After a week in Boulder, I left on Christmas Day to head down to Mexico. After stepping foot in Dhamma Giri last year, I had a very strong feeling I had to take a 20 day course as soon as my schedule permitted. First, I was thinking to go to the TSC in India in November, but I ended up going back to Costa Rica-- I was just doing far too much training on a very steep learning curve to take a hiatus at that point. So January 2007 was the first open space I had for a course, and I ended up applying to a center outside Bangkok, since it was fairly established and had cells. As it turned out, they lost my application and by the time it was found, the plane fare was too expensive. Luckily, there was one other 20 day scheduled during this time, in Mexico... so I had my status transferred to here and used miles to get the tickets.On a very cold (and early!) Colorado morning still recovering from the blizzard, I waited for the airport bus. It was to be a 45-60 ride, possibly slower with the icy roads, possibly faster with little traffic. As it turned out, a thousand other Boulderites had the same bright idea I did that traveling on Xmas Day should be a light travel day. It took about 60 minutes of making the stops, loading passengers and luggage, before we even got on the freeway towards DIA, and that carefully calculated cup of chai I had before leaving was about to explode! The airport was in even worse condition. Luckily I had a 1st class voucher and managed to avoid all the normal ticket and security lines to check in. What would have had me barely making it to the gate in time left me instead with about 2 hours to spare! So, after a couple of flights later via LAX and some movies, I found myself in the Mexico City airport, scrambling to find signs for the Pullman bus to Cuernavaca. Some more lines and waits and a bus ride away, then a night taxi to my hotel for a light sleep.
The following morning, I met up with a Mexican girl who promised a ride to the center. Her dad was driving and another Mexican was there from the city (who had left her first course mid-way through when her boyfriend appeared through the forest and demanded they leave instantly). I got my first look at the country as we drove through slums and forests, her father chain-smoking during the several hour ride and seeming to take the road like a NASCAR driver bent on making record time. His daughter was taking her first course. She'd read the Art of Living and signed up six months in advance. She was raised Catholic and her father had serious concerns with her taking the course, but she had read the literature and felt confident that the only conversion that would take place here was “the conversion from misery to happiness.” As we arrived at the center and her dad prepared for the ride home, she gave him a long letter she had written explaining her reasons for wanting to attend. What a surprise then when I'd find out that she left at 6.00 a.m. the next day, evidently scared off by the opening formalities of taking refuge... Here is a shot of the kitchen where I was to spend the following ten days in Dhamma service:
The course was about 2-3 hours late in getting started. Part of this had to do with the fact that Dhamma seemed to run on Mexican time here (group sittings usually started ten minutes late as well), and part of the fact was due to a registration glitch in the computer that planned on 60 students, but somehow sent out 75 letters of acceptance. By the time the course got of the ground, every single meditation cushion, blanket, mattress, etc. was in use. And this meant more had to be bought, because at nights and in the morning it was COLD! There was no indoor heating anywhere and the site was at 7000 feet, so temperatures did dip. The first few days especially were unbelievable. I had every piece of clothing I brought with me on at once. I heard that several years ago, before the Dhamma Hall was built, they had a huge tent constructed, and it was actually colder in here than out... some students told me that stepping inside it was like walking inside a refrigerator, and students would have to put separate blankets on each part of their body! Here is a nice view of the center, seen from the local-and-animal path just outside the barbed wire fence:
Apparently, several years ago a very wealthy Mexican banker (from the Bank of Mexico, actually) took a course. Although he didn't complete it, he wanted to make a donation to the trust. He offered a large plot of land for a center and all the money they needed to build the various rooms and halls. The trust refused, on the basis that they are only able to take money from old students. The banker had a lot of ego and was upset that anyone would refuse him, but the trust was unwavering. Eventually the banker showed them alright: he got his wife to take a full ten day course, and then the trust had no choice but to accept this offer. And that's the story how Dhamma Makaranda exists today! (Actually, someone else has already given land for a second site in Veracruz, but the trust is waiting to develop the server base there before expanding) In the past few years they have had trouble getting servers here in Makaranda, so they decided to hire a local woman, Doña Mari, to be in charge of cooking lunches. She also ended up taking a course (and brought much of her family with her!), and so would come to sit in the hall at 8 am and then help us in the kitchen until 1 pm. She was probably the main reason this ten day service went so smoothly: she just told people what she needed chopped or measured or soaked and we did it. She was the one it all together in large amounts and had it all magically ready to go every day at 10:55 am. It really took away any one of us needing to have much stress in making sure we were staying on schedule.
