At The Crossroads...

...and yes, he wrote my name in the sand!

From Graceland to Varneyland

Of course I am an Elvis fan (who isn't?), though I can't say I've ever had a desire to visit Graceland before. But how could I bypass Memphis without a stop there? Our trip may have over-filled my need for adventure, but my thirst for music was still not quenched. Perhaps a visit to Sun Studio and Graceland would take care of it once and for all.

Many big names in music got started at Sun Studio, the self-proclaimed "Birth Place of Rock N'Roll", and Elvis got his start here. He walked in and told the receptionist he wanted to make a recording of "My Happiness" for his mother. He was very nervous, paid the $4 fee - in the 50's this was worth much more than it is today - and walked out. A year later Sun Studio called him in to record a song. And so Elvis was 'discovered'. Other great men have sang at the very same mic: Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Bono, and my personal favourite, David Barker (see picture!!) I couldn't resist purchasing the Million Dollar Quartet CD, an old recording of an afternoon jam session consisting of Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins and Johnny Cash.

I was pretty excited to see the house where Elvis lived, and I was impressed that the tour itself was not cheesy. It's hard to find words to express the feelings while taking in the sights and sounds of Elvis' life. At the end of the tour I was overwhelmed with feelings of awe and sadness at the same time... He was so lucky to be able to find, express and share his passion with the world. Through his music he connected with people everywhere. It brought him fame, fortune and adoration. But somewhere along the line this same path took a nasty turn, and the business of music swallowed him up and spat him out at the young age of 42. We left Graceland on a somber note, and hit the road for Varneyland. But at the end of the day, our fall from Graceland was an experience well worth the detour.

The mood in the car was markedly different than the mood in the car two months earlier. Nervous excitement was replaced with quiet reflections of lessons learned...

p.s. If anyone would like to borrow the CD, just let me know. I'd be happy to share it.

Tecolutla Revisited

We returned to the gulf coast and stopped at Tecolutla, a little fishing town that we stopped at way back in January, at the beginning of our trip. Originally we weren't planning to go home via that route, but our ever-evolving plan lead us there. We had had our fill of adventure, and now all we wanted was to hang out at the beach.

Tecolutla was one of our favourite places in Mexico: not too hot, deserted beaches, and we knew that we would eat very, very well at El Manglar restaurant. It would be the only Mexican town we returned to, and when we drove in we felt a reassuring sense of familiarity - this feeling was a first for us in Mexico.

The week turned out to be exactly what we needed. David went fishing everyday, while I played my guitar poolside and went for walks with Chloe. We had lots of laughs and great meals with El Manglar's gracious hosts/chefs David and Myriam, and fishing buddy Gary.
David and Myriam spoiled us rotten - they cooked for us at the restaurant on their days off, and Myriam made us beautiful, one of a kind jewellery, which she also sells at the restaurant.

We became very comfortable with our routine in Tecolutla; so much so, that it became somewhat difficult to pack up and leave! We knew we had to allow enough time to make the trek home, and of course we miss our family and friends. So, after ten days in Tecolutla, we bit the bullet, packed our bags and said our goodbyes. We were on our way home, but first we were going to pay our respects to Elvis by taking a slight detour to Graceland..


David's Fishing Report:
The surf fishing here is good, but like all types of fishing it is subject to changes in weather and the movements of fish. The first few days were good with lots of white fish caught but as the week wore on the fish disappeared and were not to return until the day we left. We did have a good meal of fresh caught cat fish.

One morning Gary, David and I were fishing, when a guy from the tourist office showed up with a recording camera and asked us if we wanted to do the little 'dance around the world' which circulates on the internet. We took the guy's card, the three of us did the little jig, and resumed fishing for the elusive Pompano.

Things You Don't See In Canada

I mean no disrespect with the following list; these are simply some of our observations. If a person from a small Mexican town came to Toronto, I'm sure they would have a long list of their own.

Vehicles: Vehicles loaded with people, everywhere. People in cars, on trucks, in the back of pick-up trucks, none of them wearing seat belts, and baby car seats are rare. Vehicles loaded with furniture, livestock, chickens, garbage or anything else are also able to cram in a person or two.

Bicycles: Whole families on bicycles - mama, papa and children, not a helmet in sight. Seats from old baby high chairs attached to the bar between the handle bars and seat to transport a small child (quite ingenious, really). The odd bike has a makeshift seat for a mascota to sit and place its paws on. Today we saw a man attempting to transport two pieces of aluminum - each twenty feet long - via his bicycle!

Motorcycles: Twelve year-olds riding motorcycles, no helmets.

Watch Your Step: Large holes in the pavement -(sidewalk or road) with no pilon or other type of warning (see picture).

Exercise: Indigenous women running the local track in their traditional skirts. (My personal favourite!)

Public Announcements: a) Cars with speakers attached to the roof, trolling through the streets, loudly advertising a store, product or service. This is noise pollution. b) Cars trolling through streets, loudly announcing the death of a local person, complete with funeral service arrangements. This in not noise pollution, this just makes sense.

Hotels: Toilets that don't flush, shower stalls that don't drain, bathroom doors that open against the toilet, no towel rods, perpetual scent of septic tank in the air, windows without screens, and having to ask for fresh towels and toilet paper.

Auto Hotels: This deserves its own distinction! These are no-tell 'ho'-tels - your room is accessible from your car, which is hidden from public view - at the reasonable cost of roughly $10 for three hours. They are surprised if you want the room for the whole night.

Food: Tortillas and refried beans with every meal. And let's not forget the taste sensation of chicken, chilies and chocolate.

Beaches: Having the beach to yourself, as far as the eye can see.

Stores: a) Prices: Two-tier pricing - a price for locals and a price for tourists. Inconsistent pricing - a coffee that costs $15 pesos yesterday is $20 today, at the same store. b) A combination hardware store/veterinarian clinic, where dog examinations and operations are performed curbside, next to racks of machetes, rakes and shovels.

Market: Rows and rows of tiny stores - a flower shop beside a fruit stall beside a fresh chicken stall (where the vendor bragged that his chickens were so fresh that their feet were still twitching) beside a clothing shop beside freshly squeezed fruit juice beside a fresh beef stall with a cow's head on the counter beside a dried bean vendor.

Restaurants: Having to ask for the bill. You will be left undisturbed until you do this. (I suspect it's considered rude to present the bill until it's requested.) Meals served 'piece-meal', that is, plates that arrive at the table one at a time, as soon as they're ready... unless you happen to order the same thing as your spouse.. (I suspect there's only room for cooking one type of food at a time, unless it's a fancy restaurant.) Customers greeting each other with "Buen Provecho" in passing. To wish another person a good meal is just good manners!

Dogs: Everywhere. Most with more street sense than your average Canadian person. Dogs on streets, sidewalks, beaches, on roof tops, and dogs that look both ways before crossing.

Children: Everywhere. Most with more manners than their average Canadian counterpart. Children selling their wares not only at the market, on the beach and at road sides, but also between moving cars on busy city streets and highways. On one road outside of town we saw ten year-olds selling live, freshly caught iguanas almost as big as the boys who were holding them by the neck. (Just to clarify: these were not intended to be sold as pets, but as dinner.)

Trees: A man with a machete high up in a palm tree, held in place by a single rope. (See picture.)

Streets: Some towns have better signage than others. If you're lucky, the town you visit has arrows painted on the corner buildings to indicate a one way street. And just because a one-way street runs opposite to where you want to go, don't expect the next parallel street to accommodate you - it may run in the same direction!

Wildlife: Scorpions, geckos (small lizards), large squirrels with bright red underbellies, striped butterflies and birds, birds, beautiful birds (see picture).

Public Rooms: Last but not least, public toilets with doors that don't shut properly, no seat to sit on, no soap and no paper product of any kind. If you can locate one, go for the 'Pee to Pay' option, where there's usually have a person working at the door who will give you a prepared, folded, length of toilet paper in exchange for two or three pesos. (Notice I did not call this section 'Public Rest Rooms', because when you must squat this often, there's no rest involved!)

Blanquita's Blogita

There's never a dull moment with this pack....we're at the beach for days on end, then we take the biggest hike of my life. Good thing there's lots of time to sleep.

I've been getting acquainted with this town, checking my pee-mail at every opportunity. I met a beach dog named Billy, who reminded me of my good buddy Rosco back home (see picture). I didn't even mind that he was given some of my food. II think the rest of the pack has fallen in love with him. Maybe we will have another addition to the pack. I really miss Rosco! A skanky dog named Tammy Fay (see picture) often struts around the beach, though I don't trust her as far as I could kick her boney, flea-bitten ass.

I saw a strong black female pit today that was walking around like she owned the town. When another dog approached her she expected them to bow down low and slip under her to show respect. Not a chance I would do this so we kept far away. I heard that this dog looked just like "Bullet", the now famous dog from the "Hurtin' in Haliburton" that my predecessor Chica met up with. I don't think I like a dog named "Bullet". I did not like "Killer" when I met her either... What's up with these macho names bitches? Oh I forgot - this is Mexico!

Barkers Versus the Volcano - Part Deux

We drove inland toward Cordoba, near Pico De Orizaba, the highest mountain peak in Mexico, the third highest in North America (after Alaska and Canada). We heard that with a good 4x4 you could follow a trail that took you close to the snow line for some spectacular views.

As we made our way to the local tourism office in Serdan to get a map of the trail which leads to Mount Orizaba, we had no idea of what was in store for us. We met
Javier our guide at the office who was assigned to take us to the trail. (We found out later that he was just about to go home for the day when we showed up, but he agreed to take us anyway.) He suggested that we pick up some food and water in town and we could have a picnic lunch at the halfway point up the mountain. Sergio, Javier's boss, came out to check that our vehicle had the minimum ground clearance and was appropriate for the mountain terrain. He gave it his approval, and away we went.

(Note: In order to put this experience into perspective, I'll include a few more details of the day... To our male friends: I won't be offended if you want to skip the next few boring paragraphs and get right to the adventure. In this case, go right to the spot marked ***.)

We had spent the night in Fortin de las Flores, a very pretty little city near Cordoba. Before leaving town for the mountain, we decided to take Chloe to the vet, as her ears were full of ear mites, and she was in obvious discomfort. I was surprised to learn that ear mites are not tiny bugs, but rather a fungus, and the Spanish word for ear mites literally translated is 'mushrooms'. Anyway, the vet cleaned the mushrooms out her ears more thoroughly than I had seen any vet do, rinsed them out and gave her a cortisone injection. All dogs hate having their ears cleaned, especially when they're sore, and the vet was surprised at how strong Chloe was...it took three men ( and one woman ;) ) to hold her still and take care of her ears. We were there for almost an hour, and the whole ordeal cost about $40 Cdn.

By the time we got to Serdan, we were hungry and agreed to look for lodgings and grab lunch before our short tour to the mountain...at least that's what I thought the plan was. While looking for a hotel, we saw the tourism building. We pulled over (it was Saturday and there was no place to park), figuring we might as well pick up some info since we were right there. Chloe and I waited in the hot car for what seemed to be thirty minutes but was more likely twenty.

When David returned, he announced that we're going up the mountain now. I protested - I really wanted to secure a room, freshen up and have lunch, in that order - but he said he made plans for a guide to take us up to the mountain right now, so we needed to rearrange the back of the car to make room for a third person. I was objecting to the change in plans, and not too quietly, when up walked Sergio to check that the Escape was appropriate for the mountain terrain. I'm sure he saw the Barker Volcano was erupting as he approached us, but he was friendly, professional, and quick. I tried not to spew any nastiness his way, as he was just doing his job. (A woman crabbing in public is not an uncommon sight in these parts, and he probably thought I just needed a good slap to set me straight.)

We met our guide, Javier, who spoke English very well (and we would find out later, was turning 25 the next day). David instructed Javier to take me on a quick tour of a nearby historical building, apparently so that he could reorganize the car. I was happy for the opportunity to get out of the hot car and walk around, and Javier was a very proficient guide. David joined us a few minutes later, no doubt after allowing enough time to clear my mood. I admit that walking around in the cool building was the refreshing break I needed, and the bounce in my step returned for five minutes. I guess I bounced a little too much, because my head hit a low cement door frame. I saw a few twinkly stars but maintained consciousness.

We left the building, while still rubbing my head, and David announced that we were going to get lunch before heading to the mountain. Javier took us to a grocery store, and the two men made a bee-line for the deli counter.

On several occasions during this trip, I have misconstrued what's going on because I don't understand the language. David is fluent, but he often leaves out several important details when he translates. Imagine this occurring in a very macho environment, and maybe you can understand my frequent frustration.

So here we are at the grocery store, and I realize that I had better go find my own non-deli lunch at the market outside, since the men were buying sandwiches. The first thing I found was a vendor selling fresh (as in local) cut up fruit in a cup: pineapple, mango, papaya, oranges, complete with a fork. You can find this everywhere in Mexico, and since I didn't know the lay of the land yet and I was still dazed from the knock on the skull, I went for the quick and easy fruit lunch. After I paid and started digging in, I realized that they had sprinkled chilies and lime over the refreshing snack. In my haste, heat, hunger and headache, I forgot that this is customary here. It was still tasty, but not exactly what I had expected.

I waited for the men in front of the grocery store where I had last seen them, trying to cool off (and down), attempting to eat the less spicy chunks of fruit. There were three small beautiful children in front of the store; they smiled at me and I smiled back. After a few minutes I realized they were pointing at me and laughing. I guess they don't see many tall, sweaty, angry white women hanging around the market very often.

When the men returned, it was explained to me that they had bought ham, cheese, mayo, tomato, cucumber, bread and mango juice to make sandwiches for the three of us when we got to a high point in the mountain.

***We drove outside of town to the mountain, and began our ascent. It seemed we were driving a long time, up, up, way up, as we wound our way up the mountain, above the clouds, and finally we got to a clearing where we parked and enjoyed our makeshift picnic lunch.

Within five minutes we noticed the air was thinner, as our respiration rate had changed, and we were slightly breathless. We finished lunch, got into the car, and drove several minutes more, higher we went, the winding goat path narrowing by the minute. We got to another clearing where we took some more pictures of the snow capped peak. We were in awe of the mountain, and literally quite breathless with the altitude. David asked Javier if he would take us higher by foot, but it was already 5pm by now, so it was just a little too late in the day for that. We decided to call it a day, and got into the car.

Imagine our surprise when the car refused to start! All the miles we covered from Ontario to southern Mexico, and the battery dies at this moment! We tried to push-start it, but that didn't work. It was now about 5:30, and we realized that we had to start walking down from the tallest mountain in the country! Since we had not stopped at a hotel room yet and so all of our clothes were with us, we quickly donned a few extra layers, as it would be cold within an hour or so. (We had seen snow on the path on the way up!)

The descent was rough and steep, and we walked as fast as we could. After a while David noticed a power line and we decided that this would likely be the shortest distance to the nearest mountain town. We started following the power lines as the sun set. I just had to take pictures of the sunset...we had never seen it from above the clouds! After an hour or so we arrived at an area which had cell signal so Javier sent a message to his friend and co-worker in town. Gianni was well connected with the local civil protection unit in charge of helping in cases like ours. (Maybe Gianni convinced his friends that a trip up the mountain on a Saturday night to help us would be an adventure.) Knowing that the cavalry was on the way to help us was very reassuring!

We continued walking as daylight turned to dusk, and dusk turned to night, all the while the wind grew stronger, whipping up the dirt, stinging our eyes and lips. The three of us donned hoods and kept hands in pockets to keep warm while we walked down, down, down. Finally we could see the lights of the first mountain village in the distance.

By the time we got to the village it was cold and dark. The local residents who are mostly sheep farmers were not surprised to see us or particularly overjoyed to help us, so we waited there for Gianni and the civil guards to rescue us. After twenty minutes or so the civil guard pick-up truck arrived: Gianni and three guardsmen, outfitted with guns and all. Unfortunately they did not have jumper cables, so Gianni went off with one of the guards to find cables in the next town where his ex-wife's family lives. So we waited in the dark outside of a small store in a pitch black town with Javier and the two guardsmen. The local dogs were attracted to Chloe and kept trying to get closer for a better look. At one point all four men (including the armed cops) stood in front of Chloe when a group of large dogs approached to check out the new bitch in town.

After another half hour the truck returned with jumper cables and in the darkness we piled into the pick-up truck - three of us in the cab, four of us and Chloe in the back - and slowly up the mountain we went. The driver stopped the truck a few times to carefully maneuver the twists and turns on the way up, and after twenty minutes or so we reached the Escape. The cables were connected, and within minutes the Escape was purring happily, and so were we. It was almost Miller time! The police not only made sure we traversed safely down the mountain, but also escorted us all the way back to Serdan.

We went to a local cafe for a late dinner and a beer with Javier and Gianni. When we finally got to our room, we were completely exhausted; our shins and glutes were already aching, we had dirt in every crack and cranny of our bodies, and the wind had styled my hair Medusa-like.

The next day, we bought a new battery and installed it. Javier found us on the street, while he was out walking with his wife. He was all shiny and new and in very good spirits on his 25th birthday, though admitted his legs were sore. We had apologized for putting him out of his way, and now we had opportunity to duly apologize to his wife as well. Apparently he had left a message with his boss, Sergio, telling him what had happened, and Sergio asked him to find out whether we needed anything today. So here he was, on Sunday, his birthday, extending his hand after we had taken him for a ride up the mountain and then made him walk down it. We were very impressed at the kind nature and professionalism of all the people we encountered during the mountain experience.

As we drove out of town, I announced that my adventure cup was full, I had had enough adventure to last me a long time, and that we were going to spend the next week or so lying on the beach (which we have not done yet). I thought David took the news well, although I did detect some disappointment.

There Are No Hotels In Paradise...