A couple days in Bangkok

Day 1 morning in Bangkok: I went to the 31st floor again for my executive breakfast and unhesitatingly slow wireless connection with the view of the city behind me. The food was delicious and plentiful and I kept eating until I packed my Mac away and took a taxi to the Myanmar Embassy. Here I dropped off my passport and visa application, was told not to book any tickets until I was approved to enter the country, and by noon that day found myself with nothing to do for the next 24 hours.

I followed my map in the absolutely sweltering and steaming air and black pollution and got hopelessly lost in a few minutes. So I used the new (or new to me since 2003) Bangkok Skytrain that was as modern as you'd see anywhere in Tokyo, and which they were only building last time I was in town, and took it to the canals. I wandered over to the water and tried to avoid the tourist boats for the boat metro I'd remembered taking years ago. I was told it was on the other side of the river, and drenched in sweat and exhausted was shown a very large stone stairway I'd have to climb, a traffic-filled bridge to cross, and another stairway to cross. Exhausted from travel, dehydrated with my bottle of water, and weakened by the super humid climate, I went to the other side and was then told I was again on the wrong side and most assuredly needed the other. So I went back over and finally found the right taxi, and with a boatload of monks and Thais went north up river 13 or so stops. Here are some pictures I took...

I got off at the pier and let instincts take over as they guided me back to the familiar haunts of Koh San... for some reason I'd just wanted to see what this monster had become in the past few years. A bit of history... some odd decades ago, before Thailand became the tourist hotspot it is today, Koh San started out as a few ramshackle guesthouses where hippies and backpackers stayed cheaply when passing through town. I first heard about it in 1999, through my proximity in living in Tokyo and from the book The Beach that was big at the time. Having not even stepped foot in that part of the world at that point, my friend Carl and I learned about it as the crossroads of South East Asia, a place you had to go anytime you were going from one place to the next. We heard all about how much it had changed in the past decade and grown from a talk among travelers to a Lonely Planet mainstay. We first investigated it on a 14 hour or so night layover while traveling from Tokyo to Kathmandu. I remember hanging out with friendly Thai kids selling trinkets on blankets, listening to an American strumming his guitar on a streetcorner, a very intoxicated and slightly angry German who was inexplicably drenched in water (or some liquid), avoiding the pit-holes in the sidewalk and being stopped and searched by several Thai police who disappeared when I asked if I could take a picture with them. All that and then we were off to Nepal. When Carl and I came back separately just a couple years later, we were both totally blown away how much it had changed... both of us felt like it was almost unrecognizable and the place we'd seen no longer existed... now, what would 4 years bring!! Walking amongst the wild gangs of dogs, the cheap guesthouses advertising new movie showings in the evening, the massage parlors, the barber shops and tattoo places, the overwhelming and overcrowded stalls selling everything from cheap clothing to woodworks to thousands of pirated DVDs and CDs, the alternative backpacker scene that seemed so mainstream to me now... it was like no time had passed since I'd last been here and it wasn't so much a nice feeling! Suddenly I wondered why when I was staying in a nice hotel downtown I found myself wandering in this rather unpleasant place, and felt rather foolish... but before leaving let my sense guide me yet again and found my way down several side streets to May Kaidee's, a cheap outdoor stall/restaurant that must have 75 totally vegetarian dishes. There now seemed to be an internet site, cooking classes, and a nearby full restaurant with air conditioning! I ordered a meal and then hopped in a cab to my hotel downtown after having a Thai foot massage and buying some thin pants for work in Mexico. Here's a shot of Koh San...


The driver complained when I asked him to put it on meter and I soon found out why... Bangkok traffic was now much worse than anything I'd remembered. There were times we must have stood stopped a light for five minutes or more, with the exhaust fumes everywhere. What was amazing was the motorcycles... at every stop light they'd weave through traffice (as in the picture I took), so by the time the light would change to green, there were literally dozens and dozens of them at the head of the intersection, feeling almost like a growing swarm of insects... I arrived back at my hotel at dusk, where a stone's throw away and mixed all together were fancy malls and restaurants, abandoned housing projects, food and clothing stalls, bars and dance clubs. I took a late dinner in the hotel and took far too long getting back to the room and to bed, and had another night of restless six hour sleep or so.

The next morning I had a leisurely breakfast and went to the hotel staff to figure how to kill the several hours I'd need to take up until I could call upon the Burmese Embassy at 3 pm. Eventually I went to the Jim Thompson house, which was down a side alley and near a canal. Jim Thompson was an American who'd settled in Bangkok after WWII and, from the scant information I learned by visiting his house, seemed to have single handedly brought Thai silk into the world market it's found today. It was a Thai style house and interesting to walk around. I had lunch and then took another taxi through the afternoon mazey mess of Bangkok traffic to pick up my visa, which was thankfully all in order. Here are some pictures of the lilies at the Jim Thompson house:
I then shot over to the Thai Airways office (getting lost again with my Bangkok map) and bought tickets for the following day to Rangoon-- Thai Airways being the only airline I could fly for various reasons. I hit an Internet cafe and emailed my itinerary to my contacts. I also received an email from another contact at AUA (American University Alumni) in Bangkok, a large language school that also runs SIT TESOL Certification courses. The lead trainer, who I'd been wanting to meet for some time, was up in Chiang Mai training on a course, so I was put in touch with his colleague, who also happened to run something called the Self-Access Center. It was evening and I was exhausted and leaving the next day, but this was his only time available and SIT had asked me to look into it. So I took the Skytrain over to the school and introduced myself, with the little information I had been given myself: “SIT told me to look at this thing you are doing here called a self access center because they said they might want me to replicate this later [which also happened to be a surprise to the Rangoon contact where this replication was to take place].” With a typical Australian “ok, right then” he showed me around the impressive facility. It was similar to a concept I had taken part in while with Tokaidai High School in Tokyo but much more developed and extensive. It was basically a library where students were in charge of identifying their own challenge areas in language learning, and were to take responsibility for using the resources available for educating themselves. The native speakers were wholly functioning as facilitators of their learning or guides who could help them proceed. It was all very exciting to see, especially looking at how much work and growth had gone into the organization, presentation, and materials.

I was then brought into the academic office and met a fellow who was a SMAT (summer-MAT) who had finished his second and final session at SIT, and had just returned from Vermont the past week. He lit up upon being told an SIT-er was in the facility and we gossiped for some time about all the common people we knew and the far off places we had met them at, and the far off places where they were now. I made it back to the hotel and checked out the Japanese restaurant... I figured it would be more authentic than any other Japanese food I'd had lately. I stumbled into the restaurant and eased into one of the tables with a sunken floor where you must first remove your shoes. I decided to get the buffet even though it was late and I wasn't all that hungry, as I could put it on the company tab and all. I have to say, the sashimi slices were just about as tempted as I've ever been to come out of vegetarianism for just a night! It was a rather baffling procedure. The supply of very authentic and very delicious Japanese food was endless and everyone seemed to be helping themselves as one does in a buffet. Somehow the Thai waitress working there kept following me around and somehow organizing plate upon plate to be delivered to my table. It seemed to confuse her, and her confusion quickly spread to the others whenever I tried to adjust something I had been given. Thanks to this arrangement I ate far, far too much at a late hour... veggie sushi, ramen bowls where you pick everything you want raw and it gets cooked before you, fried rice, miso shiru, gohan, much more and plenty of desert and ocha. With the endless night city 27 stories below me, I went back to my room to sleep.

It was a long sleep and a good one, and left me with much less time to take care of some last minute details before leaving. I took advantage of the last reliable Internet access I knew I would have before Oaxaca and made some more arrangements regarding the upcoming schedule and SIT TESOL course when I was to return to Mexico. I paid the bill and hit the streets to buy some more goodies... some very cool wooden or teak balls to use in the classroom, a shirt or two, some Thai gossip magazines to surprise the participants with next course during a couple modules, and then skipped lunch to get to the airport on time. A quick check in and past security and some more food on the company tab... and took advantage of some good Japanese bottled tea (although the brands seem to add honey in Thailand), except the Bangkok Airport is absolutely maddening... the final security check is not until just outside the gate where your plane is. What this means is that you cannot take anything that you have just bought in coffee stands or gift stops to the gate or on the plane. So after complaining about the ridiculous system to the security guards with bottled tea in my bag and a fresh cup of hot chocolate in hand, I had to down both quickly to catch my flight in time. Another hour later I was crossing the border in the air, and then everything changed.... here is my last view of the Bangkok airport:

First Day of Travel: Oaxaca to Bangkok

I should preface this thread and the threads that follow by saying that there are many details I cannot include. To make it even stranger perhaps, I can't even tell you why I can't include them. But if you put two and two together it shouldn't be too hard to figure out. It's unfortunate though, as some of these aspects are by far the most fascinating parts of the whole story!

So I spent a couple of days *trying* to relax AND get everything together... get things together for going half way across the world, for preparing for the upcoming Oaxaca course, and for leaving things in order in my Oaxaca room as well as in some other places. Finally, at about the 11th hour I heard much of the information I was waiting to hear, which told me everything from what to bring and not to bring as well as other pertinent information I was waiting on. I made my hotel reservations for across Bangkok and Mexico City and wasn't able to secure Rangoon for some reasons. Then, with my bags packed, I walked towards a rooftop Italian restaurant I'd been wanting to try out, started my new book by Rory Stewart about his time in Iraq, and ventured to the closest market to pick up some more homegrown Mexican and Oaxacan items I'd been instructed to find. Nicolas, the caretaker where I am staying, had been trying to get me a van pickup that would take me straight to the airport. He couldn't call the place on the weekend and on the weekday found out that he'd actually have to arrive there directly in person, so that morning he'd bought me my round trip shuttle tickets from my pension to the airport.

I boarded the short hop of a flight to Mexico City sitting next to a woman who'd been vacationing with her family, and when I answered her that I was heading to Rangoon, she proceeded to tell me all about her family's romp in the beach and how she used to be a model in Mexico City. I got through baggage and made it out of the MX City airport, one of the most confusing and frustrating of the world I've found, and crossed a skybridge and boom, was at my hotel! I checked in, had dinner, used the steam, repacked my bags, and settled into a few hours of sleep. At 4.30 am I was up for meditation, recrossed the skybridge, renegotiated the frustrating MX City airport, and grabbed some food and Starbucks before boarding my flight to LAX (Los Angeles.) Here is the view of the MX City airport from my hotel

Although my stay in the US was not more than 4 hours, I still had to clear customs and reclaim my bag, and find my new terminal. The customs agents weren't too keen on the fact that I had just been “hanging out” in Oaxaca for a month and oh, I was going to Rangoon now to just “hang out” as well. Such is the life of traveling across the world on tourist visas. I was red flagged and went through more lines to explain why “hanging out” was my middle name. And then it only got stranger. I should have had ample time in LAX to engage in my favorite hobby of “hanging out”. Instead I had several tasks, the first which was withdrawing $300 from the ATM. Money was just being wired to my account and this was my brief window to get solid American cash. Unfortunately I was given it in all 20s and my instructions were strictly hundreds. Well, they were more than that... I needed 100 dollar bills with only certain serial numbers acceptable!!! So, jet lagged and exhausted and rather delirious, I wandered through the terminal trying to convince cash register people to change 15 twenty dollar bills into 3 C notes. I can only imagine how it must have sounded and I didn't need to look further than the various expressions I encountered... one gave me 5 full seconds of silent bewilderment before giving me a flat “no.” Finally I somehow managed to achieve this part of the mission, and boarded my plane for Tokyo.

Here on the plane I indulged in 12 hours of terrible movies from the screen in the seat in front of me. The plane was quite large and was probably only one quarter full. I arrived in Tokyo overjoyed at setting foot once again in Nippon, a spontaneous smile all over me. I wandered into every shop I could find and spoke Japanese to just about everyone I could find under any context I could think of... asking a security guard for the time or inquiring about menu choices in a restaurant. I had a very average bowl of ramen (but was overjoyed to do so!) and marveled at the conbini-style gift shops and especially the amount of omiyage boxes, which I took a picture of:

I went into a free Yahoo cafe and emailed my good friend Carl now in Beijing that I'd just arrived back in Narita. Here was that cafe:

I got several bottles of tea and walked up and down the terminal looking at everything I could and how natsukashii it was... the green and gray telephones, the formal uniform wearing 20 something Japanese girls whose sole professional function seemed to be bowing at people both real and imagined, the irashaimase's upon entering a store, the sento (which ah, I did not have time for), the formal way of announcing the price and my change and presenting me the purchased good with a neat fold over of the bag, a staple, an enclosed receipt and bow. Exhausted I stepped into my Japan Airlines (JAL) flight to Bangkok. I felt rather special to even be on a JAL flight... JAL is the Yomiuri Giants of airline travel in Japan, meaning that it's the popular choice-- even that is a huge understatement. When something becomes popular in Japan, it's really really popular, and despite any rationality of quality or expense, this is the one to chose (besides for the inevitable but small “anti-Giants” and the like that spring up). I'd never flown JAL before because living in Japan, it was always a good $1-300 more to anywhere I ever wanted to go. And it seemed over half of my female students career hope and dream had always been to be a JAL flight attendant. Oh, and here was my ramen!

And here I was on a JAL flight at last, and yes, all the attendants were attractive young women in neat uniforms and with impeccable manners (though as the flight went on I realized just about all of them were Thai... another not-so-much shock after living in Japan-- though Pinay may have been even more appropriate!) The style was also undeniably Japanese! Extremely formal and rule driven, and when the seat belt sign went off, everyone must be in their seats at that instant! A far cry from Air India. I was immediately (and experientially) reminded of the many times in Tokyo my friends and I would try to not follow what we considered ridiculous rules, only to be made to feel like the arrogant and brutish gaijin that we were! The JAL plane had a video screen in each seat, and in addition to a dozen movies in several different languages, there were also several video games, as well as a live shot looking ahead and below our aircraft!


I arrived in Bangkok having watched several more incredibly awful movies without sleep. It had now been about 34 hours of travel from Mexico City alone, not including the first or last flights of my trip. I waited in a long customs line and went out in that indescribable Bangkok air... that steamy and seamy atmosphere that seems to grip every pore of your skin and lets you know exactly where you are and where you have been lest you ever forget. The shuttles had closed so I avoided the limousine lines and took a taxi. The driver was like any other Thai cab driver I've known and let me know where I was after a few years once again. He laughed and said few words between his few teeth and dropped me off at the very high class Landmark Hotel in downtown. Koh San no more for me... at least not this moment. I hauled out my two backpacks and checked into the counter, which took me to the Executive counter on the 31st floor, got my keys and fell into bed. Here is the view I saw:

I was far too agitated to sleep and could have run around all night, though far too exhausted to move all at once. I was in bed after one am and up again about 6 am wide awake, not aware if I'd had any sleep at all. I parted the blinds and saw Bangkok in all her urban and polluted glory before me. I saw something like this:

Santa Fe music videos

Here is the music video that the notorious John Kongsvik and I made while "training" in Santa Fe.... (there are some problems playing this.... I'm working on it... you can also click the links below to download this!)

(hehe... don't tell SIT we were really just dancing the whole month!!!)

http://www.mediafire.com/?e1q3zybix3b

http://www.mediafire.com/?5itby0w6mwa

An update!!!!

Ok, so it's been some time... thanks for the email reminders I still had this thing! When I get more time (sigh...), I'll try to add some more details and pictures. Here is the brief overview of my last month...

So after I got back from Mexico, I found out that the TESOL course I was scheduled to do in Chicago did not have enough participants. This was the first time in five years they had not had more than 6 participants (the work is so intensive that it is a 1 trainer to 6 participant rule). So, I stayed in Colorado for some time.


Then, I went to the Midwest. First I went to see a friend in Milwaukee.


Then, I served about 3 weeks at Dhamma Pakasa, the Vipassana center in Rockford, Illinois. The Canada geese were very vicsous here! (even though they looked sweet)

Then I led a one month training at DePaul University in Chicago... first time doing this course with no support!

Then I went to Los Angeles and saw family.


Then I went back to Colorado and spent time with my adopted Nepali's family's extended family visiting for the first time from Kathmandu.


Then I went to Santa Fe to work with the legendary John Konsgvik doing an SIT TESOL course there.

Then I went to Oaxaca, Mexico to train solo again, this time with a group of five participants. Here is a Oaxacan street scene outside of the chuch Santo Domingo.


Here I am setting a good example for them.

Then we made a Bollywood video in the mountains surrounding Oaxaca.

Then, in the last week of the course, I was hosting both the Oaxacan site director (visiting from Toronto) as well as the course assessor, who came from the coast to formally assess this course and report the results back to SIT in Vermont, as is usual. Months ago I had expressed my interest in the SIT office concerning my being in Burma some day. This was casually said. This led to an email from someone the next office down who just happened to head a program in Rangoon and was waiting on overdue news concerning when an agency would get back to them on their proposal. Well, they picked the last week of this course. So as I'm doing closure (which is an involved process with lots of responsibilities) I find out that not onl does it look like the grant is approved and that they might want me to go, they want me to go immediately. A fever came over me and went away and suddenly I have plane tickets bought for me from Mexico City to the US to Japan to Bangkok. I bought the Oaxaca-MX City leg and made all my hotel reservations, to be reumbursed later on. My mission, if I choose to accept it, has still not been quite explained. I'm leaving tomorrow, I don't know what to bring, what clothes I need, who I'm meeting, how long I'm staying in Bangkok (where I need to buy my BKK-Rangoon leg and get my visa), what my schedule is in either place, etc. I'm hoping to get another email by tomorrow morning when I need to ship out of here. Until then, my bags aren't even packed! I get back next week, a day before the next Oaxaca course starts (Oaxaca-Rangoon plane flights aren't exactly easy to come by). We have 9-10 participants and I'll have a co-trainer. The next day is Mexican Indepedance day, and there are ALREADY Mexican flags everywhere. That's the news.

South of the Border

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: