The Fast: Day 27; Here it comes: a better version of me

“So why are you doing this?”

I hear this question constantly.  I have so many answers I struggle with what to say first.  My usual quip that I’m sure people are tiring of is because I want to be like Jesus (Jesus fasted 40 days; Jen fasts 40 days), but jokes aside, Jesus has nothing to do with it.

I guess to explain fully I’ll have to go back to California in early April.  There, I experienced an “aha” moment.  I was travelling solo for a few days in Los Angeles and then later met up with my extended family and finally my parents.  I hadn’t seen my aunts in a year and a half and you couldn’t mask their reaction to me when they saw me. 

I didn’t feel well.  I was coming out of somewhat of a depression that I didn’t even know I was in from the year before.  No one said coming of age was going to be easy and I experienced some challenges that year.  My body reflected all of this.  How had it been in one year’s time I managed to gain a whopping 40 pounds?

As soon as I got back to Chicago, I started watching what I ate more closely and exercising regularly and by July I was down 20 pounds.  It was subtle and not dramatic but I felt better.  

Then in August, my coworker popped into my office to ask if I had heard of the Master Cleanse before because she was on her seventh day.  I couldn’t believe it – I had not even noticed (and we have a tiny office).  I had just watched this documentary about juice fasting and considered it a sign that it was time to get back into it.

So why fast?  Most people who know me (and those of you who have followed this blog religiously) know that I’m a very adventurous young woman; from backpacking solo adventures to living with wolves.  The same thing that draws me to do these things is what draws me to unconventional paths to self discovery.

I absolutely loathe stagnation.  I need to constantly challenge myself and put myself in uncomfortable situations to learn and grow.  I’d say abstaining from food and alcohol for a 20-something social butterfly is pretty damn uncomfortable (thank God men are not on that list).

Yes, it’s hard.  Someone told me once that there’s no point in doing anything unless it’s hard because it’s the challenge that forces you to grow and furthermore no one ever achieved anything without sacrifice.

Mountains in Oaxaca, Mexico.  I miss you.

I mentioned in an earlier blog that I couldn’t escape to the mountains of Mexico and meditate in a cave for three days so instead I’m fasting.  In the past 27 days the things I’ve learned from doing this are astounding.  I feel like a different person and I still have 13 magical more days to go.  I can say that sometimes I wake up (super energized and happy of course) and think that 40 days is too little – that I should go longer because I feel so good.  Maybe I will.

You’ll have to wait for the next blogs to learn about those discoveries and changes, but I can tell you that the Jen that was 27 days ago is no longer.  In the words of Fiona Apple: “Here comes a better version of me.”

xoxoxo

Carnivorous Ladybugs and Hope for the Young Women of Mexico

“Did you know they’re carnivores?”

“Really?” I say while staring at a ladybug that fluttered right in front of me only to land on this gorgeous Agate necklace I was eying.

“They are good luck,” says the brown skinned woman in front of me.  She is younger, in her mid-twenties maybe, short and a little stocky.  She’s pretty with lovely cheekbones and thick black hair framing her face and falling to her mid-back.  She pulls out a bracelet with a coconut shell pendant that has the Om symbol on it.  “You seem like you’d like this,” she says.

I laugh, “Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know, something about your vibration…” she says.

I like her almost immediately. Not just because she’s flattered me, I know she just wants to sell me things and of course she’d pull the Om symbol for me.  I’m wearing a red silk string around my wrist with a Chinese white jade pendant on it.  My hair looks like the wild man of Borneo from the fun little bike ride I just had and I’m wearing a simple black tank top with rolled up jeans.  The Om symbol is probably a very likely guess for the skilled eye.  I know flattery is her expertise but it’s more that.  I like her.

We get over the basics about where I’m from and how I came here alone.  She is surprised that I’m biking on these “dangerous streets” and says I’m brave and I think to myself: if she only knew what biking at rush hour in Chicago was like.  I tell her about the places I’ve visited so far on this trip and how when in a new place I always try to ask the women for directions as a means of engaging them and seldom often do they even answer.  Sometimes they avoid eye contact all together so I won’t talk to them.  I’ve learned if I need directions in this country I need to speak with the men.

I told her about when I was in this little indigenous town near the ruins I asked a lady selling Mexican sweet bread for a recommendation as to which bread to buy.  She shyly nodded her head no, as though she had no idea which bread was good.  I told her that I was a non-discriminating bread lover and would love whichever one she recommended regardless.  She still refused to recommend one and barely spoke to me.  I knew she spoke Spanish because I had heard her earlier with one of her daughters.  I was puzzled as to why she wouldn’t speak to me.

“Yes, some women around here are like that.  They don’t feel comfortable speaking with strangers or are afraid to.  Some don’t think it’s their place to do so either.” She says.  “Not me though, I’m free.  I don’t have a husband telling me what to do and I have no children. I can travel and save up money and learn about the world by meeting people like you.”

“It’s so nice to meet a young woman who is independent and travels and has opinions and speaks up.” I say. 

“It’s good to be open, take advantage of traveling while you can, I really miss it.” She responds.

Of course, I ended up buying the necklace, two actually, and the Om bracelet.  I wear it every day, to remind me of her.  She gave me so much hope for the young women in Mexico.

Conversations with the Maya: 2012

My favorite Mayan site: Yaxchilan

"Hola Yenni!" A bicycle zooms past me as I walk back to town in the dark.  It´s the fisherman I met earlier that day.

"Whoa you scared me!" I exclaim.

"Haha, I know. That´s what I do." He says chuckling as he rides away.

I was on my way back to town after having visited a friend of a friend who lived on the island.

"You have to meet Ángel.  He knows so much about the Maya.  You two would have a lot to talk about."  Eli told me the night before I decided to spend my final days in Mexico on this tiny little island called Isla Holbox.

She had told me where he worked so I decided to go and introduce myself to him.

"Hola, is Ángel here?" I asked the waiter in the crisp white dress shirt.

"Yes, in the kitchen, just one moment."

A few moments later I see him.  He doesn't look like a shaman's son who has the answers to all my questions about the Maya.  Instead, he looks like a Rastafarian.  He has three long dreads in the back of his head while the rest of his hair is black and wavy.  His eyes look peaceful and sleepy with an inverted moon-like shape.  His nose gives away some modern day Mayan blood and he wears a fitted beige long sleeved shirt with slightly loose jeans.  He is younger than I thought, not much older than me, late 20s maybe.

"Hi, I'm Yenni.  My friend, Eli, told me I'd find you here.  She said that you know a great deal about the Maya, and I'm really interested in the Maya.  She thought it would be a good idea if you and I met."

"The Maya...What in particular interests you?"  He says while examining my face.

I had not anticipated this question.  In fact, I really hadn't thought about before coming here.  What was I thinking?  I felt so unprepared and I could feel him studying me. How often does some random American woman come to this tiny little island and look for some stranger they don't even know to ask about the Maya?  Am I crazy?  Then, on top of it, not even know what questions to ask.

"Well, everything about them interests me.  I think I am most interested in their spirituality and the Mayan calendar, the Tzolk'in." I finally say.

"I see; how long are you here for?"

"Three days."

"That's not a long time.  So what do you do?"

"I'm a writer and a traveler at the moment.  I live in Chicago."

He nods his head.  "I have to get back to work," He says glancing at the couple that just walked into the restaurant. “Come back here around 10p.m. with specific questions and we will discuss them then.”

The ancient Maya had interested me for many years.  I was intrigued with their society since studying them in anthropology classes in college.  So many things about them fascinated me: their mathematical advancements at such an early time in human history, their incredibly specific and accurate calendars, their astronomic knowledge, and their expansive civilization and modern day ruins.  They were amazing architects that were in tune with their environment and the Earth’s cycles; so much so, that they implemented many of those elements into their architectural design.

Chichen Itza

Four years ago I found myself around these parts of Mexico.  I was twenty-two years old and fresh from just graduating college.  I had planned a backpacking adventure for myself through southern Mexico, specifically the Mayan route.  I’d visited more than a dozen ruins, studied their architecture, and was wowed by the expanse of their empire.  I would spend all day at different sites noting the difference in the designs, in the Gods worshipped, in the purpose of the site.  I imagined women and men in white terra cloth trading jade and quetzal feathers.  I would envision the pyramids as they once were: colorful offerings to the Gods.  I could almost smell the copal incense smoke and see the turquoise stones ornamenting the figures of Chaac on temple walls.

Here I am again in the lands of the Maya.  I can’t seem to escape this region.  My dreams are cloaked in Mayan hieroglyphics that I can never decipher.  Were the books burning?  Did I forget the language?  In my dreams, I catch glimpses of memories I think are mine, but never quite sure.

Come back with specific questions.  His voice kept repeating this in my mind yet it was nearly 10 p.m. and my mind was a mess of Mayan words and symbols.  It was as though my head had shifted from this compartmentalized notion of a people to a hodgepodge of random thoughts fluctuating from the symbolism behind one particular God to the pronunciation of the word ‘corn’ in Mayan.

Questions..questions…so many…like where did they go? The ancient Maya are rumored to have just vanished suddenly.  Why do I feel so sick whenever I go to Chichen Itza? How did they view time? What was the obsession with the jaguar?  What did the women do in society? Why am I so obsessed with them?  Why do I keep coming back here?  Out of all the places I want to travel to like India,Thailand, Indonesia, Laos, China, why do I come back here? What is it about this place?

The time had come and I started walking back to the restaurant.

“Yenni!”  a golf cart zoomed past me.  It was Ángel.  What is it with these people and scaring me like that?  I thought to myself as I got into the golf cart.  He takes me to the beach and we sit on these chairs that lean back towards the sky.  We have a perfect view of the stars.  

“I thought about my questions,” I said.

“Good.” He replied while lighting a cigarette.  There was something about him next to me that made my mind go blank.  It wasn’t anxiety, in fact, the exact opposite of that.  My mind had turned from a hodgepodge mess of God knows what to an expansive emptiness of nothingness and tranquility.  I stared into the stars looking for words because it had seemed that the ones I had were stolen from me or lost somewhere in that moment. 

Ángel took a long drag from his cigarette and stared into the stars as though expecting nothing from me.

“Tell me about you, how do you know so much of the Maya?” I asked thinking that this question might remind me of my own.

“I am a native to these lands.  Not this island in particular but not far.  I grew up in a Mayan town here in Quintana Roo,” he said.  “My father knows many things and my aunt is a curandera and heals patients with plants and herbs.  She has taught me many things, as my father has.  We lived near many ruins and the jungle.  Our town has always been very peaceful, looking to nature for answers rather than science.  People in my town don’t go to medical doctors when they are sick; they go to my aunt." 

"I have studied with many medicine men and learned as much as possible about the curative properties of plants as well as other things…” He looked away from me and back at the sky, “We spoke Maya at home, a language that has afforded me many lessons from the shamans in my village and other Mayan villages.  I have learned from those men who still keep the count in the Mayan calendar.  Unfortunately, my town is not so small anymore and much is being forgotten.  No one cares about the teachings anymore.  I fear they will die unless the young people come together to help preserve them.”

“What will happen in 2012 when the long count Mayan calendar ends?” I ask.

He took a long sigh.  “I cannot tell you this.  I do not know, what I do know is that the Maya have had four such endings before in the Tzolk'in.  They symbolized an ending to their worlds as they were but not an end to the world as a whole as many people say.  After all, we do know the Maya persevered and continued recording their history.  In many ways, the endings are symbolic of a specific age for them.  They utilized astronomy a great deal in this calendar.  There will be a cosmic event occurring on the 21^st of December in 2012 that is rare and has not occurred in a very long time.  Many of my teachers have said that this event will pave the way for the feminine within the earth to assume more power.  The feminine, after all, symbolizes nurturing.  Women feed the children and care for the families.  Many teachers say that this is necessary because the Maya regard the Earth as a female deity since she does many of these things for us: feeding us, clothing us, nurturing us...and now she is threatened by pollution and man is no longer in synch with her.  She must regain power.”

Caracol

“Remember though, Yenni,” he said, “To the Maya, time was always cyclical and not linear like it is in our society. That is why in Chichén Itzá the observatory from which they observed the stars was called ‘caracol.’” ‘Caracol’ means spiral Conch shell. Its shape can be best described like a snail’s shell. “Their sense of time had much to do with the stars as did their calendars. The caracol was sacred to them because of its shape.”

I stared at the stars wondering if this was the same sky the Ancient Maya looked at. “It’s getting late,” he said, “how about we continue this conversation over breakfast tomorrow?”

Goodbye Mexico! I will miss you!

"Yenni! I´ve been looking for you all morning."

"Johnny, hey I lost my camera last night," I said looking like I had lost my puppy.

"I know. My brother told me.  That sucks.  Was it when we were at beach last night? When we built the fire?"

"I think so..all I remember is taking a picture of you by the fire and throwing the camera back into my bag, but I scoured the beach for it all morning.  I even asked all the hotels by there to see if someone might have seen it and so far nothing."

"Well, I will make sure to keep an eye out for it and let the others know as well.  Hopefully it will turn up and we can mail it to you!" He says smiling.

"That would be beautiful." I say cheering up a bit.

"I have something to show you."  Johnny hands me a banana that I hungrily accept.  He guides me out of the reception area of the hostel.  "I want you to see what me and some friends have been working on."

We walk down the sandy road and pass the peaceful dogs who have dug into the sand on the shady part of the street to keep cool.  We pass the colorful shops and the drivers in their golf carts.  I look over at Johnny and think to myself: God, am I really leaving paradise?   I tune into the sound of the ocean and think about how much I will miss this place; the relaxed vibe everyone has, watching the fisherman bring in their bounty every morning, drinking fresh carrot juice and never looking at clocks.  I look at Johnny again.  I will miss my new friends.

Johnny leads me to a vacant terrain half all dirt and half all wild vegetation.  Some women are filling wheel barrels with the weeds and vegetation and some teenagers are working the soil separating the plants with old hardened coconut shells as decor.

"We started a community garden," he said proudly.

I was wondering why he hadn´t let me throw away our banana peels and insisted on carrying them.  He held them up before dropping them into a pile, "compost." He announced smiling.

"We are trying to educate everyone about it.  So the kids can learn to plant fruit, vegetables and to recycle."

A tall woman brisks past me. "What types of seeds are those? We have to make sure they are not Monsanto seeds.  We are boycotting, remember that documentary I showed you?"  She says to one of the girls who was digging into the soil.

"So you´re in charge of this place?" I asked, approaching her with a smile. 

"Actually, I am just learning.  My expertise are animals.  I run the animal sanctuary next door - have you seen it?"

She leads me through the fence.  "I started the garden for the community and it is absolutely dependent on their partcicipation and involvement.  Without them, it will fail."  I stopped to pet the raccoon through the fence.  It grabbed my ring and held onto my thumb.  "They like silver," she said.

It was getting late and I couldn´t afford to miss the last boat off the island.  I thanked her and said goodbye returning to Johnny.  "We´ll keep in touch," I promised.

"Of course we will and I will keep an eye out for your camera," he replied.  I kissed him goodbye and hugged him hard. 

I walked back to my hostel excited for the development of the island.  I thought about what I would contribute if I were to come back again someday.

I boarded the boat, missing my camera and part of my heart.  I headed back to solid ground.

Who Falls in Love with her Masseuse in Paradise?

I do! I do! 

My dearest lovelies,
I have been trying so hard to stay away from boys this whole trip.  You have no idea what a challenge it has been, however it has been rewarding.  I have been writing and dedicating much time to myself.  I have also been pampering myself..like getting massages for instance.

I was eating at a place that Angel (I will write more about him on another occasion) took me to on the beach.  It was there that I saw him.  A beautiful man with long dark curly hair and dark skin all dressed in white comes and joins us.  "This is Johnny," says Angel.  Jenny and Johnny...already I love it.  Umm...speak, Jen. Stop staring, good Lord, you are embarassing yourself!

"So what do you do here on the island?" I ask.
"I´m the masseuse.  My cabaña is right over there."

I am totally getting a massage later.

"That´s awesome, I just got out of my yoga class right now.  It was Ashtanga..I hadn´t realized how sore my back was from carrying my backpack and purse with me everywhere for the past few weeks."

"Well, you should stop by if you´d like."

Done.  Totally done.

I went at sunset after tanning the whole day on the beach, hanging out with Angel.  We started talking after the massage and he says, "I feel such a connection with you, ever since I met you earlier.  Do you want to go grab dinner?"

YES!  I totally would love to! Oh my God!

Okay, so not only was my last blog about wanting to live here and finding a super sweet apartment here for cheap so that I could be an inspired writer and do yoga and eat fresh fruit and fish every single day, but now there is a hot boy who does yoga on the beach each morning and massage therapy that feels a connection with me!?!?  I am so screwed.

Ugh...Chicago...what do  you offer me?  I am so torn.  I would have to get on that boat tomorrow at 1p.m. to catch my flight Monday morning.  I am not quite sure how that is going to happen...

Off to see Johnny for dinner. 

My Route



Cuba...so close...yet so far away...



Paradise vs. Home

I am in paradise.

There are no cars here.  The roads are made of sand and the closest thing to cars you see are little golf carts.  All the dogs run around here free yet they look very taken care of with collars and at healthy weights.  People care for their animals here.  Everyone is so friendly and relaxed.

Me...I am all decked out with seashell bracelets adorning each ankle and a golden tan.  My neck line has a new inhabitant in form of a gorgeous seashell necklace with coral stones.  I wear a huge sunhat and wander everywhere barefoot.  I eat fresh fruit and seafood everyday and as such my hair has a healthy shine from all the fish oil.  My black hair is getting longer and I feel it caressing my bare back often.  I haven´t even looked at makeup for days.   I feel so healthy, more healthy than I´ve felt in a long time.

I would be lying to you if I didn´t tell you that I went to check out an apartment here this morning.  For $166 USD a month I could live here comfortably just three blocks from the most beautiful beach.

My mind is racing with ideas as to how to stay like I could give tarot card readings on the beach to tourists and my buddy who is house-sitting for me in Chicago can sublease my fully furnished apartment and I could do my taxes online and see if I can get some work as a freelance writer.  I could make friends with the fisherman here and charm them into feeding me if I do the cooking.  I could give shoulder massages on the beach or maybe start some other type of business here.

Immediately my future is flashing before my eyes.  Do I really want to go back to Chicago? It is cold there and the people don´t graciously greet you good morning as you walk down the street, instead they avoid your gaze, perfectly intent on their direction.  Chicago where the days come and go so quickly that you forget the seasons.  When its winter you wonder why you live there and then when it is summer you remember why you do but forget the horrid winter.  You just cant win.

I can see my life here.  They have a yoga class at 9a.m. every morning, Kundalini, my favorite style.  I can see myself eating fresh fruit all day and writing all night inspired by the ocean and waves.  I can feel myself in this life.

I think better about my purpose, and as much as I wish it was, it isn´t tucked away on a tiny island.  It is among my people.  I know I have a lot of work to do.

So here.  Now.  Heading to the beach.  Chicago, I don´t miss you yet but I´ll see you soon.

The Fall and Rise of Spain

"Are you from Argentina, you speak Spanish so well but I can`t place your accent," says a dark Spaniard to me.

I smile, "No, Chicago but I´ve been speaking all my life."

We start chatting on the beach casually.  The sun is setting over the ocean and he says that this is paradise.  How can I possibly disagree?

"Mexico is so beautiful, Spain gave up such a beautiful country and handed it to the Mexicans and look at what a disaster they have managed to make of it."

Jen´s Brain: Oh, no he did not just say that to me...
Jen´s Mouth: As I recall, Spain didn´t exactly hand it over.  There were wars fought and Mexico won.  Also, they stole the land from its original inhabitants so the possession of Mexico by Spain, in my opinion was a mere occupation.
Him: Well, the Maya and Aztec were constantly fighting as well.  The way I see it you are either the conquistador or conquested.  So do you have a boyfriend?
Jen´s Brain: FUCK!  Of course, I should have known that this was why he pulled me away to chat.  Ugh, I am so naive sometimes...I never know.  I can never tell...
Jen´s Mouth: No.
Him: Oh, such a pretty girl like you, not having a boyfriend.  Why is that?
Jen´s Brain: Shit, do I have to justify this question?  Pretty maybe but I´m thinking a more appropriate word might be lucky at the moment.
Him: I don´t have a girlfriend.
Jen´s Brain: Can I go now?  I thought we were discussing conquests...well I guess this is kinda the same thing.
Him: So, Yenni, how do you like your men?  What is your type?
Jen´s Brain: Not you.
Jen´s Mouth: I don´t know...I guess the most important thing is that they know themselves.
Him: Yes, that is good.  I like women who know themselves too.
Jen´s Brain: Okay...exit line, Jen, exit line!!
Jen´s Mouth: You know I am just so exhausted.  I need to go to bed.  It has been a really long day.
Him: (looking disappointed) Oh, it´s still quite early.  You should hang out more.  What are you up to tomorrow.  Maybe we can go to the beach together or something.
Jen´s Brain:  Nope.
Jen´s Mouth: (smile) Goodnight.

Since this exchange the gentleman in question has been following me around the hostel, trying to talk to me and I have been trying to look incredibly busy, as incredibly busy as one can look on an island and at a hostel with hammocks at every corner.  I´ve been avoiding him like the plague the Spaniards brought to these lands.  The time has come for me to get off this island. 

The Spaniards have however, redeemed themselves in the form of an adorable, intelligent young woman named Eli.  She is a writer, artist and traveler and we spent a whole night talking about life, spirituality, travelling and global social issues.  We exchanged pictures of artwork and per her lovely recommendation I am leaving Isla Mujeres and going to Isla Holbox, a much less visited and touristed island.  It is a fisherman`s port and sounds like some lovely quiet for this writer to get some work done.

As a sidenote my father would not forgive me if I didn´t mention my own Spanish blood, of which I am composed of half.  A quarter from Galecia and a quarter from Islas Canarias.

I am Mexican; I am also American. I am both.

Last night I made some friends.  This Aussie girl named Tash.  Tash is 29 years old.  She lives a rather transient lifestyle.  She will go from place to place and stop in spots where she could make money working in the hospitality industry in whatever country she happens to be in, saves up quite a bit and then moves on and travels for months at a time again.  Last country she worked in was Canada and on her itinerary next is Oaxaca, Mexico; Bali, Indonesia (for a family reunion); then back home to Australia.

Matt is from Israel and I swear he has the most beautiful eyes you´ve ever seen.  He used to be a dancer and you could tell when you do yoga with him.  He´s from Israel and just got done with his mandatory military service there and is travelling a bit before going to medical school.  He is a darling and very sweet.

There are others...Amanda, the Londoner with a slight Cockney accent is hilarious.  Then there´s the cute, calm and reserved German boy whose name I don´t remember.  There´s Simon from Sweden who has red hair.  It´s almost like the U.N. in here.  Just listening to the lodge in the morning I hear a myriad of accents and languages: French, German, Israeli, Italian...  There are many people here from Spain, Argentina, Venezuela as well.

The crowd is primarily younger in their 20s and 30s but there are quite a few older couples here too.  Its so diverse and tolerant execept for one thing...

The lodge is circular and all around there are flags from different countries: India, Cuba, Jamaica, Canada, Mexico...all countries in North America are represented except for one.

"Whoa why are all the seagulls flying over here?" asks Tash as we lay out on the beach.
"Probably some stupid American is feeding them." Replies Isha.
"Hey, guys, um...I´m an American..." I say laughing hysterically.
"Oh shit, sorry!" They reply.

It´s no biggie.  I get their sentiment.  I understand. Furthermore I´m on an island right outside of Cancun.  Cancun...the land where Americans come and drink until sunrise leaving their vomit on the streets for the Mexican people to clean it up.  Cancun, the land where Americans stay in one hotel the whole time and never leave.  Cancun...the land where Americans would rather swim in the pool than the ocean.  Cancun, the land where Americans come to wave around their dollars without even learning to say "thank you" or "please" in Spanish.

"You don´t seem American.  They generally stick out here like a sore thumb." Says Amanda.  "I am here and therefore I am Mexican when I am on this land.  I´m also half Cuban but have not been there yet." I reply. 

It´s funny, I don´t know who I have more in common with or whose company I prefer here: the women sitting outside of their artensenia shops or these new traveling friends I have made.  I don´t reply to the Mexican men on the street who speak to me in English pretending I don´t understand.  I am in Mexico, speak to me in Spanish...I am not one of them, I think to myself.

Yet, I am very American.  I am a patriot. My eyes gleam with pride when I start to describe Chicago, my home, my city. I love and respect our President and would be honored to serve him, if only in these moments, as a better ambassador and representative of our nation abroad.

Quick blog fact: This post is the blog´s 100th post. I read somewhere in the blogosphere that a blog isn´t considered serious until it at least has 100 posts. Here´s to being a serious blogger.

The only way I can describe this place is INSANE and AWESOME!

Day One in Isla Mujeres and I have already called to change my flight from a week to when I was originally set to come back home, taken laundry to get done, had a yoga class, went grocery shopping for myself, hung out at the beach and it is barely 7p.m.  Oh yeah, and my sleep last night was minimal at best on a cold bus for six hours.  I barely arrived to the island as the sun was rising.

So this place is the real backpacking deal.  For what is equilvalent to $10.00 USD a night you get breakfast, a bed, free salsa lessons, yoga and whatever else is on the itinerary for the evening.  Tonight, Monday, there are two parties going on.  There are bike rentals, scuba diving, snorkeling etc.

Given, the bed you get isn't necessarily ideal but it is clean.  I am sharing it with five other bunkmates (it feels so weird to say that).  Today as I was settling in, one of my bunkmates asked me my plans for travel and where I had been.  I asked him what was next on his itinerary and he replied that this was his current destination.  I thought that was the most awesome answer. 

This is my current destination and it is insane.  My yoga teacher showed up late and apologized for being partially drunk for class today.  The layout of this place is insane.  It's a labyrinth of  dorms, gardens, outdoor patios for drum circles, beach volleyball, drinking, hanging out, hammocks, yoga and massages.  I will have so many stories. 

Quick closing fact: Isla Mujeres is the first place in the republic of Mexico to receive the Sun's rays every morning.

Photos from the journey

My first breakfast in Merida, Huevos Montuñados

Zocalo in Merida

My poetry students in Maxcanú, Yucatan

He was laughing so hard as his grandmother tickled him on the bus.  I couldn´t resist getting this shot.  He has a gorgeous smile.

This is the life.  Santa Elena, Yucatan

Uxmal, Yucatan

Sr. Armando Mellenes and his bici-taxi.  He and I spoke for an hour as I waited for the bus on the side of the road.  His daughter is a grandmother at 30 years old and he works on the corn fields in Yucatan.  He was very curious about Chicago and we spoke at length about education in Mexico.

Campeche City, Campeche

My travel partner, Gibran.

At a tiny seaside stop.  Best fish you`ve ever tried.

Water lily and lily pad Gibran gave to me.  I think it was a gift for finally making peace with the ocean that day.

I was not this happy when awoken by the Howler Monkeys a few hours after this was taken.

Gibran and I swam in this lagoon at midnight and we tried to get to the island (visible barely in this picture) in the middle of the night but turned back after getting 3/4s of the way because the wind was blowing the current strongly and pulling us in an undesirable direction.  We ended up swimming back to the dock as fast as we could.  Awesome midnight adventure.  The lagoon looks so much more innocent and calm in the morning light.

One of the many wonders of the jungle.

Peace. More freckles and maybe a little sunburn.

Last night.

Howler Monkeys, Camping in the Jungle and Learning to Drive in Mexico

I woke up to the sound of howler monkeys in the middle of the night.  If you´ve never heard them you could confuse them with roaring jaguars or something even more frightful.

"Gibran, despiertate...escucha," I said to the dark of the tent.  I was in the middle of the Calakmul Biosphere Reserve.  In other words, I was camping in a tent in the middle of the jungle.

The air smells like jungle sweat in the most delicious way.  It´s a humid mixture of moisture and this nut-like scent.  The birds chirp loudly and there is a constant insect buzz.  There is not a moment that you look straight ahead into the jungle and you don´t see something moving.  Insects abound and all species of birds as well, from vultures to sparrows to super noisy ones that I don´t recognize.  The squirrels here are a deep red and there are other small mammals rustling through the leaves at all hours.

I guess this is the part where I back up a bit and explain who Gibran is and what he and I are doing in the middle of the jungle sleeping in a tent.

Gibran and I met in Oaxaca City last April.  I was alone walking through the Zocalo and saw him drawing.  We started talking and for the whole week I was there, he and I were inseparable.  He was studying art there.  I forgot he had school and he did too, I think.

He heard I was coming to Mexico again and so we agreed to meet in Campeche City.  He arrived after a 15 hour bus ride.  I proceeded to somehow convince him that we should leave Campeche City, rent a car and then head to Calakmul.  He had no idea what he was in for.

First of all, most cars here are stick shift.  I only know how to drive automatic (although I doubt that will be the case for long) so Gibran has had to drive the whole way, letting me practice on some open roads.

Second of all, we are camping in the middle of the jungle getting woken up by the horrid sounds of howler monkeys (all my idea, by the way).

My whole reason for wanting to go to Calakmul is because it isn´t just a natural preserve.  Deep inside the jungle there exists one of the most amazing Mayan ruins.  Calakmul is rumored to be one of the largest ancient Mayan cities with an estimated 60,000 habitants at its peak.  It has the tallest Mayan pyramid and more stellae than any other ancient Mayan site. Atop of this pyramid you can see its rival Tikal in the distance (with binoculars).  In addition it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

More adventures to come in the coming days when I have a moment to get to a computer but until then remember that:  La vida es un placer.  Life is a pleasure. Besitos!

I Miss No One.

I saw this couple arguing at the mall
one of those fights that no one wins
the kind that saps up all your energy
then leaves it there in that moment trapped
with no release
like a clenched fist
that you forgot you could unhinge

I thought about her
expecting apologies
I thought about him
frustrated to the brim

Maybe it doesn´t work
Maybe it never did
Oh the messes we get ourselves in

We learn to be like spiders
weaving our lives so tightly knit
then we forget we are spiders
and act as though flies in other nets
in other lives
then we can´t seem to understand
how we got bit

I stare into the horizon
one of those where you can´t
tell where the sky ends and the ocean begins

The full moon, she gazes
first at the water
then at me
and seems to gleam approvingly

I stare into the most beautiful Mexican sky
you ever did see
My toes caress the soft sand
leaving little etches; footprints of where I´ve been
as though a spider´s thread
to not forget her home
oh..the places I´ve roamed

I miss no one.
There is no familiar little ache
in my heart
No phantom organ syndrome
from being apart
No version of Wish You Were Here
ringing in my head
ringing in my ears

There´s just me and me alone
then there´s me keeping me company
Grateful to the moon, stars, sand
and this place...
The Ocean for her calm grace
To my heart
that pumps solid and strong alone
To my spider,
the one who´s learned
lessons of weaving in and out
effortlessly
and always leaving a trace of silk
back home.

Day 7: The Jungle

I am staying in some bungalows in the middle of the jungle along the Ruta Puuc.  I came in yesterday in the afternoon and fell asleep in the hammock outside and awoke to about twenty mosquito bites and darkness through the trees while the sounds of exotic birds and insects that I didn´t recognize buzzed around me.

Angry at myself for wasting time sleeping during daylight and for not bringing any bug spray or a flashlight I decided not to waste a day and go into the town even though it was far.  I walked a kilometer or more into the small town.  The night road was a little unsettling with the unfamiliar noises and the unfamiliar trees looming over me.  Luckily it´s almost a full moon.  That was enough to provide sufficient light to town.  I had no idea where I was going really because I´m not the type of girl who is into looking at maps and what not so I relied on my ears, which I thought were leading me to the center of town but low and behold they led me to a high school marching band.  Ridiculous as I felt, in a tiny non-tourist town watching twelve students play drums with nothing else around I asked for directions.

I got to the church and met another couple looking completely out of place.  They were from Belgium.  The man´s spanish was decent but I helped him get the next day´s bus schedule anyway.  He asked me if I was travelling alone.  I told him yes.  He then asked: isn´t it a bit....lonely?

I hadn´t really thought about it that way...

I pretty much have to hitchhike everywhere...cept I have to slip people some pesos for the ride.  There isn´t very good public transportation and thank God I speak the language.  I don´t quite know if I´d manage here without it.

Uxmal today.  Campeche tomorrow.  More pictures soon.

Tales from the Ocean, Part II

Part I

I tried to go into the ocean yesterday.  I´d go in halfway, water coming up to my waist and then the waves would crash over me hard and I´d remember the Ocean´s power, her sheer strength.  Fearfully, I´d back out again into the safety of the sandbank.

Friends would say I am an adventurous person.  There are few things I fear, but I guess there is something to be said for almost dying and then going straight to the one who almost drowned you, asking for a soft embrace.  The waves crash over me again and I am remembering my body twisting and flipping violently in ways I never thought possible while I, thinking that this was the end, fought for my life against the strength of Her just to see the blue of the sky once more.

I thought I was going to die in that moment.  I know now that I was blessed by her.  She taught me a powerful lesson that day.  She spared my life. 

As though saying:

Don´t you dare ever underestimate my power or even for a second think that you, mere human, are stronger than me.

Go forth my child.  I spared your life.  Now spare mine.

After that trip last April the news of BP´s oil spilll hit.  For months we mere consumers watched, completely helpless, as oil spilled out into the Golf of Mexico.  We watched the helpless seabirds die covered in oil and pray that an end to this would come soon.

She´d haunt me in my dreams: Your move, Jen...

I kept thinking about hurricanes and tsunamis...something´s gotta give.  She will retaliate.  We should not underestimate her.

Now, I sit in front of her, watching waves crash over, seabirds fishing, the white foam of the ocean gently caressing the sandbank before retreating.

I am so scared.  All at once a breeze blows and the shore becomes a series of white water.

El Cuyo, Mexico

I am here.

Not the calm waters I met five years ago...

I came to this beach in particular because five years ago I came here.  These were the most tranquil waters I´d ever seen.  I would swim here in the middle of the night.  I´d run my hands under water and could see every single ripple.  Of course I came here in the month of July then and I guess the ocean is different in January.

These are not the waters I was ever so politely introduced to five years ago, nor is there a beautiful boy with green eyes and the most gorgeous body you ever did see from Veracruz courting me on this beach as there was then, but I had a boyfriend.  I always had a boyfriend.  Gorgeous boy is married and living in Veracruz now.

Be here now.  My initial theme for this journey.  What a lesson that is: coming back here and finding that the paradise of my mind is cloudy and the waves too great to swim in.  You can´t go back to recreate moments from your past.  There is only here and now.

That being said, my time in Merida is up and I´m changing plans and heading somewhere I´d never been before.  Time to fly, but also be present while flying. :)

As for making peace with the Ocean...that story is to be continued...

Merida: Day 2

Okay so I know I said on rule number 4 on A Girl´s Backpacking Guide that one shouldn´t drink when they are backpacking.  I also know I may have posted several pictures on Facebook last night of Banderas (these delightful shots that are the colors of the Mexican flag which include lime juice, tomato juice and TEQUILA), HOWEVER if you are with family you haven´t seen in five years, it´s TOTALLY OKAY because you´re not wandering around ALONE which was the speculation under which I wrote that guide.

Aside from the drinks, I am in awe of the architecture here.  I am wishing I were a better photographer.  I am obsessed with the large wooden doors that are massively tall and make every building feel like it´s a convent.  Even better when they are slightly delapidated. 

I am in love with wandering the streets of this city, but I am longing to be closer to the elements so I´m heading to this tiny little fisherman´s town for the weekend.  It´s very quaint and the whole town naps outside of their houses on their hammocks in the afternoon.  All they eat there is fish!  It´s a virgin beach still with little tourism and my cousin and I are going to have an amazing little weekend eating fresh seafood and swimming in the ocean while working on our tans. 

Everyone stares at me here and I´m convinced it´s because of my Casper-like complexion.  They almost seemed relieved when I explain that I´m from Chicago and we only see the sun for three months a year.  It´s like they found out I don´t have some crazy disease that makes me look like a vampire or something.

Merida: Day One

I have no idea what time it is and I have no idea why that bothers me so much, but it does.  I spent the whole morning walking trying to orient myself in this old city.  I got lost four times already and have been here for less than two full days. 

It´s rainy, wet and humid here.  I´m glad I didn´t stay in Cancun yesterday.  After flight delays in Chicago (thank you snow) I got to Cancun around 3p.m.  I was supposed to have landed at noon...I decided to go ahead with my original plan and go to Merida directly.  After customs and baggage claim and a bus to downtown Cancun I barely made the 5p.m. bus to Merida.  I checked into a cute hotel with a gorgeous garden and pool.  It´s simple, quaint and absolutely charming. 

I think I decided on my theme for this trip:  it´s called BE HERE NOW.  This morning I went to the Zocalo (main town square) and had some famous Yucatan coffee while reading the paper.  The headline was about an increase in prostitution in this state due to the number of women with children abandoned by their husbands.  I wonder where the men go.  To the U.S.?

I was in Oaxaca this past April eating dinner with my friend when a young woman approached us handing us condoms, no less, asking for a donation to help educate the public on the prevention of HIV and AIDS.  I asked her if HIV was very prevalent in Mexico thinking that its conservative religious culture might at least help in the prevention of the spread of this pandemic.  She responded that HIV was more prevalent now because the men would leave ¨al norte¨ (up north...to the U.S.) and come back home to their wives with the disease and pass it on to them.

I remember reading an article in Chicago about this very thing except many men mentioned in the article were bisexual or homosexual and living ¨on the downlow¨ because of the potential social stigma implied by their preference.  They had unprotected sex with other men and then passed on the disease to their wives.

Anyway, back to here.  The town is quiet today.  It´s a cloudy Wednesday and I am drinking coffee watching the high school kids in their white collared shirts hustle off to school while old men in large hats hang out across the street with their shoe shining kit.  I was sitting here at this same cafe four and half years ago.  I can´t help but feel that this city feels different.  I don´t know if it´s me or Merida.  Things seemed much more lively then.

Mexico has been hit hard - tourism - it´s biggest industry is fighting to keep the cities clean and safe but as the economy worsens and government is consumed by fighting against the drug cartels, tourism is getting hit harder.  The bad press isn´t helping, nor is the excessive violence plaguing the country.

Still I´m happy to be here.  I am happy to wander the streets and trip over cobblestone and smile at the old men and women saying ¨buenos dias.¨  Everything tastes better here right down to the Diet Coke or in this case, Coca Cola Light.  I am in awe of the colonial architecture this city is famous for.  I stood in front of a small church for twenty minutes straight today (it seemed that long but I have no sense of time here) completely still, consumed with the detail.

Choose your own adventure series: Mexico.

In this case, it's choose my adventure really...

I’m nervous about my upcoming trip – nervous because I leave in two days and I’m terribly sick with a cold.  Worse than that, despite having the time to do so, I still haven’t managed to plan out my trip or route.  I have an idea of the activities I’d like to do but haven’t planned those out either.

Who gets anxious about her vacation? Moreover, who gets anxious about a trip she is taking by herself strictly for herself?  I do!! I do!!

I was telling a friend about this and she suggested I pick a theme for the trip and focus on the theme throughout my activities.

Perhaps one could be investigating Mayan spiritual practices, both past and present.  Maybe I could go out there, fancy myself a journalist and then write about what I find.  I could visit temazcales, ask to speak to the village’s medicine men and write a perspective on the ways of the Mayan healing.

Or maybe I dedicate the journey to sensual pleasures (non-sexual ones, pervs).  I could do a journey of the senses taking in the delicious scenery, the beautiful food, the sensation of hot sand beneath my feet or the cooling of an ocean breeze blowing softly past my salty arms. 

Another interesting theme might be the people.  I could try and meet as many people as possible and write their stories of hope, despair, life lessons and joys.  Through their voices on my journey I might find one that uniquely resembles my own…

So what do you, dear reader, think I should do? 

A spiritual journey through the investigation of ancient indigenous customs?  Indulgence of the senses through bodily pleasures in one of the world’s most beautiful of places? Or a character study of culture in Mexico’s Yucatan peninsula?

Please post your comments or suggestions below.  Here is a map of where I will be.  I have fifteen days there.  I leave in two.

Quintana Roo and Yucatan state are on the agenda.  I am not leaving Mexico and only heading to Campache is there if time.

FAILED: How to ruin your vacation in two seconds flat...

In less than ten days I will be somewhere in the Yucatan Peninsula, Mexico.

I’ve been thinking about this trip for a while – months.  Recently I’ve been reading  Eat Pray Love to get myself motivated for what looks like it is shaping up to be another solo journey.  I haven’t taken a trip by myself since I was 22 and I backpacked the Mayan Route in Southern Mexico.  It was a beautiful, spiritually enriching, and often, a lonely journey, but one I needed to make.

So of course, while I’m planning to take this trip with activities like swimming in the most beautiful cenotes only native to this region and hiking up some majestic pyramids, what do I do last night?

I think I broke my toe.  In the spirit of having wild backpacking adventures I choose to wrap some gauze and electrical tape (it was either this or duct tape) around the offending toe and limp around my apartment all day like nothing is wrong.  Sure, I could go to the doctor, but why?  He’ll only tell me something that I don’t want to hear like not to walk on it or to take it easy or something. 

This reminds me of the time I almost died from this crazy wave in the ocean (read that story here) and the first question I asked the doctor who was about to stitch my face up was:  “So when can I go back in?”  The doctor, slightly surprised at my question (which I guess might happen when you’re a young female foreigner that needs stitches on HER FACE) broke my heart by saying a whole seven days.  Seven days?!?  I wasn't about to hang around a sleepy beach town where I can't go to its only attraction for seven days!

Conclusion: doctors are stupid and unnecessary.  Disclaimer: my scar healed quite beautifully and you can barely tell now…but that’s irrelevant.  We’re talking about my toe here…

Pain is nothing.  I will still snorkel, dive and hike around one of Mexico’s most beautiful states.  Did you know that the average temperature for Merida right now is 84 degrees?  Did you also know that I live in Chicago?

It should be better by the time I leave, right?

The Birds Always Sing After The Rain

When I was 22 years old I went backpacking by myself to the southern part of Mexico for two months.  I spent time in many indigenous communities that had a completely different perspective on life than I did, growing up in the United States.  Everything was different; their sense of time, their sense of priorities and their spirituality.  I spent time with them and listened.  I soon learned that they had more to teach me, than I them in many cases. 

San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas

One of the people I met worked at the Mayan Museum of Medicine in San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas.  His name was Miguel.  I went to go visit him after walking two miles from my hostel to the museum in the rain.  I wasn’t in the best of moods when he looked me over and said: Sabias que los pajaros siempre cantan despues de la lluvia? Did you know that the birds ALWAYS sing after the rain?  It was a simple response to the melody of chirps and songs that were serenading us at the moment but really it was a metaphor I still use in my daily life. 

Miguel didn’t have a sense of space or time the way I did; he also didn’t see it as an issue.  When in Rome do as the Romans, and I found myself caring much less about the details and much more about the moment.  In his native Mayan language there did not exist the conditional tense, that is: should have, would have, could have, etc.  In his language they speak in the present.  That was probably one of the most rewarding things about being around him.  He was always present and in the moment.  When he listened, he really listened and when he spoke, he used his words wisely.

It wasn’t all easy lessons like with Miguel.  I spent time in Veracruz shortly thereafter and really wanted to drink a beer after having abstained from alcohol for more than one month.  I walked into a bar by myself to drink a beer and write in my journal.  I was not left alone and saw the harsh reality of being a woman in a country that has a very different sense of what women should and shouldn’t do.  

The men looked at me as though I was half crazy and spoke to me as though I was for sale.  I felt angry, not so much at them, but at this culture that seemed so unfair to women and allowed men to do as they pleased on the basis of their sex.  I felt the frustration of an outsider who wanted to turn their culture upside down and show them mine because of a sense of superiority and enlightenment.  I grounded myself and reminded myself that I chose to be there to listen and learn and not to conquer their beliefs.  I reminded myself that it wasn’t my job to do so and furthermore, I knew I wasn’t going to win that battle so I finished my beer and went for a walk instead.