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atinydise · 4 years

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Ateez reacting to their s/o speaking a bunch of languages

❦ Genre: Fluff/crackhead.

❦ Pairing: OT8.

❦ Word count: 13k.

❦ Requested: Yes, thank you! 🦋

❦ Masterlist.

❦ Warning: ⚠️I used Google Translation for most of the languages used here! So I apologize in advance if I made mistakes. Feel free to correct me (as someone did already 🥺)! Thank you!

HONGJOONG (Korean)

You were walking hand in hand with Hongjoong. It was a bit cold, so you took the opportunity to stick yourself to your boyfriend, a bit closer than usual. “Are you cold Y/N?” he asked, noticing that you were glued to him. “No… I’m just enjoying your presence.” You smiled at him. “Oh, then I won’t complain.” He tickled your chin before wrapping his arm around your waist. You continued to walk peacefully, enjoying the Christmas lights. Hongjoong was always so happy during this period. He wanted to go out and admire the decoration with you. You were dating for 2 weeks now. It was a fresh and new relationship. Both of you were still a bit shy and awkward sometimes but it was getting better these days.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” He suddenly asked you. “Hum… there’s so much thing that you know already.” “In 2 weeks? Come on, tell me your little secrets.” He insisted. “Okay okay…” you chuckled. “My favorite meal is… pizza!” “I knew that already babe.” “Okay what about-” “저기요?” (excuse me) Both of you stopped to look at the schoolgirl standing next to you. “전화 좀 빌릴 수 있을까요? 저는 제 것을 잃어버렸고, 어머니께 전화를 해야 해요.” (Can I borrow your phone, please? I lost mine and I need to call my mom) You grabbed your phone in your bag. “네, 천천히 하다 !” (take your time) You smiled at her. When the young girl went a little bit far away from you to get her privacy, Hongjoong stared at you. “Why you never told me you could talk in Korean?” You tilted your head, “I guess that it’s something you ignored about me.” “왜 우리는 항상 영어로 말해요?” (Why do we always speak in English?) “Because I love hearing your English accent.” You winked. “And can you only speak in Korean or English?” “I can speak more than 10 languages.” You declared. “10?” he shouted, making people staring at you. “Are you serious?!” “Yes, but it’s not a big deal.” The schoolgirl came back and handed your phone before bowing politely at you. “감사합니다!” (Thank you) “천만에요! 지금 집에 가요!” (You’re welcome. Now go home!) “I can’t believe it…” claimed Hongjoong when the girl left. “There’s so many things you ignore about me finally.” You smiled, grabbing his scarf to kiss his cheek.

SEONGHWA (French)

“Wow… a French restaurant.” You said, looking at the brand name. “Yes, it’s a new one. I thought it would be cool to eat here.” Added Seonghwa, arm wrapped around your shoulders. “That’s a really good idea sweetheart.” “Let’s go then,” he pulled you inside. It was a fancy restaurant. A waiter came instantly to guide you to a table. “We are going to spend all of our salary here.” You giggled. “But you worth it.” Seonghwa glanced at you, to see your disgusted face, as always when he says something kitschy. “Then I’m going to order the most expensive things,” you claimed. You couldn’t see it but Seonghwa was probably scared for his wallet. “Sure… sure, go ahead.” He gulped. You held his hand on the table, “I’m kidding Hwa. Relax.” “Why are you calling me Hwa and not Seong?” He suddenly asked. “Because… you are “Hwa-ouh”!” Your boyfriend looked at you without saying anything. A big silence settled between both of you after this bad joke. Seonghwa puffed at you. He couldn’t resist any longer. “That was SO bad! You are such a clown,” he laughed at you. Before you could answer, a man who looked like the boss or the owner of this restaurant came to your table. “Bonjour!” He greeted both of you. Seonghwa bowed a bit, understanding what he just said thanks to his previous concert in France. “Bonjour,” you replied. “Oh! You can speak French?” asked the man. “Un petit peu, (a little bit)” you said in a perfect accent. “Vous avez l’air d’être une experte en français !” (You seem to be an expert in French) “Je fais de mon mieux!” (I do my best) “Très bien.” (good) “Je venais voir si tout allait bien.” (I came to check if everything was okay). “Tout va bien, merci beaucoup !” (Everything’s fine, thank you so much) When the boss went to see another table, Seonghwa coughed to get your attention. “Yes?” “You can’t talk in French?!” “Oui monsieur.” (Yes mister) “I just understood ‘yes’ but this sounds so sexy!” “I can talk more languages, but French is one of my favorites.” “Interesting… but continue to talk in French tonight.” He bit his lip. “Hum… Je m’appelle Y/N, enchantée.” (My name his Y/N, nice to meet you) “I love it…” he whispered. “Okay I’ll stop there before it’s going too far.” You laughed. “Again! Please! Just a last one!” He begged.

YUNHO (Spanish)

“What’s the name of Canada’s capital? Ottawa or Toronto?” Yunho plopped down next to you, on the couch. “Are you watching this TV show again?” “It’s fun.” You replied. “I should participate. I think I could win.” “You?” Laughed Yunho. “You and ‘win’? In the same sentence?” You threw a pillow at him, “you are so mean!” Yunho grabbed your legs to put it on his laps. “I don’t think I would win though,” he added. “Few questions are really hard but not impossible.” “How the main character in Big Bang Theory is called? Sheldon or Stuart?” Asked the MC. “Sheldon!” you shouted at the TV. “Are you sure?” questioned your boyfriend. “Oh, you replied Stuart, but the right answer was Sheldon,” announced the MC. You looked proudly at your boyfriend. “Yes, I’m sure.” “Look at her being so modest.” He tickled your toes. “How to say, ‘come to eat’ in Spanish?” asked the MC. “This one is hard.” Said Yunho. “Vamos a comer.” You replied easily. “Good answer!” “How do you know that?” Asked Yunho, completely shook. You smirked at your boyfriend. “You ignore that I can talk few languages. Spanish included.” “Really? Why you never told me!” “It’s funnier to see your face.” You stuck your tongue out at him. “You are so evil,” he smirked. “Pero… te gusta.” (but you love it) The look on his face made you bust in laughter. “Si pudiedas ver a tu cara, es muy divertido.” (If you could see your face! It’s so funny) “I don’t understand anything!” He whined. “Lo sé. Es muy gracioso.” (I know, and it’s so funny) “At least, I know where we are going for our summer holiday.” “In Spain?” You asked. “Es une buena idea.” (It’s a good idea) Yunho pocked your tights and belly. “What are you doing?” you giggled. “I’m trying to turn off the Spanish mode.” “Okay okay I stop.” “Thank you! Finally, I’ll understand you.” He smiled. “Should I talk in Chinese then? “Wait what-”

YEOSANG (Dutch)

“Is there a movie you want to watch?” You asked slipping under the sheets. “Black Panther!” Shouted Yeosang. “Again? We watched it 2 days ago?” “But you are always on your phone,” he raised a brow. “You probably watched 20 minutes of the entire movie.” “Okay touché.” You rolled your eyes. “We can watch something else if you put your phone away.” “Okay then let’s go watch Pocahontas.” You smiled widely. “I’m already regretting my words…” he sighed. As promised, you let your phone on the nightstand and cuddled with Yeosang. Just when Pocahontas was about to meet John Smith, your phone buzzed on the nightstand. At first, you just said that you were to call this person back tomorrow. It was pretty late anyway. “You should pick up. Maybe it’s important.” “But you said, ‘no phone’.” “Yes, but it’s a call, so you can have it.” He kissed your cheek. “Okay, I’ll make it quick.” You grabbed your phone and called the unknown number back. “Hello?” you said. “Oh! Nia, het is lang geleden!” (It’s been a long time) Yeosang looked at you. He wasn’t expecting you to speak another language. “Het is zo leuk on nieuws van je te hebben !” (It’s so good to have news from you) “Which language are you speaking?” Whispered your boyfriend. You made a sign to shush him down because you couldn’t hear your friend anymore. “Wanner kom je naar Zuid-Korea?” (When are you coming to South-Korea?) “Korea?” he repeated. “What are you talking about?” “1 minut Nia!” (1 minute Nia), you said before ending the call. “What do you want Yeosang?” “Which language are you speaking and with who?” “It’s dutch and I’m talking, or at least trying to,” you mentioned that he was distracting you from your call. “With Nia, my Dutch friend!” “Why you never told me you could speak Dutch?” “You never asked me! Now shh!” You put your phone against your ear again. “Waar hadden we het ook al weer over?” (What were we talking about?) “I can’t believe it…” he said, sliding on the mattress.

SAN (Japanese)

“Argh Japanese is so hard!” Growled San, bumping his head on the desk. You entered his studio, “are you okay babe? I heard a loud noise.” San turned around on his chair, a pout on his face. He opened his arms widely, making you understand to give him a hug. “What’s happening babe?” You put down your cup of hot chocolate on his desk. “I can’t write lyrics…” he pouted. You sat on his laps, wrapping your arm around his neck. “You are always doing pretty good with lyrics, San. You shouldn’t even doubt about it. Okay?” “I’m doing pretty good with Korean lyrics.” He rested his head on your shoulder. “I don’t get it,” you raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a Korean song?” San shook his head, “it’s for a Japanese comeback.” He pointed at the sheet of paper behind him. “I’m pretty sure you are dramatizing.” “This is terrible, I can’t send this to Hongjoong Hyung.” “Let me see…” you whispered, grabbing the paper. “The lyrics are in Japanese, you won’t-“ “Konna hazu ja nai yo, yoku yatteru tte itte yo, I wanna grow up, susumitai motto*..” you read easily. “Understand…” he finished, surprised. “Yumemita basho oh oh tōku, yukkuri de mo ī, samayowanai yō tonight*...” “How can you read it so easily?” You smiled at him, “probably because I can speak Japanese.” “Really?!” His eyes opened widely. Ready to go out of his eyeballs. “Yes silly,” you flicked his forehead.” And I can say that your verse is pretty good. As always.” He ripped the paper of you hand, throwing it on the floor. “Screw the lyrics! Tell me more about how you learned Japanese!” “Hum… I learned by my own in high school then I went for 6 months in Japan.” “Why you never told me about that?” he asked, almost upset. “You are a whole ass idol, it’s nothing compared to 6 months in Japan or to speak a bunch of languages.” “Wait,” he stopped you. “Firstly, this is not true and secondly… a bunch of languages?!” “Yes? I can speak more languages than you think,” you smirked proudly. San blinked dumbly, not believing the current situation. “Anyway… just focus on your work. Baka.” (Idiot) You stuck your tongue out at him and almost ran away, hoping that he didn’t understand what you said. “Hey! I know it’s an insult! I watch Naruto with Yeosang-Hyung!” He shouted, following you.

*Lyrics from their Japanese song: Better.

MINGI (Portuguese)

“How cute you are!” Giggled Mingi, pinching your cheeks playfully. You wanted to try your new peach make up palette. At first, you thought it was not really well applied and that you skin color wasn’t matching well but Mingi’s giggles and cute compliment helped you to change your mind. “What did I do to be so lucky? My girlfriend is the prettiest and the cutest of all!” He continued acting like if you were a baby. “Mingi, you’ll ruin the makeup with your big fingers!” You slapped his hand. “But I can’t help it, you’re too cute!” He kissed your entire face. You tried to push him on the couch, but he was definitively glued to you. “Mingi! I need to go. I’m already late!” “Can I come with you?” he asked. “It’s a girl’s night.” You simply replied, making him understand that he was a boy. And that boy wasn’t allowed. “I can tie my hair in a ponytail and wear a skirt.” You couldn’t help but to imagine him like that. “Tempting but no. You are going to stay here.” You grabbed your bag and left your boyfriend in the dorm. But before going out, you stared at him. “O bobo.” (idiot) Mingi thought he was dreaming, or he didn’t hear well what you just said. The next morning, when you came back to the dorm, Mingi was sitting right in front of the door. “Stupid?!” he asked you straight, making you shiver a bit. “Good morning to you too babe,” you raised a brow. Your boyfriend was holding an English/Portuguese dictionary. “You told me “o bobo” before leaving.” “Did you really search the word in a dictionary?” “Yes! Now you are the “o bobo”!” You yawned at your boyfriend, ignoring him “okay… I’m going to sleep. Boa noite or whatever.” (Good night) Mingi rolled his eyes, frustrated again and opened the dictionary. “Since when do you speak Portuguese!” “Not only Portuguese… and since a long time now,” you yawned again. “Not only?” he repeated. “Mingi, I’m tired…” “Wait!” He cut you straight, not letting a chance to hop in your comfy bed. “Which languages are you speaking?” “Too much,” you simply replied, kissing his cheek before heading to his bedroom. “Which dictionary I need to buy then…?” he whispered, completely lost.

WOOYOUNG (Italian)

You threw your coat on the coach next to you. “Finally, home…” you sighed, rubbing your shoulder. “Oh Y/N! You are already home.” Smiled Wooyoung exiting the kitchen. “Yes… but today was so exhausting,” you complained. “Really? Maybe you should take a nap. I just started to cook.” He came behind you to gently massage your shoulders. “I would like to rest a bit, but I prefer to watch you doing all of your cooking and stuff.” You replied, enjoying the little message session. “Okay then! So today I will cook Strolombolani-” he started. “Stromboli*.” You rectified. “Huh?” “You said ‘Strombolani”, the real name is Stromboli.” “How do you even know that?” he asked, tightening his apron. “Because I know it.” You sat on the counter, apple juice in the hand. “Do I need to remind you that I spent almost a year in Italy so I enjoyed these incredible recipes.” Wooyoung dropped the spatula he was holding when he heard your comment. “You what?” “What? I already told you that I went to Italy before going to Korea.” “Yes, but you never mentioned that you went there for almost a year,” he almost shouted. “Calmati,” (calm down) you giggled. Wooyoung blinked, his brain trying to process what you just said. “What did you say?” “Just focus on our meal! I’m hungry!” You whined, rubbing your belly. “Come on! Just talk to me in Italian! I love it!” He walked in front of you. “Cucina così non avrò bisogno di ucciderti e mangiarti.” (Just cook so I won’t need to kill and eat you) “You said a lovely thing huh?” he winked. “Yes sure,” you nodded, as if you didn’t threat his life. “Another one!” he asked you. “Just cook Wooyoung!” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “Just something! Please!” He whined, pouting at you. “Se non mangio il mio pasto entro 30 minuti, sarai la prima cosa che mangerò.” (If I don’t have my meal in 30 minutes, you’ll be the first thing I will eat) “Grrr,” he smirked. “This is something hot right?” “Totally.” You lied again. “Again!” “I just want to eat…” you whispered, annoyed.

*Stromboli: an Italian is a type of turnover filled with various Italian cheeses (typically mozzarella) and cold cuts (salami, capocollo and bresaola) or vegetables. The dough used is either Italian bread dough or pizza dough. Stromboli was invented by Italian-Americans in the United States.

JONGHO (German)

“Ich bin Jongho, schön dich zu treffen!” (I’m Jongho, nice to meet you) You stopped right in front of Jongho’s bedroom door. “Danke, dass Sie gekommen sind-” he paused. (Thanks for coming) You stuck your ear on the door. “Kommen zu-’ he stuttered. (Coming to-) You cracked the door quietly and glanced at your boyfriend who was laying on his bed. His head was almost buried in the book he was reading. “Are you okay Jongho?” you asked. “Yes, why?” he sat correctly on the bed, smiling at you. “Do you need something?” “No. I just heard you talking alone. I was curious to know what’s going on.” He patted the spot next to him, making you understand that you needed to sit here. “I need to practice few sentences in German for the world tour.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and delicately kissed your forehead. “I’m sure you are doing good.” You grabbed the book off his hands. “My accent is terrible,” he chuckled. “Okay practice with me,” you closed the book and stared at Jongho. “You can’t even talk in German,” he giggled. “Oh really?” You grunted. “Hallo, mein name ist Y/N.” “Did you just say, ‘hello my name is Y/N’?” “Exact,” you smiled proudly. “You never told me you could speak German,” he smiled. “I can speak more languages than that, but German is one of my favorites.” “Really?” You nodded, “Deutsch ist wirklich hübsch, ich mag es.” (German is really pretty, I like it) “I like to hear you talking German. Even if I don’t understand anything.” He said shyly. “Übe, damit wir gemeinsam auf Deutsch sprechen können.” (Practice so we can talk in German together) Jongho smiled at you, “I don’t understand, but yes please.” “Yes please?” You laughed. “Yeah! I don’t know a word you said but I’ll do everything you want if you continue to talk German!” “Silly,” you giggled, punching his arm. “Only with my German teacher,” he smirked. “Du bist so anhänglich!” (You are so clingy) “Teach me more please,” he grabbed your chin to kiss you.

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pnwriter · 4 years

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Endemic Pandemic

Part 1: Seattle as the Epicenter

How did it all start? First, it was STEP A, everyone from China, talking about it and one student bemoaning the fact that some people in Wuhan, China will eat anything. It seems eating a diseased bat started it, as contact with a monkey started AIDS. That group made it back and we had a fun time. The next two-week class was canceled because travel from China had been suspended. I skipped the next group to go to Mexico with Rene and Anne, and started the fourth group with a reduced group. After only one week, the UW decided to cancel in-person classes and that program ended. Now, there is the worry that I may not even have enough work to retire as I had planned. I started job hunting as soon as we heard the program will probably close the end of summer. Now, it's the start of spring quarter, and we only have 20 new students (as opposed to a healthy 80). Moreover, these classes may have to be on-line, so I'll have to learn a program called Zoom. All the signs are pointing to me getting out of this career and Rene is talking about getting out of the country. China and Iran took the biggest initial hits, then Italy closed down. Just today, 3/11/2020, Dumptr canceled all flights to and from Europe, except for England, who Brexited earlier this year. Also, today, the public schools followed the university's precedent, and closed down, as did the Burke Museum. The governor has banned any meetings over 250 people. Any meetings over 13 are discouraged and on my way back from the gym, which is still open, the train was mostly empty, with the buses being just a little fuller. You see people in masks, bus drivers, students until the classes were cancelled, doctors and nurses, shoppers, passers by. It's all disconcerting. People are over reacting, in my opinion...the North Dakotan whose bus driver always made it through when all the others cancelled.

Facebook and Instagram are double edged swords. First, it is and always has been a community of contact at a time when face to face contact has decreased steadily over the years. (Ironically, it's been decreasing directly because of the technology that gave us Facebook in the first place!) I send a photo of a candle burning for all our brothers and sisters across the world to my Greek pagan witch friend Vas. I am at home after going to our favorite neighborhood coffee shop this morning with the dog (hoping to see its friend Pinky there), only to find out that they are closing, due to the uncertainty. There are those who say that what is happening now in Italy will happen here, too. It's only a matter of time.

Speaking of FB, I'm chatting on line now with Alban, my brother-from-another-life teacher friend in France, where everything is still normal. We talked about how people are getting into being the characters in an epidemic horror film and acting accordingly. We both acknowledge the advantages of learning in the flesh, but also know people are lazy and always take the easy way out. Even as we communicated, President Macron issued the edict to close all schools and universities starting Monday. I look outside to the sunny March day and think similar days greeted the Spanish Flu and the Black Death. At least this one is not smelly.

Here's the resume I have sent:

CAREER SUMMARY

My international experience began after undergraduate school with the Peace Corps in Morocco. My strengths of responsibility, patience and adaptability gained from being raised on a farm contributed to a successful and rewarding overseas experience. The professional aspect of my international experience began with teaching and studying in the Teaching English as a Second Language Program at CSU. As the Graduate Student Representative, in addition to teaching, being the liaison between the faculty and the students honed my leadership, organizational and diplomatic skills. From my first teaching job at Saint Martin’s College to my extensive career at the University of Washington, these skills developed greatly over the years.

Writing and editing, International relations, counseling, public relations, intercultural communication,

EMPLOYMENT

English Language Instructor, UW Campus and downtown ELP, material development, listening and speaking and grammar specialties 3/16/2005 to present

Compliance Specialist, (change to Professional Staff status from Extension Lecturer) effective March 2004

Admissions and Immigration Director, University of Washington International Outreach Programs, Seattle WA. Admissions and Immigration for all UW Educational Outreach International Programs. Primary Designated Student Official in the Immigration and Customs Enforcement SEVIS program. 1/2004 to present.

Director of Student Services, University of Washington Educational Outreach, Seattle, WA. Directing all international student services in the English Language program including acceptance, immigration advising, orientation (initial and on-going), information dissemination (weekly newsletter), sponsors, housing, language exchange and extracurricular activities. Teaching an English Language class is part of the administration positions. 9/2000 to 1/2004.

Acting Director, Downtown ESL Program, Directing ESL program with 80 students and nine faculty and staff. Payroll and expenditure authorization, supervising office staff and providing support for teachers and students. June 12-August 18, 2000.

International Student Advisor, ESL Programs, University of Washington Educational Outreach (UWEO), Seattle, WA. Immigration, academic and personal advising. Activities supervisor, conversation exchange program coordinator, extended orientation class development and instruction, weekly newsletter publisher. Taught extended orientation class in ESL Program, speaking and listening focus. Liaison with UWEO Business Office, sponsoring agencies and embassies, UW housing office, and home stay agencies. 3/87 to 9/2000.

PROFESSIONAL ORGANIZATIONS AND SERVICES

Peace Corps Volunteer, Taza, Morocco. High school instructor of English at Lycee Sidi Azzouz in Taza. Outreach to disabled children in a special summer project at a special school in Martil, Morocco. From 6/78-6/80.

Member NAFSA: Association of International Educators and the Association of Washington International Student Affairs (AWISA). Received Outstanding Service Award. Reached out especially to the LGBT international community by producing a video and presenting workshops and sessions yearly at national and regional TESOL and NAFSA conferences.

EDUCATION AND PROFESSIONAL TRAINING

Cetlalic Language Program, Cuernavaca, Mexico, Intensive Spanish study January 3-16, 2004.

International House, Madrid, Spain, Intensive Spanish Study and Study Abroad experience 99-00

NAFSA Professional Development Training May 1998

M.A. TESL/Linguistics, Colorado State University 1982

B.S. Psychology, Minor in French, University of North Dakota, 1977

a week, we had done some bonding and I was remembering the difference between the two girls with similar, to me, names.

Like the 1918 Spanish Flu, which took my grandmother Voeller and Catherine Thomas' husband, starting the huge Voeller clan, the last dying before this next-100-year epidemic took hold. It centered in a nursing home in Kirkland, and has taken mostly the elderly. Some say it is cleaning out the dark, negative energy.

Part 2: Two Months in

It's now been over two months since people were sent to their rooms to thinking long and hard about what they have done...to the

Mother, to Gaia. Yesterday was Mother's Day and I posted photos both of my mother and Gaia in celebration of the day. I have picked up a variety pack of online friends...Roial Co (Philippine Reiki Master (I attuned him from 2 to 3 over the phone in an hour-long ceremony last weekend. He could be part of the soul family...other members being Kim, Aric, Bob, Bachir, Robert, Vivian, Paki, Roy, Cynthia, Alban for sure), Mahamed, Eryk (also for sure), Samuel and the latest...Randy. There could be up to 90 scattered across the planet at this time...like shatters of glass (Roi). I'm almost to the point where I can start writing in my books again.

The state was supposed to go into what is called "Stage 2" on June 1, five days from now, but people are still dying (up to 100,000 in the states, 300,000 worldwide) so now it's mid-month. More monetary help is on the way. The veil is thinning. Strange events are starting to become common. I am meeting good people around the world on social media. We send money to Samuel after vetting him, but Kelvin Moore turns out to be a Yemeni hack. Oh well. My gardens, on the other hand, are glorious and giving me much pleasure. I have fresh flowers here at my little at home desk and downstairs on the kitchen counter. The ones at my office desk are from the top deck and the ones on the counter are from the east English garden. I am trying to attract elves and fairies to both gardens and have started playing my harp out there, with melodies that come to me from the plants' exhalations. I installed a lady bug house at the base of the climbing vines and will sit out there when the weather gets better and it's supposed to reach record heat this summer. Yikes. Along with world pandemic, murder hornets, ravaging storms and the 17 year cadydid cycle falling on 2020, a record heat wave and resulting fires are just par for the course.

Going out in public these days, at least here in the city, you would see that nearly everyone has a mask on. It's a bit disconcerting looking at eyes above various colors of masks, the new item of outer wear. The cute barista wore a black one, the owner a bandanna, his wife, the chef, a more medical-looking surgical mask, the lady in front of me, a homemade jobby. Out in the boonies, there is a culture war between those who believe we need to wear masks to protect both ourselves and others and those who believe that it's all a hoax and it's a way for the government to muzzle us, limit our freedom. Both sides see the other as sheeple.

Part 3: Month 6

It's now 70 days until November 3 and as Antonio from Spain said, "At the end of the day, it's up to a few Floridians, a bunch of Ohioans and a handful of Michiganians to decide the future of mankind..." The DNC went better than anyone had expected, with great speeches from both Michelle and Barack Obama, the AOC, Kamala Harris and culminating with one by Biden, himself. This week, the shit show in a burning dumpster called teh RNC has started with hysterical screaming and drug-induced ramblings laying all blame the the Dems and predicting a daily reality of lawlessness, rioting and burning cities if Biden gets elected. Only 70 days until we decide whether to stay in this country, or like our ancestors, try our luck in a new one: Mexico, Spain or Portugal are the top runners right now. We plan to go south to check out Flagstaff and Sedona, Arizona this Christmas. Last Christmas, it was El Paso, Alpine and Marfa, Texas and Los Crucas, New Mexico.

I am on the break between summer and fall...noteably the longest one of the year, often five weeks. I usually go back to North Dakota during this time, but that's not happening this year, probably never again. The last time I was there, I was suffering from depression and I had a feeling I would not be seeing it again. Best to leave it to my memories of happier days there when the people I grew up with were still alive.

This divide in the country, instigated by Russian bots and carried out by Puppet Dumpster, has been the last straw, the one to have broken the camel's back that was my family connection. Foreseen by my late sister Lori, when she said (in response to whether it was now my job to keep the family together), "We are all adults now. If anyone decides to never see the others again, then that's up to them, not you." First, it was LaVonne who stopped texting or answering my texts. Then, Dennis stopped answering my phone calls and stopped calling as well. Rosie and Jamie are still cyber-stalking me on Facebook and Instagram (Rosie made an Instagram account as soon as I said I was leaving FB in disgust. She has never posted anything and has no photos in her folder...she just checks to see what I'm up to.) I stopped posting political craziness last week as it was becoming too much work to research what was fear-inducing truth and what was fear-inducing fiction. The tainted GOP is all about striking fear into the hearts of anyone who will listen to their rabid rantings.

Another week, another innocent black man shot by racist white police. Then, to add insult to injury, a trumped up 17 year old from Illinois goes across the border to shoot two protesters, walking by police to go home and then turn himself in the next day. (It comes out later that he shot the first victim in the back, and that his mom drove him to the protest, as if it were a soccer practice!) I had to break my political silence on FB, which I have just decided I will have to leave. I don't know if I can deal with Liker, the current alternative, either. It's the brainchild of some guy who saw where FB was going in 2012 and decided people needed an option. They need an option, all right. The option to opt out of social media, the new Dolls of the 2010s and now 20s.

I wake up early on 8/27/2020 and disable my Facebook account. I can't quite go cold turkey and get rid of Messenger along with it, because there are some people on there I still want to support. This is the second time I have tried to do this. After 13 years (is that all? It seems half my life!), it's a main social outlet that I am moving away from. Especially now, in the time of pandemics, it will be more isolating, but the vitriol and Hate being spewed forth is out of balance with what's really out there...I hope. There were those who had to spew the venom that the skateboarder that was killed, a gentle, long-haired hippy soul, deserved to die. I can not relate nor be exposed to such unadulterated hate. Their minds have been poisoned by no other than the POTUS, (and the institutionalized racism/hate behind him) as well as hate speech on line. My family has succumbed to the Fear of the Other as well. So be it. It may mean leaving the country if this upcoming election is stolen like the last one was. I refuse to believe that a majority of people in this country have drunk the Kool-aid.

Reading "The Witches are Coming" by Lindy West is giving me more insight, a chance to laugh and even some hope.

"Our propensity for always, always, always choosing what is comfortable over what is right helped pave the road to this low and surreal moment in US history."

Part 4: Month 7

From September 8 to 18, Seattle was socked in under a cloud of ash from the fires down south. I could feel the ashes of the bodies the those who died, as well as the chemicals of the burnt human structures. Breitenbush Hot Springs lay in ashes with only the main buildings saved. I could feel the heaviness in my lungs. Mishka could sense it and acted out by peeing outside the box. On the 14th, it finally rained some and we still have more days to endure. I got up from epic dreams of lost family (my mom, That Bitch Denis, DJ, my nieces who my mom prepared us for so they could come in and check us out sleeping) and went out into the acid rain to witness it. The craziness coming from the POTUS and media intensifies as it's now 50 days till the election.

Then, when it seems to be darkest before the dawn, the triple threat of the GOPruients, COVID-19 and the death-ash from the west coast fires, we find on the evening of 9/18/20 that the Notorious RBG, Ruth Bader Ginsberg, justice of the SCOTUS, died at 87, after having fought numerous ailments, including cancer. That bitch, Moscow Mitch immediately states the Senate will vote on a replacement even before the body is cold, even though in 2016 he said that the people of the US should have a say in the next SCOTUS, therefore, the appointment should wait until the election of the new president...blocking Obama in this last year, from appointing one. This will enable the Dumpster in his last weeks to appoint another conservative, anti-abortionist.

It becomes harder to grasp what is actually going on..these times are so unprecedented in our life times, though to those of us for whom AIDS was an epidemic, this is our second time around fearing for our lives. We know it's a long haul with many casualties before we come out on the other side, but whatever was normal no longer will be.

We go out for healthy burgers at Little Big Burger, where you can get a lettuce wrap in the place of a bun. We are both on edge and irritable and go to our separate corners after we eat in silence to grieve in our own way. Me typing here with all my altar lights on and a candle burning by the RBG candle, as the first fall rains sound outside, clearing the air for the first time in 10 days. The temptation to sell the house and leave the country is strong. The need to stay and fight on will probably prevail, but may not take the re-election of the anti-Christ, the embodiment of the Seven Deadly sins: pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth,

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arplis · 4 years

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Arplis - News: When I first saw this Easter sweet from Málaga called nazareno, which literally translates as nazarean, my first thought was: hot cross buns! Their look is very similar, so I wonder if they are influenced by each other (maybe a traveler that brought...

A few differences are that, in the nazareno, the raisins are soaked in Málaga‘s sweet wine, and it also incorporates candied fruit and walnuts. As for the cross –characteristic on both of them–, the recipes vary: some use flour and water while some are icing sugar based. However, my very favorite is the cream cheese frosting. So the recipe I’m bringing you today is the Málaga‘s nazareno with the less-malagueña cream cheese cross. In my opinion, the best of both worlds! Nazareno hot cross bun. The word nazareno alludes to the men that carry the religious images that process through the towns’ streets in Spain during Holy Week. They wear a peculiar outfit composed of a habit, a cape and a capirote, a cone shaped hat with a veil that covers their head and face. These outfits have their origin in the middle ages and symbolize the person’s repentance from his or her faults. Traditions run deep in Spain and Holy Week processions are one of the most popular of these traditions. It is almost surreal to watch the empty Spanish streets this year, with people confined to their homes due to the Covid 19 pandemic. But the sentiments run deep, and people are observing the holy season from their balconies —musicians playing their instruments or singing saetas, the sorrowful songs sung during the processions. For more on the traditions of Holy Week and Easter in Spain you can check the Idiosyncrasies section of this blog, or by clicking here. There’s nothing traditional about the Holy Week of 2020, and the less-than-festive prospects of Easter Sunday. It will be forever remembered as the most strange one in our lifetime. This week in Spain, where Holy Week processions are the norm in most every town and city, a new saying has been coined: “la procesión va por dentro”, the procession is inside us. Holy Week is still happening, Easter Sunday and the celebration of Christ’s resurrection will still happen. But it will be a much more inward experience this year. We will not have large family gatherings; we will probably not dress up for a religious service (or yes?) But we can still make it special —by cooking a special meal, a delicious dessert, attending the church service through live streaming. You can dress up, too! And if you head straight to the recipe for nazarenos, you can even have a very special breakfast as well. The photos that accompany this post are from Springbreak and Easter last year, when we traveled to Miami and, like it’s our tradition, spent Easter Sunday with our friends. One day, sooner or later if we stay home and beat the pandemic, we’ll travel, and will celebrate with friends again. HAPPY EASTER! NAZARENOS, MALAGA’S HOT CROSS BUNS Ingredients: 3 1/2 cups flour 1 cup milk 4 Tbs unsalted butter 1/4 tsp nutmeg 1 tsp cinnamon 1 tsp salt 1/3 cup sugar 2 1/4 tsp dry yeast (1 individual packet) 2 eggs 1/2 cup dark raisins 1/2 cup yellow raisins 1/3 cup sherry (or other sweet wine, Málaga’s if available) 2 Tbs candied fruit (I used dried apricots) 1/3 cup chopped walnuts 2 tsp olive oil (for greasing the bowl) For the glaze: 1 Tbs honey 1 Tbs water For the icing: 1 cup icing sugar 4 Tbs cream cheese 1 Tsp vanilla extract 1 Tbs unsalted butter, at room temperature 1/2 Tbs water (if necessary) Place the sherry and raisins in a small bowl to soak. In a small saucepan warm up the milk with the butter until the butter melts. Sprinkle the nutmeg and stir to mix. Remove from the stove and set aside. In a larger bowl sift the flour. Add the cinnamon, salt and sugar and mix with a wisk. Add the yeast and mix. Add the eggs and the milk mixture and stir to mix with the dry ingredients. Continue working the dough on a floured surface, rolling into itself and pushing back, until fairly elastic, about 10 minutes. Form a large ball. Grease a large bowl with olive oil and place the ball of dough in it. Cover with a damp cloth and set in a warm, dry place to rise for a minimum of 1 hour. The dough will double in size. Drain the raisins. Remove the dough from the bowl and place it on a clean surface. Punch it down and spread the raisins, candied fruit and walnuts evenly over the top. Roll the dough onto itself and then into a ball so the fruit and nuts are evenly spread. Roll the dough into a log and cut it in half. Roll each half into a log again. Split in half, then each half into thirds, then each piece in half. You will end up with 24 pieces of about 50 gr each. Roll each piece into a small ball. Preheat the oven to 375ºF. Line a large oven tray with parchment paper and place the small balls of dough on it evenly spaced. Cover with a clean, damp cloth and place in warm, dry place to rise, about 30 minutes. The balls will double in size. Remove the cloth, place the tray in the oven and bake for about 10 minutes or until golden (mine were ready at the 8 minute mark, so check closely during the last minutes of baking). Prepare the glaze: mix the honey with the milk until well combined. Prepare the icing: in a small bowl, mix the icing sugar, cream cheese, vanilla extract and melted butter. Add the water if necessary. Scoop the icing into a pastry bag and place in the fridge to chill. Remove the buns from the oven and brush with the glaze. Let cool completely before piping the icing in the shape of a cross (use a steady hand to pipe horizontally, then transversally, over each row of buns). You can eat the nazarenos as is or sliced and buttered. Notes: To create the warm environment for the dough to rise I turned the oven on low temperature for a few minutes, then turned it off and placed the bowl inside, with the door half open You can make the dough in a stand up mixer with the hook attachment The nazarenos are better when consumed the same day. If you have leftovers they are excellent warmed up for 8-10 seconds in the microwave You can freeze the nazareans in a platic container The post The nazareno, “hot cross bun” from Málaga — Easter at home appeared first on MAMA ÍA. #Breakfast #Bread #DessertsAndSweets #Merienda #SemanaSantaYPascua

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/when-i-first-saw-this-easter-sweet-from-malaga-called-nazareno-which-literally-translates-as-nazarean-my-first-thought-was-hot-cross-buns-their-look-is-very-similar-so-i-wonder-if-they-are-influenced-by-each-other-maybe-a-traveler-that-brought

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emilyzh2019-blog · 5 years

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My Craziest Travel Story

Somewhere In Mexico…

This is the story of how I accidentally wandered into an extremely remote Mexican village that was openly controlled by a ruthless drug cartel — and what happened next.

The other week I was taking an Uber from the airport, chatting with the driver about traveling and working around the world as a nomad.

After asking the standard question everyone asks “what’s your favorite country”, he wanted to know if I’ve ever felt in any danger while traveling.

Sure, I’ve been scared before.

When I crossed the border into Afghanistan by myself on foot.

Balancing on rusty beams 300 feet over a canyon in Spain.

Attempting to wade across a crocodile-infested river in Costa Rica.

Scuba diving without a cage in Fiji face-to-face with bull sharks.

Spending the night on an erupting volcano in Guatemala.

Illegally hopping a freight train while hitchhiking across America.

Yes, looking back, I’ve done some stupid & risky stuff over the years…

But the most scared I’ve ever been — was on a journey through Northern Mexico about 7 years ago. And it’s a story I’ve NEVER shared on this blog.

I wrestled with writing about this experience for a long time.

It just didn’t feel appropriate to share publicly, or even very safe for that matter. I was worried about the possible consequences for myself and others.

Yet I think enough time has passed that I finally feel comfortable sharing my crazy (and pretty dumb) encounter with dangerous members of a notorious drug cartel in the lawless mountains deep within Mexico’s Copper Canyon.

Maybe the story will be entertaining, but I hope you’ll learn something too.

The Sierra Tarahumara Mountains

Once Upon A Time In Mexico…

My tale begins in the Mexican tourist town of Creel. A major stop for the popular Copper Canyon Train which runs from the cities of Chihuahua through the Sierra Tarahumara mountains to Los Mochis on the coast.

After a very scenic (but uneventful) train journey through the mountains, I planned to explore more of this mountainous area on my own. Hoping to spend time with the Tarahumara, a Mexican indigenous group.

While chatting with locals, I learned of small villages at the bottom of the canyon that would present a more “authentic” Northern Mexican experience. Off-the-beaten-path if you will.

These places were not easy to reach, and the drive would take hours on rough mountain roads. I mentioned my plan to a local guy (let’s call him Fede) who I’d worked with earlier, and he offered to take me in his vehicle.

Fede wasn’t just some random dude. I’d already spent a few days traveling with him. Even crashing overnight at his family’s house. He was a well-known local professional. I trusted him completely.

Rugged Dirt Roads in Mexico

Surprises Down In The Canyon

I’m not going to name the specific village I traveled to in this story. However, I’m sure if you dig deep enough, you’ll probably be able to figure it out.

Because it’s not like what goes on down there isn’t unknown within Mexico.

Over the course of our 4+ hour drive down winding dirt roads into the depths of the Copper Canyon, Fede starts to share some unsettling information with me.

“When we get there, you may see some stuff that’s alarming. But don’t worry. They know you’re coming.” – Fede

“Wait, what?! What kind of stuff? Who knows I’m coming?” – Me

“The Cartel. They control this town. But when the guesthouse has a tourist, the owner informs The Cartel. They won’t bother you as long as you don’t do anything stupid.” – Fede

“……….” – Me

The Cartel he was referring to is the Sinaloa Drug Cartel. Aka Cártel de Sinaloa, aka the Guzmán-Loera Organization, aka The Blood Alliance.

The same cartel controlled by the notorious drug lord Joaquin “El Chapo” Guzman, who was just on trial in the United States for drug trafficking, murder, and money laundering.

What the hell did I just get myself into?

The Golden Triangle – Drug Production Area in Mexico

Mexico’s Golden Triangle

The Golden Triangle is the nickname given to a remote and mountainous region in Northern Mexico that encompasses the states of Chihuahua, Sinaloa, and Durango.

It’s where Mexico’s powerful cartels have been growing billions of dollars worth of heroin & weed to supply an insatiable demand for drugs from the United States.

Cartels are able to produce drugs in the Golden Triangle because the area is so rugged & inaccessible that it can take hours to reach these small villages on unmarked dirt roads.

Mexico’s Copper Canyon, if you haven’t heard of it before, is a massive canyon that’s technically larger and deeper than the US Grand Canyon. It is the perfect hiding place for fields of illegally grown opium poppies & marijuana plants!

Combine this fact with a desperately poor workforce of indigenous people called the Tarahumara, and you’ve got a Mexican drug lord’s wet dream.

This is where I found myself.

On the edge of the Golden Triangle, in a village controlled by the Sinaloa Cartel.

The Only Bridge Into Town

A Surreal Travel Experience

As we pull into the village, over a narrow bridge, I see a kid talking into a military-style radio. He’s announcing our arrival to the cartel. My heart begins to race.

Further down the road, we pass a group of men dressed in black, armed with assault rifles. I begin to sweat.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all…

Fede notices my apprehension and assures me everything will be ok. I’m not the first tourist to visit this town.

Because the cartel doesn’t want to draw any attention to themselves, they’d never harm a tourist. That would force the military to intervene and ruin everything.

I check into my guesthouse, the only one in town, and we eat lunch at his friend’s place, which is basically a small restaurant run out of her home.

One of the Cartel’s Trucks

Keeping Tabs On Me…

Fede says his goodbyes and leaves town. He has to go back to work. So I’m on my own now. I walk around town. I visit some abandoned silver mines nearby.

I stop into the local museum and sign the guestbook (the last signature is over a month old).

I pass by the group of cartel members I saw earlier. We say hello to each other. While they certainly appear to fit the stereotype of hardened criminals, they seem friendly enough.

I still can’t quite believe this is happening.

My goal for the day is to visit an old Spanish Mission, located a few miles out of town. On the way, I run into a pickup truck with blacked-out windows on the side of the road. As I approach, the driver’s side window rolls down.

“¿A dónde vas?” says a large scary dude in a cowboy hat. There’s a beautiful woman half his age in the passenger seat.

“La misión Española” I reply. He nods, and the window slides back up. They’re keeping an eye on me. Making sure I don’t stumble into their fields of poppy or marijuana.

Friendly Mexican Drug Farmer

This Sack is Full of Weed…

Everyone Works For The Drug Cartel

Over the next few days, I learn that basically the whole town is working for the cartel. They are the sole employer.

I’m not sure if it’s by choice, or by the threat of violence, but growing and trafficking drugs for the cartel is how this town survives.

And some of them are not afraid to talk about it. Growing marijuana is as normal as growing corn. It’s just another crop — only one that pays much better.

After chatting with one local farmer for a while, he takes me up to a small barn behind his house, pulls out a large sack, and offers me two giant handfuls of freshly picked marijuana buds!

I start laughing, thanking him for his generosity, but explain that there’s no way I can bring his gift back into the United States with me.

But… because I’m a polite guy, I accept a few flowers so he isn’t offended.

This man isn’t some murderous cartel member, he’s just a friendly, impoverished farmer trying to make a living for his family with very limited opportunities.

Making Friends in Town

A Very Surreal Experience

So while the whole cartel situation had me feeling pretty nervous, this next part was the scariest moment of the whole few days I was down there.

My comfort level had been improving. I was getting used to chatting with cartel members each day. Maybe too comfortable.

One evening, a young Mexican guy dressed like a rodeo cowboy walks into the home-based restaurant where I’m eating dinner.

He’s wearing a pair of beautiful, very fancy white-handled revolvers on his hip. Like right out of your typical Spaghetti Western movie.

A heavily armed bodyguard wearing a bullet-proof vest waits for him outside.

We happily chat for a minute in Spanish, asking how I like the food, before they both disappear into the darkness of night. Everything is getting very surreal, and I seriously feel like I’m trapped in a movie.

On another occasion, I watch a team of five armed men loading blue 55-gallon drums of something from a truck into a guarded building.

Weed? Opium poppies? Human remains dissolving in acid? My imagination starts to run wild…

Sinaloa Cartel Members (Faces Censored for Safety)

Getting The Shot

I REALLY wanted a photo of one of these guys. No one would believe all this happened to me unless I had a photo!

So the next morning, I cut a small hole into the side of my backpack and tape a GoPro inside. My plan is to use “time-lapse” mode, quietly shooting photos automatically as I walk past them.

However as I approach, I decide to stop and chat. With my adrenaline pumping, I simply ask them directly. Pointing at the camera around my neck. What’s the worst that could happen?

“¿Puedo tomar tu retrato?” (Can I take your portrait?) – Me

“Jajaja… no.” – Cartel Dude

“Please? My American friends back home would love to see your big gun. I can leave your face out of it if you’d like.” – Me

“Jajaja… no. But you can get a photo of my amigo here.” – Cartel Dude

So, without thinking about the consequences, I aim my wide-angle lens at the truck driver sitting next to him. *CLICK*

Cartel Dude is in the photo too, but just doesn’t realize it.

Immediately I start to panic — internally. What if he asks to see the photo? That was so dumb! I’m going to get myself killed. Maybe I can quickly use the zoom button before showing it to him…

Fortunatley he never asks — and just assumes the camera wasn’t aimed his way.

I try to act normal, end the conversation, and walk off down the road contemplating just how stupid that was.

I think it’s time for me to leave this town.

Patrolling the Village

Mexico’s Remote Golden Triangle

Cartel Wars In The Mountains

As someone who has spent almost 2 years of my life both living and traveling through Mexico, I’ll be the first to tell you it’s one of my favorite countries.

I certainly don’t want my story to scare you from visiting Mexico. This is NOT a typical Mexican vacation experience.

I specifically went out of my way to visit a remote area that isn’t very safe. Even for the Copper Canyon itself — if you stay on the normal tourist trail you’ll be fine.

However if you venture off-grid in this region, there’s a lot of sh*t going on.

Mexico is an amazing and beautiful destination, but like any country, it can also be a dangerous one if you go looking for danger.

Golden Triangle In Flames Again (Borderland Beat)

Extreme Race in the Shadow of Extreme Danger (New York Times)

Drug Gangs Delay Sierra Trail Riders (My San Antonio)

One particular story that shook me recently was the murder of North Carolina teacher Patrick Braxton-Andrew, who was visiting a similar remote village in the same region last year.

That one hit close to home. A curious traveler looking for adventure, trying to get off the beaten path, exploring a dangerous area on his own… mistaken for a DEA agent and shot by the drug cartels.

When I first started traveling, I did many risky and stupid things seeking that addictive jolt of adrenaline. Hell, I haven’t completely cured myself of it even now!

Luckily everything has turned out ok so far, and I have some pretty incredible memories and stories to show for it.

But that isn’t always the case for everyone.

My Scariest Travel Story

I’m not sure if there is a lesson in this story. Maybe there are many.

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes? Young people traveling with no responsibilities often take unnecessary risks for fun? Don’t be an idiot like me?

I’m sure I’ll be judged and ridiculed a bit for writing about this. That’s ok. It happened, and I have to live with it. I’m probably lucky to be living at all…

Have you ever done anything stupid like this while traveling? Taken on too much risk? Gotten yourself into a sticky situation that you regret later?

Frequent travelers have this insufferable tendency to “one-up” each other’s travel stories — and this one is mine. The one I share at bars after a few drinks.

Now it’s your turn to share.

Take a minute to quickly describe your scariest/dumb travel story.

If only to make me feel like I’m not the only one out there who’s done something stupid on the road…

Maybe we can turn it into a guide on “what-not-to-do while traveling.” ★

Enjoy This Post? Pin It!

READ MORE TRAVEL TIPS

My 50 Best Tips After 9 Years Traveling Is Instagram Ruining Travel? How To Take Better Travel Photos Why I Quit Being A Digital Nomad Tips For Starting A Travel Blog

What’s your scariest travel story? Have you ever done something dangerous or stupid while traveling? Drop me a message in the comments below!

This is a post from The Expert Vagabond adventure blog.

#039;s #1</strong></p>#1

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janetchavezcom · 5 years

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My Run-In With A Notorious Mexican Drug Cartel

My Craziest Travel Story

Somewhere In Mexico…

This is the story of how I accidentally wandered into an extremely remote Mexican village that was openly controlled by a ruthless drug cartel — and what happened next.

No, this is not an April fools post. Posted April 2nd!

The other week I was taking an Uber from the airport, chatting with the driver about traveling and working around the world as a nomad.

After asking the standard question everyone asks “what’s your favorite country”, he wanted to know if I’ve ever felt in any danger while traveling.

Sure, I’ve been scared before.

When I crossed the border into Afghanistan by myself on foot.

Balancing on rusty beams 300 feet over a canyon in Spain.

Attempting to wade across a crocodile-infested river in Costa Rica.

Scuba diving without a cage in Fiji face-to-face with bull sharks.

Spending the night on an erupting volcano in Guatemala.

Illegally hopping a freight train while hitchhiking across America.

Yes, looking back, I’ve done some stupid & risky stuff over the years…

But the most scared I’ve ever been — was on a journey through Northern Mexico about 7 years ago. And it’s a story I’ve NEVER shared on this blog.

I wrestled with writing about this experience for a long time.

It just didn’t feel appropriate to share publicly, or even very safe for that matter. I was worried about the possible consequences for myself and others.

Maybe the story will be entertaining, but I hope you’ll learn something too.

The Sierra Tarahumara Mountains

Once Upon A Time In Mexico…

While chatting with locals, I learned of small villages at the bottom of the canyon that would present a more “authentic” Northern Mexican experience. Off-the-beaten-path if you will.

Rugged Dirt Roads in Mexico

Surprises Down In The Canyon

I’m not going to name the specific village I traveled to in this story. However, I’m sure if you dig deep enough, you’ll probably be able to figure it out.

Because it’s not like what goes on down there isn’t unknown within Mexico.

Over the course of our 4+ hour drive down winding dirt roads into the depths of the Copper Canyon, Fede starts to share some unsettling information with me.

“When we get there, you may see some stuff that’s alarming. But don’t worry. They know you’re coming.” – Fede

“Wait, what?! What kind of stuff? Who knows I’m coming?” – Me

“The Cartel. They control this town. But when the guesthouse has a tourist, the owner informs The Cartel. They won’t bother you as long as you don’t do anything stupid.” – Fede

“……….” – Me

The Cartel he was referring to is the Sinaloa Cartel. Aka Cártel de Sinaloa, aka the Guzmán-Loera Organization, aka The Blood Alliance.

The same cartel controlled by the notorious drug lord Joaquin “El Chapo” Guzman, who was just on trial in the United States for drug trafficking, murder, and money laundering.

What the hell did I just get myself into?

The Golden Triangle – Drug Production Area in Mexico

Mexico’s Golden Triangle

The Golden Triangle is the nickname given to a remote and mountainous region in Northern Mexico that encompasses the states of Chihuahua, Sinaloa, and Durango.

It’s where Mexico’s powerful cartels have been growing billions of dollars worth of heroin & weed to supply an insatiable demand for drugs from the United States.

Cartels are able to produce drugs in the Golden Triangle because the area is so rugged & inaccessible that it can take hours to reach these small villages on unmarked dirt roads.

Combine this fact with a desperately poor workforce of indigenous people called the Tarahumara, and you’ve got a Mexican drug lord’s wet dream.

This is where I found myself.

On the edge of the Golden Triangle, in a village controlled by the Sinaloa Cartel.

The Only Bridge Into Town

A Surreal Travel Experience

As we pull into the village, over a narrow bridge, I see a kid talking into a military-style radio. He’s announcing our arrival to the cartel. My heart begins to race.

Further down the road, we pass a group of men dressed in black, armed with assault rifles. I begin to sweat.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all…

Fede notices my apprehension and assures me everything will be ok. I’m not the first tourist to visit this town.

Because the cartel doesn’t want to draw any attention to themselves, they’d never harm a tourist. That would force the military to intervene and ruin everything.

I check into my guesthouse, the only one in town, and we eat lunch at his friend’s place, which is basically a small restaurant run out of her home.

One of the Cartel’s Trucks

Keeping Tabs On Me…

Fede says his goodbyes and leaves town. He has to go back to work. So I’m on my own now. I walk around town. I visit some abandoned silver mines nearby.

I stop into the local museum and sign the guestbook (the last signature is over a month old).

I pass by the group of cartel members I saw earlier. We say hello to each other. While they certainly appear to fit the stereotype of hardened criminals, they seem friendly enough.

I still can’t quite believe this is happening.

“¿A dónde vas?” says a large scary dude in a cowboy hat. There’s a beautiful woman half his age in the passenger seat.

“La misión Española” I reply. He nods, and the window slides back up. They’re keeping an eye on me. Making sure I don’t stumble into their fields of poppy or marijuana.

Friendly Mexican Drug Farmer

This Sack is Full of Weed…

Everyone Works For The Cartel

Over the next few days, I learn that basically the whole town is working for the cartel. They are the sole employer.

I’m not sure if it’s by choice, or by the threat of violence, but growing and trafficking drugs for the cartel is how this town survives.

And some of them are not afraid to talk about it. Growing marijuana is as normal as growing corn. It’s just another crop — only one that pays much better.

After chatting with one local farmer for a while, he takes me up to a small barn behind his house, pulls out a large sack, and offers me two giant handfuls of freshly picked marijuana buds!

I start laughing, thanking him for his generosity, but explain that there’s no way I can bring his gift back into the United States with me.

But… because I’m a polite guy, I accept a few flowers so he isn’t offended.

This man isn’t some murderous cartel member, he’s just a friendly, impoverished farmer trying to make a living for his family with very limited opportunities.

Making Friends in Town

More & More Ridiculous

So while the whole cartel situation had me feeling pretty nervous, this next part was the scariest moment of the whole few days I was down there.

My comfort level had been improving. I was getting used to chatting with cartel members each day. Maybe too comfortable.

One evening, a young Mexican guy dressed like a rodeo cowboy walks into the home-based restaurant where I’m eating dinner.

He’s wearing a pair of beautiful, very fancy white-handled revolvers on his hip. Like right out of your typical Spaghetti Western movie.

A heavily armed bodyguard wearing a bullet-proof vest waits for him outside.

We happily chat for a minute in Spanish, asking how I like the food, before they both disappear into the darkness of night. This is seriously feeling like I’m caught in the middle of a movie.

On another occasion, I watch a team of five armed men loading blue 55-gallon drums of something from a truck into a guarded building.

Weed? Opium poppies? Human remains dissolving in acid? My imagination starts to run wild…

Sinaloa Cartel Members (Faces Censored for Safety)

Getting The Shot

I REALLY wanted a photo of one of these guys. No one would believe all this happened to me unless I had a photo!

So the next morning, I cut a small hole into the side of my backpack and tape a GoPro inside. My plan is to use “time-lapse” mode, quietly shooting photos automatically as I walk past them.

However as I approach, I decide to stop and chat. With my adrenaline pumping, I simply ask them directly. Pointing at the camera around my neck. What’s the worst that could happen?

“¿Puedo tomar tu retrato?” (Can I take your portrait?) – Me

“Jajaja… no.” – Cartel Dude #1

“Please? My American friends back home would love to see your big gun. I can leave your face out of it if you’d like.” – Me

“Jajaja… no. But you can get a photo of my amigo here.” – Cartel Dude #1

So, without thinking about the consequences, I aim my wide-angle lens at the truck driver sitting next to him. *CLICK*

Cartel Dude #1 is in the photo too, but just doesn’t realize it.

Immediately I start to panic — internally. What if he asks to see the photo? That was so dumb! I’m going to get myself killed. Maybe I can quickly use the zoom button before showing it to him…

Fortunatley he never asks — and just assumes the camera wasn’t aimed his way.

I try to act normal, end the conversation, and walk off down the road contemplating just how stupid that was.

I think it’s time for me to leave this town.

Patrolling the Village

Mexico’s Remote Golden Triangle

Cartel Wars In The Mountains

As someone who has spent almost 2 years of my life both living and traveling through Mexico, I’ll be the first to tell you it’s one of my favorite countries.

I certainly don’t want my story to scare you from visiting Mexico. This is NOT a typical Mexican vacation experience.

I specifically went out of my way to visit a remote area that isn’t very safe. Even for the Copper Canyon itself — if you stay on the normal tourist trail you’ll be fine.

However if you venture off-grid in this region, there’s a lot of sh*t going on.

Mexico is an amazing and beautiful destination, but like any country, it can also be a dangerous one if you go looking for danger.

Golden Triangle In Flames Again (Borderland Beat)

Extreme Race in the Shadow of Extreme Danger (New York Times)

Drug Gangs Delay Sierra Trail Riders (My San Antonio)

One particular story that shook me recently was the murder of North Carolina teacher Patrick Braxton-Andrew, who was visiting a similar remote village in the same region last year.

That one hit close to home. A curious traveler looking for adventure, trying to get off the beaten path, exploring a dangerous area on his own… mistaken for a DEA agent and shot.

When I first started traveling, I did many risky and stupid things seeking that addictive jolt of adrenaline. Hell, I haven’t completely cured myself of it even now!

Luckily everything has turned out ok so far, and I have some pretty incredible memories and stories to show for it.

But that isn’t always the case for everyone.

My Scariest Travel Story

I’m not sure if there is a lesson in this story. Maybe there are many.

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes? Young people traveling with no responsibilities often take unnecessary risks for fun? Don’t be an idiot like me?

I’m sure I’ll be judged and ridiculed a bit for writing about this. That’s ok. It happened, and I have to live with it. I’m probably lucky to be living at all…

Have you ever done anything stupid like this while traveling? Taken on too much risk? Gotten yourself into a sticky situation that you regret later?

Frequent travelers have this insufferable tendency to “one-up” each other’s travel stories — and this one is mine. The one I share at bars after a few drinks.

Now it’s your turn to share.

Take a minute to quickly describe your scariest/dumb travel story.

If only to make me feel like I’m not the only one out there who’s done something stupid on the road…

Maybe we can turn it into a guide on “what-not-to-do while traveling.” ★

READ MORE TRAVEL TIPS

My 50 Best Tips After 9 Years Traveling Is Instagram Ruining Travel? How To Take Better Travel Photos Why I Quit Being A Digital Nomad Tips For Starting A Travel Blog

What’s your scariest travel story? Have you ever done something dangerous or stupid while traveling? Drop me a message in the comments below!

This is a post from The Expert Vagabond adventure blog.

from Tips For Traveling https://expertvagabond.com/scary-travel-story-cartel/

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kevingbakeruk · 5 years

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My Run-In With A Notorious Mexican Drug Cartel

My Craziest Travel Story

Somewhere In Mexico…

This is the story of how I accidentally wandered into an extremely remote Mexican village that was openly controlled by a ruthless drug cartel — and what happened next.

No, this is not an April fools post. Posted April 2nd!

The other week I was taking an Uber from the airport, chatting with the driver about traveling and working around the world as a nomad.

After asking the standard question everyone asks “what’s your favorite country”, he wanted to know if I’ve ever felt in any danger while traveling.

Sure, I’ve been scared before.

When I crossed the border into Afghanistan by myself on foot.

Balancing on rusty beams 300 feet over a canyon in Spain.

Attempting to wade across a crocodile-infested river in Costa Rica.

Scuba diving without a cage in Fiji face-to-face with bull sharks.

Spending the night on an erupting volcano in Guatemala.

Illegally hopping a freight train while hitchhiking across America.

Yes, looking back, I’ve done some stupid & risky stuff over the years…

But the most scared I’ve ever been — was on a journey through Northern Mexico about 7 years ago. And it’s a story I’ve NEVER shared on this blog.

I wrestled with writing about this experience for a long time.

It just didn’t feel appropriate to share publicly, or even very safe for that matter. I was worried about the possible consequences for myself and others.

Maybe the story will be entertaining, but I hope you’ll learn something too.

The Sierra Tarahumara Mountains

Once Upon A Time In Mexico…

While chatting with locals, I learned of small villages at the bottom of the canyon that would present a more “authentic” Northern Mexican experience. Off-the-beaten-path if you will.

Fede wasn’t just some random dude. I’d already spent a few days traveling with him. Even crashing overnight at his family’s house. He was a well-known tourism professional. I trusted him completely.

Rugged Dirt Roads in Mexico

Surprises Down In The Canyon

I’m not going to name the specific village I traveled to in this story. However, I’m sure if you dig deep enough, you’ll probably be able to figure it out.

Because it’s not like what goes on down there isn’t unknown within Mexico.

Over the course of our 4+ hour drive down winding dirt roads into the depths of the Copper Canyon, Fede starts to share some unsettling information with me.

“When we get there, you may see some stuff that’s alarming. But don’t worry. They know you’re coming.” – Fede

“Wait, what?! What kind of stuff? Who knows I’m coming?” – Me

“The Cartel. They control this town. But when the guesthouse has a tourist, the owner informs The Cartel. They won’t bother you as long as you don’t do anything stupid.” – Fede

“……….” – Me

The Cartel he was referring to is the Sinaloa Cartel. Aka Cártel de Sinaloa, aka the Guzmán-Loera Organization, aka The Blood Alliance.

The same cartel controlled by the notorious drug lord Joaquin “El Chapo” Guzman, who was just on trial in the United States for drug trafficking, murder, and money laundering.

What the hell did I just get myself into?

The Golden Triangle – Drug Production Area in Mexico

Mexico’s Golden Triangle

The Golden Triangle is the nickname given to a remote and mountainous region in Northern Mexico that encompasses the states of Chihuahua, Sinaloa, and Durango.

It’s where Mexico’s powerful cartels have been growing billions of dollars worth of heroin & weed to supply an insatiable demand for drugs from the United States.

Cartels are able to produce drugs in the Golden Triangle because the area is so rugged & inaccessible that it can take hours to reach these small villages on unmarked dirt roads.

Combine this fact with a desperately poor workforce of indigenous people called the Tarahumara, and you’ve got a Mexican drug lord’s wet dream.

This is where I found myself.

On the edge of the Golden Triangle, in a village controlled by the Sinaloa Cartel.

The Only Bridge Into Town

A Surreal Travel Experience

As we pull into the village, over a narrow bridge, I see a kid talking into a military-style radio. He’s announcing our arrival to the cartel. My heart begins to race.

Further down the road, we pass a group of men dressed in black, armed with assault rifles. I begin to sweat.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all…

Fede notices my apprehension and assures me everything will be ok. I’m not the first tourist to visit this town.

Because the cartel doesn’t want to draw any attention to themselves, they’d never harm a tourist. That would force the military to intervene and ruin everything.

I check into my guesthouse, the only one in town, and we eat lunch at his friend’s place, which is basically a small restaurant run out of her home.

One of the Cartel’s Trucks

Keeping Tabs On Me…

Fede says his goodbyes and leaves town. He has to go back to work. So I’m on my own now. I walk around town. I visit some abandoned silver mines nearby.

I stop into the local museum and sign the guestbook (the last signature is over a month old).

I pass by the group of cartel members I saw earlier. We say hello to each other. While they certainly appear to fit the stereotype of hardened criminals, they seem friendly enough.

I still can’t quite believe this is happening.

“¿A dónde vas?” says a large scary dude in a cowboy hat. There’s a beautiful woman half his age in the passenger seat.

“La misión Española” I reply. He nods, and the window slides back up. They’re keeping an eye on me. Making sure I don’t stumble into their fields of poppy or marijuana.

Friendly Mexican Drug Farmer

This Sack is Full of Weed…

Everyone Works For The Cartel

Over the next few days, I learn that basically the whole town is working for the cartel. They are the sole employer.

I’m not sure if it’s by choice, or by the threat of violence, but growing and trafficking drugs for the cartel is how this town survives.

And some of them are not afraid to talk about it. Growing marijuana is as normal as growing corn. It’s just another crop — only one that pays much better.

After chatting with one local farmer for a while, he takes me up to a small barn behind his house, pulls out a large sack, and offers me two giant handfuls of freshly picked marijuana buds!

I start laughing, thanking him for his generosity, but explain that there’s no way I can bring his gift back into the United States with me.

But because I’m a polite guy, I accept a few flowers so he isn’t offended.