the Casa Royale Motel down the street.

We made it to the Drury Inn & Suites in Amarillo around 12:30am – Ross had to wrap up a few things for work and Finn and I went straight to sleep.

Day 2

We had a relaxing morning watching Cupcake Wars and got on our way around 10. We headed straight to Evocation Micro Coffee Roastery. Wow! It was awesome; such a pleasant atmosphere complete with a pour over coffee and homemade waffle. Finn was lulled to sleep before we even hit the road.

We made it to Santa Fe after another meal at Sonic in Tucumcari, NM and went straight to Z Pet Hotel to drop Hattie off for a little retreat with her four legged friends. It was less expensive (and although we love her, way less stress) to leave her there versus keeping her at our hotel. We stopped at Iconik Coffee Roasters on our way into town for a little pick me up, blueberry muffin and diaper change. Before making it to our hotel, we hit Rowley Farmhouse Ales to check off another brewery on Finley’s list. Ross set a goal of hitting 52 in her first year of life (one per week)! 

Our hotel was awesome – La Posada de Santa Fe, A Tribute Portfolio Resort & Spa. With Hotwire, it was only $112 per night! We thoroughly enjoyed the hotel bar which was rated the coziest in Santa Fe. Finley slept in my lap while Ross and I enjoyed Spanish tapas and red wine in front of the fireplace. 

Day 3

Spa day!! I enjoyed a massage first thing in the morning while Ross and Finley got a little father daughter time. It was a welcome treat after 10 weeks of motherhood. Ross got a good workout in, I napped a bit then we headed to Mucho Gusto for some authentic New Mexican, Mexican fare. A local spot with fresh new Mexican chiles, enchiladas and local beer to boot!

We strapped Finn into her carrier and made our way to the Plaza de Santa Fe. First stop (after gelato of course;) was the Cheesemongers of Santa Fe! We couldn’t quite decide if Santa Fe was cool and historic or touristy and kitschy. The jury is still out. It’s safe to say Ross, Finley and I didn’t fit in incredibly well with the dreadlocked men and Native American pattern/mismatched outfit wearing women.

A day with the Hills wouldn’t be complete without a brewery stop so off we went to the Santa Fe Brewing Company which is the oldest in NM established the year Ross was born (1988). The beer was on point but Finley was not. Just as we sat down with our freshly poured brews, she as you would say, ‘lost it’. We grabbed a 6 pack and a couple stickers to go and hit the road. Brewery 16 checked off.

Had another awesome night at Staab House in our hotel finished off by a glass of red wine and chocolate mouse in our room. 

Day 4

Up and at ‘em! We headed to Arizona on day 4 of our trip. First goal – make it to Flagstaff. First stop after grabbing Hattie was of course, a coffee shop – Prismatic Coffee in Albuquerque. For years to come, you can probably ask the staff if they remember the three ring circus that was our family on that Saturday morning. After a nursing baby, family diaper change, barking dog and stop at the brewery next door, we were off. We didn’t have a beer but grabbed a bottle of the sour saison for the road at Ponderosa Brewing to check off Finn’s 17th brewery. 

Finley was an absolute angel on our longest travel day so far. She slept for almost 4 hours and woke up about 40 minutes outside of Flagstaff. Got her a snack and diaper change and we were off again. The pink elephant rattler from Gigi saved the day and got us into Flagstaff with a happily entertained baby. 

We had to hit Wanderlust Brewing Company – Beers for the journey. Definitely a name we relate to with our insatiable love for travel. Ross thoroughly enjoyed his Belgian Pale Ale and I got a few samplers including their bock and blond. The taproom was local and authentic but a little cramped with a dog and a baby, so we fairly quickly headed into the town center to Dark Sky Brewing Co.

Dark Sky had one of the best IPA’s I’ve ever tasted! In their first year of business, they met their goal of making 100 different beers. This is a place we could have settled in for awhile with their tasty beer and pleasant atmosphere, but with a 2-hour drive to Kingman ahead of us we enjoyed one and got a ‘crowler’ to go of their jalapeño pale ale. Last stop on our way out of Flagstaff was Matador Coffee Roasting Company. We were served by the sweetest girl in a Chi O shirt. She took good care of us before we hit the road with Ross’ short mocha, my double shot iced vanilla latte and a little H2O for our first born, Hattie.

We arrived in Kingman at 9pm which was just in time for a chipotle burrito bowl and 6 pack of local IPA from Walmart at the Springhill Suites.

Day 5

California here we come… 5 hours to go and we just have to make it before Finley’s grand debut at 4pm. Her California Sip & See! We hit Beale Street Brews Coffee Roasting Co. on our way out of town and made the excellent decision of stopping a couple hours later for pancakes at The Wagon Wheel in Needles, CA. It was fun to get a little taste of classic Route 66 and the wait staff couldn’t have been sweeter to us or our little girl.  

By 2:30pm, we arrived in Los Alamitos and Finley met her California family!