The food itself was just wonderful... about as ideal as any meditator could hope for. Especially ironic considering that “Mexican Day” in the US Vipassana centers is one of the more challenging meals, with nothing served except very large burrito makings-- nothing like that here. Very light food, well balanced, with delicious soups and fruit juice prepared daily. The guacamole was perhaps the most hazardous as far as enticing craving, although followed closely by the cactus, pozole, and fresh blue-corn tortillas. Here is a picture of our serving crew as the course ended:
After the course ended, a number of us drove out to the nearby resort town of Valle de Bravo. Everyone had a good laugh that after a couple week this was my first “glance” of Mexico... as I responded, “I've already seen the best and most important part!” We walked through the local markets and had some tea on a boat-restaurant. I also had about 30 minutes to read all my email from the past 2 weeks and figure out what I needed the send to cover the upcoming three. The following evening after Day 11 morning was to be the Day 0 of the 20 day. As Richard told me (who had also served the 10 day with me), “so it's real now!” And just hours before the course began, I happened to check my visa stamp from the airport, and a shock arose when I found they had only given me 30 days entry, not the 90 I'd expected to have! What to do, I kind of rambled nervously to the site managers and teacher, who told me they'd make some calls and I'd worry about it later. The teacher said I wouldn't get thrown in jail for it, and I figured if this was the worse Mara could do, it wasn't going to keep me from completing the 20.There were only 7 total students for the course, which was quite a contrast to the chaos and noise from the last ten days! They converted some of the residences for use as cells and wired speakers to the dorms for the morning and group sittings. In a longer course, the only sitting you are required to be in the hall for is the 6-7 pm. They also puts labels on the sinks, showers, bathrooms, and eating places. This ended up being quite helpful: in 20 days I found I had a greater level of sensitivity within the mind, and being in spaces that only I was using was conducive to the meditative experience. Here is a picture of my seat in the dining hall:
As I wrote, the town was a quite small, dusty, typical Mexican one, though very noisy. At daybreak the sounds of animals came in surround-sound symphony: dogs barking the news, chickens greeting the sun, and the very loud and sorrowful donkey howling from the distance. A loudspeaker also blared out in the early mornings and evenings announcing the town news. As the day wore on, the nearby paths got their use from the villagers. I was mostly successful following the directions and not raising my eyes much, but it was a challenge as I heard a flock of baaa-ing sheep pass by as youngsters yelled at each other, a horde of horses galloped by, or a burro carrying sticks walked through with an old man singing. The first ten days of the course went by quite fast. There were a number of storms but I think I was very determined to be there and so had a strong work ethic. I remember feeling that after just two days, it felt like about Day 8 or so! The last few days of the course I found myself being very agitated and kind of impatient for it to end-- my strongest sankhara by far in the past few years, which even comes out in the final hours of a full day sit. After the course ended, I was trying to figure out whether I wanted to go to Valle de Bravo and then on to Mexico City by myself after a couple days, or straight to the city with a ride from a server, but have to deal with the big bad city after so many days of calm. As I tossing this around in my mind, an Argentinian student found out my flight was leaving after a few days and demanded I come to see her town. She went on to tell me how beautiful it was and the other meditators began to second it, but I was already sold! It sounded like the perfect transition back the householder's life. So we drove a few hours down to Mexico City, where we had some tea at the home of one student, and then Susana's (the Argentinian) friends picked us up and drove us about 2 hours to Tepoztlan. She lived in a beautiful stone house on a raised hill from the town. Here is a picture of the valley the town is in, taken on a hike I did with her friend Jorge:
I spent a couple days sorting through emails and trying to bring my mind to focus on the work stuff. I was supposed to be on my way to Chicago, but the course was having problems filling up, so it looked like I might be coming back to Mexico to do another course in Veracruz. We took a walk into town the first day but it was rather overwhelming for both of us. I found out Susana's son Gonzalo is best friends with Karim, a fellow I'd met at Dhamma Giri last year. At the house we didn't do much... hung around having some very good food and more fresh juice (Susana owned a health food store in town) and I gave up to my craving by indulging in a couple movies. 20 days-- just a drop in the bucket, really, and so many many more drops are needed...
