Thanksgiving 2009: 10 Things.

1. I am thankful for a beautiful world and getting to see bits of it.
2. I am thankful I found my overpriced Lancome eyeliner that I thought I’d accidentally thrown away.
3. I am thankful for miracles.
4. I am thankful my house didn’t burn down either from cooking or leaving my straightener on.
5. I am thankful for all the babies expected in summer 2010 by my good friends and family.
6. I am thankful for the seasons.
7. I am thankful for Dancing with the Stars.
8. I am thankful for memories.
9. I am thankful for cheese.
10. I am thankful for you.

Uxmal

Uxmal, however, was love at first sight. It was quiet--a few other tourists and no vendors. It’s also just beautiful-lots of lush vegetation making you feel like you wandered into the jungle and discovered the pyramids all by yourself. You can climb on several of the structures, giving you a better taste of the views, feel and smells that the former residents experienced. We had time to explore by ourselves, and sat and gazed for a while in the golden late afternoon sun, and imagined Mayans coming and going and performing their rites.

The experience wasn't exactly marred, but was not maximised, by our guide, who gave our tour in both Spanish and English. Sample:
Guide in Spanish: 10 minute screed plus extended Q and A in front of a building.
Guide in English: “We are speaking of the mayans, who lived here.”
(Possible slight exaggeration alert).

Later that evening we came back for the sound and light show. The trouble with knowing a language only slightly is that most of one's knowledge is completely useless. Of the spoken part, I understood bits like "the colour yellow..." "The men have..." and "...because..." So I can't tell you what it was about.

Well, ok, it was obviously a dramatization of ancient life there, with people chanting to Chaac, and praying for rain, and explaining the meaning of the colours in and around the temple (according to our guide, they represent life, and black represents death). There were translator headphones available, but our guide omitted to mention that beforehand. But honestly, I'm fine with only the gist. I dislike translator headphones on the whole, and the experience felt a little more real for being a little more mysterious to me. There was music, and a sonic rainstorm, and the lights were pretty spectacular, and I can understand lightning in any language. It was a beautiful ending to our trip.

A Wonder

I had an interesting reaction to my first sight of Chichen Itza--I was distinctly underwhelmed. I blame the posters. For days I've been looking at pictures of this place, hearing about how it’s just been named a wonder of the world, and we got to the site and paid our fee, made our way through the turnstiles and crowds of tourists and vendors, and then suddenly there it was. Just like in the pictures, and we hadn't even had to walk uphill to get there.

However, our guide started telling us about its history, and about Mayan sacrifices, and the mysterious ball game that was tied to it all. He showed us carved symbols, and the cenote where sacrifices where thrown, and how the sun lights up the main pyramid at the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, and we walked around the site and explored a little. And I fell in love a little bit with Chichen Itza and its veiled past. I wanted to gaze at it more as we left than when we arrived.

We're of course lucky to have so much access to information about our world. But it does mean that the impact of certain things is lessened. Not that I'm saying we should avoid books and pictures for fear of losing the novelty factor of things--it’s just that, when people tell you you're going to be stunned by something, and you see it in pics, or read about it online, or watch TV programs on it.. It makes it a little harder to be stunned than perhaps it was for Spanish colonialists who may have happened upon it a little more unawares.

On our way back, we stopped at Kikil (sp?), where there's a swimming cenote. Now, I'd heard of these, but not really understood what the big deal was. We swam in it, and honestly, it was completely amazing. You descend down dimly lit stone steps, down, down, down to the limestone pool. It was beautiful, green, shaded with light breaking through, hung with vines, little waterfalls and sprays falling from the sides, and moss decorating the edges. It was like a tropical fantasy. We had less than an hour to spend there, and loved every second.

Flamingos

Once I was with a group of teens in southern Utah playing games. One of them involved saying what animal we thought each person would be. Dogs, cats, lions, horses...and then one of the teens turned to me and said she thought I'd be a flamingo.

I'm still not sure what that means, but I’ve felt a small bond between me and the pink creatures since then, and I was excited to see my peeps today. Celestun is one of only a couple of places where pink flamingos live in the wild, apparently. We took a day trip to see them, toured around in a small motor boat, took pictures and watched them standing one one leg just as they do in books, preening, screeching, showing off. Apparently they get their colour from carotene, which somehow is filtered through their beaks. The water itself had an orange tint.

You can’t help thinking that God was having a bit of a laugh designing those things. As in “I’ve had a long day creating Kilimanjaro and it’s time for a bit of frivolity. I know...pink birds!”

After circling around for a while, our captain steered towards trees at the edge of the lake--rather quickly, I thought. Really, rather too quickly to stop in time...and then we found ourselves sweeping through a little opening into a tunnel of mangroves. The light was filtering through the trees, and the water was glowing ruby red in places. We stopped at a little landing, wandered around, looked at gigantic termite nests. We then drove to a nearby beach, and I swam in the gulf, and lazed on white shells, and we ate filetes in a beachside restaurant.

Driving to and from in the van was also pretty great. We sped past thatched huts, kids flying kites, coca cola logos painted on buildings, schoolgirls in pleated skirts, taxis powered by motorbike or cycle, and old churches. A bizarre cultural moment came listening to Beatles covers in the van, with a very sultry latina singing lines about renting a cottage in the Isle of Wight if it's not too dear. A little surreal.

The Hostel of the Stupid

Hola chicas! Buenos tardes, mis amigos! Cuanto esta? Gracias! Donde esta el bano?

There you have just about the limits of my Spanish (and I suspect that some of it may really be Italian), but thanks to the friendly people of Merida, it is sufficient to get me through a week in Mexico.

I travelled to meet a friend there, and after the first night, we left our expensive but bland hotel with unhelpful concierge for a picturesque hostel with an unpredictable hot water system, but totally charming hosts Linda and Florian who, as far as I can tell, spend their days eagerly waiting for us to return and wondering how to make us happier. Linda is a petite blonde, who said "welcome home" when we arrived, later said eagerly, "I want to show you something," and proudly led me to the beautiful open balcony above the square, and was thrilled when I told her we liked the hostel better than our hotel. Florian is skinny, blond, and be-pierced, and booked us three tours for roughly the price of one from the hotel, offered us spaghetti for dinner, and excitedly met us as we came back from our tour to hear about it. They nearly trampled each other to get a map when we asked where to buy a certain item in merida and sent us off with instructions on what to look for and to "negotiate!"

Sadly, though charming, it is clearly the hostel where stupid people end up. Both TLC and I forgot to a) charge our cameras and b) bring chargers. Because, you know, we're going to see one of the wonders of the world, so camera phones will cover that, right? There was no help for us. Florian just lost his charger, and one of the other tourists forgot his camera altogether.

It seems that there are constantly fiestas in Merida, which is great, except when you’re dropping off to sleep next door. TLC and I started giggling one night when we turned out our lights and immediately loud music and shouting broke out. As I said, on the bright side, the motorbikes and taxis almost drowned it out.


A few pics of our home in the city.

The Frozen Tundra

I must admit that I’m not 100 percent sure about what a tundra is, but I’m pretty confident that I’m familiar with the spirit of it, and I’m all about living according to the spirit of things, which is why I still eat tiramisu.*

Early this year, I went to the Banff Film Festival, which is not in Banff, incidentally, but tours all over the place. The featured film was about a couple who decided to trek across the north pole all the way to Canada. They walked for months and months and finally had to be picked up by rescue plane because climate change was causing the ice to break up, and they were about to die, basically. They were incredibly tough and resilient and cheerful, even when the woman left some vital piece of equipment at one of their camps and they had to trek back for about three years to get it.

As I watched it, shivering sympathetically, I thought, “I would never ever even be tempted to do anything similar.” I have no desire to climb Everest or visit the North Pole or similar. I don’t like being cold, I don’t particularly like heights, I have a rich history of ankle injuries, and I’m not a thrill seeker.

So why was I about 11,000 feet up a mountain on Saturday?

This week, a friend invited me to climb Timpanogos and enjoy the fall colours. Well, I do like autumn. And I do like hiking. And Mount Timpanogos is so pretty!

So we began hiking, and it was a beautiful day, and there was a waterfall, and aspens, and sunshine. But as we headed up, it got colder. And windier. And snowier. And we met a few hikers coming down who had left their camp at two in the morning and said “it’s been one of the most miserable experiences of my life.” Others advised us not to try to summit.

As I trudged through what was most certainly frozen and what I’m pretty sure was a tundra, with the wind howling around, nose dripping, and wondering if my feet were actually gangrenous or just frostbitten, I suddenly realised that the scene was a lot like the Banff movie.

Now, OK, a particularly astute observer might have noticed one or two superficial differences. For instance, it wasn’t quite so cold that my eyes got frostbite, as the intrepid woman’s did, and we hiked for hours rather than, say, months, and there weren’t any polar bears (as far as I observed), and no-one had built them a fire in a hut at the north pole. So yeah, if you want to nitpick, I guess it wasn’t quite the same experience. But I felt I was living the spirit of the north pole trek!

We didn’t summit, and I’m just fine with that. We got to Emerald Lake, which was more like “Frozen Wasteland Ice Rink,” and dove into the hut at the top, where some wonderful, marvellous campers had lit a fire, and I got to dry out my socks, thaw out my toes, and re-attach them to my feet. We chatted to other hikers who had also decided not to summit today, and we all admired the one girl who had had foresight enough to wear actual boots instead of running shoes. It was rather fun, and I think we all felt pretty tough, and the views were spectacular, and the joy of warmed feet carried me back down the mountain.

And I guess what I’m saying is that I can see how people get suckered into climbing mountains and visiting poles. They come back from a little hike and look at their pictures while they’re sitting by the fire drinking hot chocolate, and see how pretty it was, and forget their blisters and start planning another slightly bigger one. And before you know it, you’re climbing Everest “because it’s there” and getting frostbitten corneas.

Look at my pictures.** Aren’t they pretty? I can’t wait to go again next year.

*made with brandy and coffee and thus considered non-kosher by some Mormons.
**For some reason I can't post any of my rotated pictures. If you want to see those, they're on FB. If you know why, send me a postcard.

Back By Popular Demand

I think I can say that now that more than one person has commented on my absence.
I wish I could say that I was busy fighting tigers in Namibia, or building an orphanage in the Brazilian jungle, or negotiating the release of hostages in Honduras, but it was not so. In fact, I suspect there may not even BE tigers in Namibia.

But I have seen at least one tiger since last I blogged (in the zoo). And we all have friends who’ve helped build orphanages in South America, haven’t we? And Bill Clinton helped with hostages in Korea. So it’s almost true.

In addition to those exciting events, I’ve been doing other stuff. Oh, all sorts of other stuff. Summer stuff. That kind of summer stuff that, .come cooler weather, becomes a vague golden memory. Like camping. I went camping, and I believe blisters and sore muscles may have been involved, but all I REALLY remember is the beautiful mountains and lakes and streams, and freshly caught trout roasted over wood fires, and mysterious mountainous noises at night.

And a trip to Bear Lake, where my trusty car inconveniently decided it also wanted a holiday, and suddenly stopped working. But what I really remember is the warm beach, and the cool water, and the best raspberry shakes ever, and various other sunny summery images.

And gigs with Citrine, where I know for a fact that we had sound issues, and my feet ached from standing on the stage for too long, and the “Scottish” shortbread...wasn’t. But I best remember hanging out with my Sistrines, and enjoying the surroundings, and how good it felt when the music came together and people enjoyed it.

I hope y’all had lovely summers too, with lovely memories. I’ll blog more later. Right now I have a nicely timed and not-too-severe head cold which is just bad enough to give me an excuse to lie around all weekend and drink hot Ribena. It’s all very pleasant and autumnal.