It was after a couple days that I went on a hike with her friend Jorge. He was a very interesting sort of guy who'd lived in the area all his life and knew all kinds of “magical” places hidden in the mountains that no other guide knew about. He had left Mexico twice... once to spontaneously drive an old jalopy south until he ended up in Peru's Lake Titikaka, where he asked himself, “what am I doing here” and drove back to Mexico; and a second time in, of all places, Armenia, where as a young socialist he went as part of a small delegation. “What a wonderful man he was,” he said of the president. After a month at the center I was happy to get out for a walk but leary of doing anything much more, and both Jorge and Susana assured me it would be a very calm, relaxing jaunt down the mountain as different places were pointed out. One of these places was the famous Aztec temple, which we hiked to... here it is when it was still off in the distance:
As it turned out we needed to hike quite a bit up the mountain before we could go down. Jorge didn't know exactly which trail was best so we went off in brush, then found ourselves deep in brush, attempting several rather sketchy and steep climbs where we had to grab onto some loosely rooted trees to hoist ourselves up. Eventually we reached a place where going down was going to be just as precarious and taxing as going up was, and neither option appeared to be very pleasant. I think it was at this time when Jorge pointed to some nearby black birds, very large, and laughed. “I don't know why they are there. They only come when death is around. This is very funny.” Although it didn't seem too funny to me! After another steep ascent we found ourselves just about ten feet from the top, with only one small ledge to negotiate. Jorge went first and by this time I found my muscles a little more shaky than was comfortable. The holds were a distance enough a part that they only way up was to lunge from one to the next, with the hope that the grip, the aim, and the hold would all be secure. If not, it was some ways down. Luckily, it was not a day for the birds and I got to see quite the few off the beaten track-- though with no real Dhammic benefit to speak of, I don't know if I'd choose to do it again. Here are some pictures of some very curious animals I saw outside the temple entrance:
The day before my plane flight I took the bus into Mexico City and suffered through more than half of a very bad Jamie Foxx comedy. The previous day I'd read in an English newspaper that a very large strike was set to take place in the downtown against rising tortilla prices. More than just the tortillas though, it was really a protest against the recently elected conservative president, an election that had unbelievable amounts of wide-spread fraud and even possible US involvement (think about it, the one Latin American election that didn't go far left). As an expatriate Canadian explained to me at the center, Mexico is a poor country, and it is totally impossible to think they'd elect someone so conservative. When I got to the bus station, I decided I had too many bags to try the subway, so I picked up some pirated DVDs and found a taxi, hoping to make it close to the hotel. The driver told me he might not be able to get through, but luckily I was early enough that the streets weren't yet closed off. As I settled into my hotel and took a stroll around the area, the protest grew and grew in size. Here is one picture:
To my delight I found a vegetarian restaurant and sat outside. A side street was being used for the protests, and for the one hour I was sitting there the line of people and vehicles never stopped. Trucks with loudspeakers (and even bands) went blaring by, people chanting and yelling and carrying signs (the most amusing was of Lenin, Marx, Engels, and Stalin... Stalin!!!! What in the world!?!?), John Deere tractors and Indians in traditional dress. There were even helicopters circling, here is one picture I took:
And riot cops stationed all over, as you can see in this picture. Though most of the ones I saw looked pretty bored. They were chatting to each other or messing around with their cell phones. A lot seemed to keep making trips to various 7-11s and were always munching or snacking on some junk food. The next day on the airplane, I read a big article about the protest in the New York Times. It estimated that tens of thousands marched together, including student groups, farm workers, and indigenous peoples. They also mentioned that later that evening in the Zocalo (see photo below), Mexico's “real” president (that is, the one who was actually elected) spoke...
I woke up the next morning at 4 am not feeling so well. After a couple hours, it was more than apparent that Montezuma was surely taking his revenge on me. Besides for a cold while serving, I'd been in fine health the previous 5 weeks, and I think the last few hours had made me a little more cocky that I needed to be. I don't know what did it-- orange juice in the Zocalo, ice cubes in an Italian soda, or the last meal of guacamole... but it was there. Without the unpleasant details of my stomach being emptied through its various channels, I got in a taxi at 7 am, telling the driver about the small plastic bag I was carrying with me “for emergencies.” Overstaying my visa wasn't a concern... as I was getting checked in, I huddled over the counter and asked her to “please hurry” so I could run to a bathroom... there was no time to look at dates (but it wasn't intentional, I only realized this later-- I actually had to go back to her because I had no idea what she had told me about where to go). By the time I reached DC my stomach was pretty well emptied, but I wasn't taking any chances, so water was the only thing I was putting in it. The lines were horrendous everywhere and I tried to plead with the officials to let me cut on the true caveat that I might pass out otherwise, but was usually without much success. By the time I flew to Colorado I was running a fever and foolishly tried to follow the very complicated movie “The Prestige.” At DIA I rather hoped I was home free but had another thing coming. I was too empty-headed to remember how I had to get to Boulder... when I finally figured it out I had five minutes to get there... and just made it in time! It was a huge blizzard outside, looking like the one when I left hadn't changed at all, with snow blowing everywhere. Well, the bus was 45 minutes late so I had no choice to stand out there, weak and feverish, covered with snow for the bus to come! So I wasn't going to get off that easy. Eventually it came and after about 90 minutes of the driver mumbling to himself and announcing to anyone who'd listen, “Yep, these roads are slick, sure are slick out today, gotta drive real careful like, these roads sure are slick, you can't really tell but let me tell ya, these roads, they're slick alright...” I made it to Boulder, and to a warm house and nice fresh pot of Nepali stew....Whew! And that's the story. So I waited around in Boulder some waiting to hear back on Chicago/Veracruz, and doing some reading on linguistics. Here's one last shot of Paul feeding the big buck who'd come to the house for food... #90 they called him, named after his big radio tag he'd gotten marked with:
