On to Chiapas

Everything written in my guidebook about traveling from Guatemala to San Cristobal de las Casas in was true. All of it. The road, though freshly paved, is somewhat treacherous as it winds up and out of one mountain range, and then into another. The beauty was indescribable, suffice to say that the views offered over verdant green valleys, and thick pine forests were something to gasp at. Although highland Mayans still look similar along the mountain roads between the two countries, the quality of life improves the closer and closer you get to the Mexican border.





Once in town, I could see why many travelers end up staying months. Fresh mountain air, clean streets, beautiful colors and architecture, and a healthy entertainment life makes San Cristobal a very comfortable, if not a little chilly, place to be. Because I knew I was going to be in the city for Dia de los Muertos, I booked my hotel online before I left the states. So I ended up in an absolutely gorgeous hotel, one block from the main plaza, in a suite! It was a treat.








I took 2 trips outside the city, a one day trip out to Sumidero Canyon,and a 2 day trip to the ruins of Palenque which included a stop at the famous Agua Azul waterfalls. Palenque was a highlight! Getting there was a 5 hour journey up and through the cool forested mountains, and back down into dense, humid jungle. There was NO WAY I was going to do that twice in one day like many do, so I found a nice little traveler’s village about 4 km from the National Park.



El Panchan has only one road into it from the main road, and it stops abruptly in front of a check in desk. Beyond this desk, there is a canopied area that houses 3 restaurant/bars, and in every direction from this focal point, is a dirt trail leading to various jungle hideaways. It was absolutely wonderful. At night, people from every different guesthouse establishment would meet in the middle at the restaurants where there was a stage for live music, and people selling things from the region like silver and amber. Another place travelers end up staying longer than they think, El Panchan lured me with bamboo, wooden bridges over tiny streams, tropical flowers, and rain. It was relaxing, and absolutely gorgeous.



But I was more lured by ancient architecture, and spent another day at the ruins. On the way inside, I was met by a guide trying to convince me to hire him. The day before, I was asked to share an English speaking guide, who charged 60 US dollars for a tour. I declined, being more interested in a solo exploration. However, on this morning, I was ready to hear and see more. The guide and I chatted for a few minutes, and I kept telling the guide I couldn’t afford him, and he said he only charged 10 US for a Spanish speaking guide. I told him I didn’t really speak Spanish, and needed an English one. “But you’re talking to me in Spanish right now,” he reminded me, and I started laughing. He assured me he would speak slowly. I’m pretty certain that I got more out of this experience than I would have if the guide spoke English, as I had to focus, and ask questions when he used unfamiliar vocabulary. It was really awesome. Palenque was probably my most favorite new experience on this trip.




Dia de los Muertos
What a joy it was to be in Mexico for one of my favorite holidays! In Guatemala, I could see as some of the preparations were to be taking place. Marigolds covered the hillsides around the city, and farmers were busy gathering them for the markets. People were selling and flying kites around the city and the countryside. I didn’t learn much about the reason behind the kites, and I never saw them in Mexico, so that will have to remain a mystery for me.In San Cristobal, a pretty cosmopolitan city, sugar skulls and special orange drinks were all over the stores. Decorations, for Halloween as well, were displayed in the parks, hotels, restaurants, and homes days before the event.



I visited the city's cemetery on October 31, and watched as families repainted tombs that looked like houses, bring flowers and food, shovels and rakes. The place was swarming with activity and with color. Outside the cemetery, people set up shop, selling pan de muerto, flowers, drinks, stuffed animals, eggs, and much much more. Tile was bleached, fresh green grass spread out, crosses erected. There wasn't the fanfare I expected, but it was beautiful.




The next day, I traveled to 2 Mayan villages to see how the holiday was celebrated there.In San Juan Chamula, men wear either white or black wool felt vests, and women wear black wool felt skirts with a gorgeous purple huipile (blouse). It was freezing and rainy when we got to the cemetery, and standing on the top of the gently sloping hill, I could see dots of black and white and purple amidst graves, all in the ground (which I was later told is how the poor are buried). Musicians played, men were drinking, and golden flowers and this green grass (maybe it was straw?) was spread all over the graveyard. I did try to take a couple photos, but was given the shaking pointer finger after the first one. I didn't stay long here- I felt uncomfortable, like I was intruding on something that clearly didn't belong to me.


From here I took a collectivo to Zincantan. This was a much larger town, and therefore much more spread out. Here, men and women wore black, with shimmery teal and blue woven huipiles and tops for men. Unlike Chamula, where the graveyard just looked like a huge field, the cemetery in Zincantan was high up a mountain, and graves, both in and above ground, stretched up and down the peak like a labyrinth. With the forest in the background, the fog sitting low to the ground, the vibrant clothing, and the freshly painted graves with flowers, it was a color explosion. Although more comfortable here, I still felt like I should hurry up and move on to stay respectful.

Oaxaca is known for it's Dia de los Muertos festivities- people come from all over Mexico and the world to be part of the events. I had originally thought that being in a smaller town, but still with strong indigenous routes would offer me a deeper experience, not altered for tourists. Though this was probably true, in retrospect I think Oaxaca would have been a better choice, because tourists there are invited to the events. Here, though I did get a lot of positive response, I was overtly and overly concerned with being uninvited. No regrets, but I would still like to visit Oaxaca during this time period in the future.


Halloween, by the way, lasts three days in San Cristobal. Lucky kids. They dress up, and instead of saying trick or treat, they sing a little song, saying they are little angels coming from the heavens in search of sweets. If the person gives them a sweet, they scream, "viva la tia/o!".






After the holiday, I scooted out of town. I lost a little steam, and was ready to be warm for a couple of days, and I was ready to come home. So I took an overnight bus to Veracruz and spent two glorious days wandering through plazas, eating amazing new foods,and listening to all sorts of music all evening and night long. There was a rock concert in front of my hotel, a traditional salsa band where older gentlemen, all wearing guayaberas, danced with ladies dressed up for the evening. I went to the beach, which wasn't so spectacular except that it was warm, and nothing beats eating fresh fish while sitting in your bathing suit, feet in the sand. From there, I spent two days in stunning Puebla, a city prettier, cleaner, and more cosmopolitan than many cities I've been to in the U.S or beyond. Spanish tiles cover many of the buildings, tree-lined plazas can be found around every corner, shopping, restaurants, and museums are all within reach. The food is delicious- my best meal was here in Puebla- a chile relleno stuffed with cheese and vegetables, and smothered in mole. I also tried a delicacy- huilacoche, a black mushroom that grows on corn. Sounds kind of gross, but it was delightful. From Puebla, I was ready to go home.




On thinking about long term travel........

As Eva and I spoke about our previous travel experiences weeks ago in Guatemala, one thing became clear for both of us. The more places on the planet you go, the more you find places to compare to. On the quest to find something new and exciting, you find yourself or someone else saying, “Wow, this looks so much like __________ in Cambodia!” or “Oh how funny, we did something similar when we were in Zimbabwe.” This does something for being comfortable in what could possibly be an uncomfortable environment, but also takes away some of the culture shock, which is part of what we’re looking for when we travel. The enjoyment of the adventure is still strong as the realization of how small the world is creeps into this different-paced ‘daily’ life, but the adventure is very different than that first time. I remember fondly many of my firsts in regards to travel- the first time I realized that English wasn’t going to get me where I needed to be, the first time I saw turquoise water against snow-white sand, the first time I saw a monkey swinging from branches above my head, the first time I met my cousins in Budapest, the first time I saw a traditional celebration that I was deeply moved by but didn’t understand, the first time I saw poverty on a realm so very different from the USA. I remember the first time I tried starfruit in Israel, rambutan in Thailand, coriander in England, ceviche in Costa Rica, mole in Oaxaca; the first climb of an ancient ruin (the descent, maybe moreso), the first sunrise over the ocean and high on a mountain, first hike through the jungle, first ride on an elephant. I’m sure if I had a different set of goals for this particular foreign adventure, I would have had some new memorable firsts. But this trip gave me a different experience, equally as satisfying, but different than what I’d expected. I enjoyed it in a quiet, snuggling with my favorite novel sort of way, rather than an on-my-toes sort of way.

On this trip, I had the opportunity to connect with a family in another country, and to practice speaking Spanish, to negotiate unknowns in another language. I got to see how Dia de los Muertos was celebrated in a city, in the country, including modern practices, and Mayan ones. I learned, again, that everything is possible, if you ask the right questions. I learned that everything you hear and read about a place isn’t necessarily THE truth, but A truth. I learned that I really miss the feeling of initial culture shock- that feeling of ‘firsts’, and will look for a place to explore that at some point in the future. My ‘first’ this time had nothing to do with where I was, but with where I wasn’t- I missed people while I was gone for the first time. That hasn’t happened since Sagie died. When I traveled without her, I had someone (yes, she was a person to me, not a dog) to worry about. But since then, especially with internet all over the place, I didn’t have that feeling of missing people until this time- this was my ‘first’, and a good thing, I think.


I learned a lot about myself. I learned that though I enjoy traveling on my own for short periods of time, I would prefer sharing the experience with someone I know. I originally thought- hey! I can travel around the world for a year by myself!- but I don’t really have the desire to do that. I would like to continue traveling, and see lots of new places, but one region at a time, and with someone, or a group of someones (keep that in mind if you get the itch!). And with that, I close this chapter, to re-open one back here in New Orleans. It's good to be back, and I feel like the luckiest girl in the world to have had what has been available to me in the last 10 months.

Take care, and write soon!


Here's a link to the slideshow if you would like it. There are a few video clips at the end- some of them quite funny.

http://picasaweb.google.com/rebeccaLrobinson/MeximalaSlideshow

Rolando, and goodbye to Guatemala

I can’t begin to tell you how much apprehension I had coming back to Quetzaltenango (Xela) to visit with Rolando and his family. So much has happened in his life since Kara and I were there- both his wife and his 33 year old daughter have since passed away. Rolando was fortunate enough to be granted permission to come to the USA legally to visit with Wendy for the last 6 months of her life, and I was fortunate enough to spend Christmas of that same period with them.




But when I saw him in California, I had Wendy and Gustavo to translate. Three years not being around Spanish everyday like in Watsonville, and a couple trips to Asia with different languages infiltrating my brain’s Spanish file made me shy and Spanish words swam around my mouth awkwardly. Having Wendy and Gustavo around to translate made me lazy. I’m glad I had a week of semi-practice with Eva in Livingston and Honduras before I saw Rolando, and particularly glad that I was with someone who knew less than I did during that time, as it forced me to step up and go for it.



The driver of the shuttle from Antigua to Xela, Felipe, was a riot. He had lived in Oklahoma for a while so he knew some English. I sat in the front seat and we talked the entire twisty, unpaved 6 hours. They are paving the entire Highway, and boy is it a mess. The scenery, however, was absolutely gorgeous. We bent and turned through the dense fog in the pine forest, occasionally catching glimpses of waterfalls. We also climbed the highest peak in all of Central America which is appropriately named Alaska. We stopped once to drop the two other passengers at Lake Atitlan, which was a treat for me. I have been here twice before, and it is stunning, a deep blue lake in a cirque, surrounded by three active volcanoes, surrounded by tiny Mayan villages accessible mostly only by boat.





On the way back up the mountain towards Xela, our journey came to a halt. The road had closed for repair for what they told us would be 30 minutes. Our shuttle was nestled between two chicken busses, and everyone from all of the busses and all of the cars stepped outside into the cold, and life went on as usual on the muddy mountain road. People sold juice and water and fried chicken, and some even continued to sell cell phone cards (TIGO is everywhere in Guatemala. You can be driving a tiny mountain barely-paved road with only Mayans walking around in their traditional clothing, carrying baskets of vegetables on their head, and talking on their cell phones).







Once Felipe dropped me directly at Rolando’s, I knew everything would be fine. His street looked different, as there were many more stores than 6 years ago, but his house looked the same. You have to walk beside another, much poorer home occupied by a traditional Mayan family before you get to his quarters. Once in the gate, you are standing in an atrium, with a walkway on three sides. There is the main house on one side with a bedroom, living room, and kitchen. Along the rest of the walls are 5 more bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. One bedroom is his (he hasn’t slept in the main house since his wife Aida died), one is his 18 year old son, Kendall’s, one is Heidi and her daughter Nyeli’s when they come to visit, one is rented to a med student, and one is empty (other than the main house), which became my quarters for the week.



Not being in Spanish school made Xela a less interesting place to be, as really, this is the main reason for foreigners to be here. Guatemala is a great place to learn Spanish, because they speak very slowly in comparison to Mexico, as well as use less slang, and generally, Guatemalans enunciate each syllable. People come from all over the world for this purpose, and Xela is a great choice in the country, as it is a small city that sees fewer tourists than Antigua, so it is true immersion. My lessons remained out of the classroom for the week, as Rolando, Kendall and I explored the area, focusing on hot water sources, as it was bitter cold! I also made a trip to San Francisco del Alto, the largest market in the country, where people sell everything from Levi’s to pigs, watch parts to dried shrimp. In the evenings, Kendall would get bad American movies with Spanish subtitles, and we would all pile on the couch under a load of blankets, listening to the rain, and passing time. Heidi and Nyeli visited while I was there, and it was nice to finally meet them. Nyeli looks exactly like Wendy’s daughter Gabby. It was unreal.








The week ended quickly, and it was sad to say goodbye. Rolando thanked me profusely for lifting his spirits, and reiterated how his home was my home. I think I’ve been to Guatemala enough, but I know that on some other adventure that brings me to or through the region, I will take him up on that, as the probability of him being allowed to travel to the US again is very slim. My Spanish improved drastically, and I was ready for something new and exciting- CHIAPAS!!!!!!

It´s Usually about the Journey

Sitting back in a cafe in Antigua, Guatemala, listening to an 80's mix which is so appropriate. FLew in to Guatemala City a week ago today, and took the first shuttle here to colonial Antigua. It is quite a gorgeous city, and interesting to be here for a third time. This was the first developing country I visited, with my mom, and it's funny to think that when I arrived by myself in the wee hours of early morning on that particular trip, culture shock was at it's pique. And here I am 12 years later, more travel and life experience under my belt, and it's so touristy, I'm almost bored, but not quite.




Originally, I was to stay here a couple days, and move along the same route I've moved along twice before, with the goal this time to meet up with the family that Kara and I stayed with 6 years ago. When I checked into the hostel on Monday morning, I realized that I would be bored if I did that, so I opted for an early morning trip to Copan Ruins, Honduras, and left the next week open to possibility. Fortunately, I met a young woman from Czech Republic, Eva, currently living in London, who was also going to Copan. She and I shared the Copan Ruins together and sat down and mapped out a possible week. The next morning, we were on our way south to Santa Rosa de Copan, and Gracias, Honduras. Neither town was anything to write home about haha, but worth every bit of the experience.




We stayed in this craphole of a hotel near the center of town, that you had to enter via a store that sold bicycles, playgound equipment, ice cream freezers, and who knows what else. At night, we had to slip by a quad to get in the door. But as the saying goes, everything is funny if you wait long enough, and we didn't have to wait long. Eventually we made our way to Gracias, a smaller town known for a hot spring, so off we went. On our way home, we met several local people wanting to practice their English. Later, we bought a bottle of wine and sat in our ´lounge´ with the 16 year old running the hotel and practiced our Spanish.


We arose the next morning to make our way back to Copan ruins, where a shuttle was waiting to take us part way to Rio Dulce, a river port that eventually leads to the Carribean on a very small piece of Guatemalan land between the Honduran and Belizean borders. We first took a taxi down the hill to the main bus station, and from there picked up a collectivo, which is exactly what it sounds like, a vehicle that collects people and takes them from points along the highway. There are costs and benefits to this kind of local travel (it ends up being a little different with tourist collectivos). Time becomes irrelevant, a theme that is clearly on the forefront of this year's entire adventure. If you are in a rush, this is not the way to go, but it being so early, we didn't have time to even think. The benefits, however, were extremely interesting. Between Gracias and La Entrada, about a 2 hours drive, we picked up and dropped off somewhere between 60 and 80 people in our 20 passenger truck/van thingy. I can honestly say that Eva and I were the ONLY nonHondurans. Each Hondureño man that jumped on the bus carried with him a machete, and carefully placed it under the mat when he got on the bus. At one point, the bus was so full, that Eva ended up hanging onto a small baby whose mother didn't look more than 17.


We finally returned to Copan Ruins and took our tourist shuttle onwards to a town in the Guatemalan province'state of Chiquimula. The weather changed rapidly to hot sticky jungle, and after 5 hours of travel, we decided to sit and wait out the next bus, which was supposedly coming in 30 minutes time. Well, this is where I started to learn my lesson AGAIN about bus travel. If there is a bus going to your destination, and you aren't in a city or tourist town, TAKE IT! 3 hours later, we were still waiting for our bus. The second that all travelers were on the bus, the food hawkers jumped aboard selling everything from water to plantain chips to fried chicken. Once they stepped off, and the bus pulled into 1st gear, a well dressed man stood up and started preaching to his present congregation. It was interesting to watch, as we gained speed. The man´s sermon became louder and more dramatic, as did the snoring of the man sitting behind me. Next to me, there was an older man wearing the omnipresent cell phone around his neck, and he gently pulled a well worn pocket bible out of his bag and followed along. Another cell phone rang, and in the middle of the sermon, two teenage girls had their own conversation that was mostly giggles. It went on like this for about 30 minutes. Leaving so late meant that we arrived in Rio Dulce after dark. Nevertheless, we made it, laughing, and checked into this crazy place called Bruno's, which is basically a hangout for yachties from all over the world.You can rent anything out there from a dorm room to a private room w/without bath, to a fancy suite with airconditioning, and of course docking slips. The benefit of staying there was the pool! We spent three times as much on dinner as we did on the dorm room, but it was worth it. Next morning we awoke a little late to get on the right boat to Livingston, 2 hours downstream...which was somewhat ironic, because we both knew better than to not be on the first early morning boat. But as I said, time seems to be the theme. We arrived at the boat dock at 11 and were told there would be a boat at 1:30, and we didnt' leave until after 3, of course, at the beginning of a huge storm.
But the entire boat, a mixture of backpackers and locals, were laughing about it, and we still were able to stop at the hot springs and this weird castle in the middle of the river. Finally we arrived in Livingston, just before sunset.





The second we pulled into this small Carribean port town, I knew we´´d made a good decision. Over 70% of the population here are Garifunas, sometimes called Black Caribs. They are here in this part of the world because of the slave trade from West Africa, and have stayed here, speaking both Spanish and a local dialect that is some spanish, some something else. Garifunas are on the coast between Belize and Nicaragua, and someone was telling us also in Panama but not Costa Rica. I haven't followed up on this yet.

Anyway, right as we all got off the boat, local people were waiting at the dock to bring us to whatever hotel or restaurant that was paying them a finder´s fee. We were 'claimed' by a guy about our age, named Ranier. Yes, like the volcano in Washington State. He was actually raised in Pasadena, California, but moved back home for a woman. There was some baby mama baby daddy drama, but Ranier was harmless and took us to two hotels, of which we chose Hotel King George. This was only slightly better than the craphole we had in Santa Rosa, but there was a screen and fans, and out very own private bathroom that leaked shower water onto our floor. But it was PERFECT. We walked less than two blocks to the sea and ate our hearts out on the amazing food, Tapado, a fish curry made with coconut milk that is their staple. DELICIOUS!

After dinner, we headed to a place called Club Ubafu, a ramshackle place where local music is played.It was heavy percussion with some call and response and sounded like some Brazilian and CUban music I have heard in the past. I preferred this much more than the beachside discoteques, but, alas, that´s where the people were, so Ubafu closed early, and we joined the party at the beach.






Our final morning in Livingston was a little bit sad, as Eva and I would separate, and I would be making the long journey back to Antigua for less than 24 hours, and another journey to Quetzaltenango. But we traveled safe.

More on the next leg.....

Hope you are all well! Talk to you soon.

But here, time is irrelevant

So I guess it's been three months since I've posted. Not sure if that's because I had too much going on, or if I just lost track of time. I am guessing it's more of the latter, as after 5 months living in New Orleans, my gauge for time has changed. Things in New Orleans don't seem to operate on a standard 24 hour clock. This can be annoying at times, and takes some getting used to, but in some ways I slid right in.

The plan to spend a summer in New Orleans came about by accident after I had a foot injury in late May. I wasn't too upset about that prospect, other than the fact that meant I lost all of my short term part time jobs and it is more difficult to find tenants in the sweltering summer months. Through the wine store, however, I was set up with a temporary job where I could stay off my feet, in a law office in Metairie, a suburb of NOLA. At first, I really liked it. There is something about an office job that tends to be a mystery to teachers. The main idea- they get to GO TO LUNCH! I know, it sounds silly, almost ridiculous, really. But the idea that someone can leave the building to meet a friend for lunch, or plan a doctors appointment during their lunch break is a small....freedom. Within a week I was offered the job full time with benefits, and at about that same time, I was absolutely bored with answering phone calls and taking messages, and the commute was making me crazy. Fortunately, the lawyers at the firm were wonderful people,so I will never question, "well, maybe if such and such were in place, it would be a better fit." No, I am just not an office girl.

I found a tenant for the month of July, Jennifer from New Mexico. She is a grad student at University of Texas at Austin, and was doing research on music. We were a perfect match from the beginning. We met new people, and ended up on a short road trip to the Gulf of Mexico. We laughed at the idea of going to the beach in the Gulf, after spending so much time on West Coast beaches. But sure enough, once we hit the beach at Gulf Shores, Alabama (who knew there was beach there?!), it was unbelievable. White sand beaches and turquoise water that was tame and warm enough to swim in was the backdrop for our adventure. It was absolutely stunning.


After Jennifer went back to Texas, I really put the feelers out to find someone to rent out my entire apartment. I had at least a month of things I wanted to do in California before I even entertained the thought of anything international. (California trip to come in another blog- maybe by December? HAHA)

But it was summer, and nobody wants to move to New Orleans during the sweltering heat of August so it took some time to find someone trustworthy to rent my home. Kati, the producer for Disney's The Imagination Movers, moved in mid-August. She signed the 7 month lease two hours before my plane left for California! I was relieved! But then the strangest thing happened. I got to the airport, and all I could do was cry. I just gave someone my home. This is what I wanted right? To not have anything to babysit? To be free to travel? To be free of any itinerary at all??

On Being Fed

So I spent my first hour on the plane with my iPod in hand, scrolling through song after song, trying to find the one that perfectly described my emotions. It was cliche and pathetic, and hysterically funny at the same time. I just sat with my journal, not exactly knowing what to write, not exactly sure of what I was feeling or wanting. So I made a list. I'm good at lists. They're not emotional, non-committal ways of emptying my brain onto paper so I can maneuver my thoughts into some sort of pattern.

I wrote on the top of the page: Reasons I want(ed) to travel. And then it went something like this.....experience new things, learn a new language, be exposed to new ways of living, learn about social and cultural events and festivals, eat food I've never eaten before, be away from my 'norm' so I can have some headspace to think about what's next for me when I'm done with this 'leave of absence', meet new people who live differently than I do, slow down, live by my own clock and the list went on and on. Something clicked, then, as I realized that most of these things, I've been fed by living in New Orleans.

I thought about my typical morning, first being gently woken up by the sound of the horse and buggy going down my street, moving into the real awakening as all of the dogs in the neighborhood start to howl when they hear the vegetable peddler, Mr. Okkra, sing about his wares. "I got watermelon, I got corn, I got eatin pairs, I got the mango." What time did that happen anyway? Was it ever the same time from one day to the next? And what's with people wearing money pinned to their shirts on their birthdays, and what's it mean when my friend asked me, "Oh it's your birthday? What'd you make?" And how did I get all of these jobs where I call them and say, "I can work Friday, but I won't be here for the month of July. But I'll see you in August, ok?"

And that's how it came to be that I realized I didn't need a long arduous journey to experience all of these things. I have been experiencing them the whole time. This made me both happy and sad at the same time. But mostly, relieved. I'm a drifter and a dreamer, and I doubt that will ever change. I still plan on taking a trip internationally, to grasp onto those few things that I wasn't fed here in New Orleans ( I say here, because I am back, just living in a different place than my own), but not for quite as long, and not with the same list of expectations.

So what's next? is the usual question at this point, and my answer remains the same- continue doing what I'm doing until it doesn't work anymore. Maybe that'll be a week, maybe 6 months, maybe a lifetime. One of my biggest lessons I've been lucky enough to have the time to learn is to not worry about what it means in the end. Just enjoy it while it's happening now.

So I sign off to go enjoy the lifestyle I have here right now, no promises, no commitments, but lots and lots of interesting tales, people, and cultural experiences. Don't wait til I've 'settled down' to take a trip out here. Not sure that's the kind of thing that will happen for quite some time, if ever. I'm settled with myself- like a turtle or a snail, I have my home on my back, and so much support that this will doesn't scare me. I can't promise a bed or a couch for a while, but I can promise an excellent time.


I tried to upload just a few photos, but it isn't working. If you would like to sift through my album, please visit:
http://picasaweb.google.com/rebeccaLrobinson/NewOrleansSummer2007

Take care, be well, and I look forward to seeing you all at some point in the very near future.

In a time warp

June 25, 2007
So how does one catch up on months in a new town? Has it really been since April that I posted? I know it was May that I was supposed to up and leave New Orleans for other things, but that never happened…..
Jazz Fest was phenomenal, and to write about 14 days straight of all- hours music just can’t be done. My condo is in the perfect location for the festivities in the evening, and this being my second experience at the fest, and first experience being here for the whole thing, I think I will do some things differently next year. For example, unless there are people I just HAVE to see at the fairgrounds, I think I will skip the hot blazing sun and heat stroke, and instead opt for the late night programming. And of course, pick a day to sleep in. By the end of the final weekend, walking down Frenchmen street was a real kick. There were far less people, and the ones working were visibly spent. Nobody cared if anyone paid to get in anywhere. It was almost as if the run of a Broadway play was over, and this was the cast party for everyone in town. Two good friends from Humboldt came into town unexpectedly for the last night, which was also fantastic. Steve and Amy came just in time for Harry Connick, Jr at the fairgrounds, and the crazy night of revelry on Frenchmen. It was fun to spend the first weekend w/buddies from San Francisco, and the last night with buddies from Humboldt. A little visit from home was exactly what I needed.

At the end of the weekend, all of the owners of Chez Marigny (my condo complex) finally got to sit down together and talk about our complex. There are 6 units in the complex, and five owners. At that time, only three of the units were occupied, and I was the only owner living on the property. One other owner lives in town, but I hadn’t connected with him at that point. The funny thing is, he turned out to have lived in Humboldt, also, and worked at the Alibi, a bar we all frequented. Funnier still, is that I actually realized I had met him even before that (we’re talking 14 yrs ago!) while hiking in Bryce Canyon- he and his girlfriend were on their way to Arcata from New Orleans at the time. In his apartment lived several bartenders, and whoever they decided to bring home with them for the evening. One guy in particular, was a real piece of work. He and his girlfriend would sit outside my bedroom window, or out on the stoop in front (we live on a very narrow one way street- that noise echoes like you would not believe) and argue incessantly. Drunk, high on who-knows- what, the fights would escalate into violence, or turn into dramatic tears. It was like my very own Jerry Springer show right outside my house! Eventually, there was enough complaining that he was asked to move out, but it brought to all of the owners’ attention the need for some agreements involving tenants. So we came up with a great list, and the other two owners whose apartments were vacant, asked me if I would go ahead and find tenants for their places. A job, one in which suits me very well, was born. Two turned into three very quickly, so now I am managing half the complex. I use the term ‘managing’ very loosely, but I am enjoying it so much!
Just before that, I’d gotten a very part time job at a wine store. My friend, Ruth, who was my realtor here, set me up with that. I was working about 2 to 3 shifts a week, renting out my spare room, finding tenants for the other apartment, and then I had a New Orleans moment. I was taking the trash out, and fell into a water meter hole where the grate had been removed. I ended up in a cast up to my knee for a bit, which was pretty interesting to maneuver in this bumpy, pothole-y city.

Working at the wine store was out of the question, and we didn’t know for how long. One of the wine store owner's friends is a lawyer, and their firm was looking for a receptionist, a job that I could still do with a busted foot. It didn’t actually pan out until last week. Of course, this was also a week that I’d taken on a promotion for Netflix, a job I also didn’t apply for but got without an interview. So last week, everything overlapped, and I had 4 jobs- receptionist, promotion for Netflix, passing out flyers for a local condo development rivaling Trump downtown, and the wine store on Friday night. It was a pretty crazy week, especially for someone that had no intent on being here, or working here after May, at all! I’m down to receptionist and Friday girl at the wine store now (filled all apartments, only need to solve problems and collect rent) and wondering what’s next. I was offered this job full time with benefits, but I have, at this point, refused. Though now I am wondering…..maybe this would be a good job to have and a good place to be to get my real estate license. I don’t know- I’ll see how I feel after a couple of weeks of not seeing natural light. It is air conditioned, though……

Fun things? Always. I still go out to see music almost every night. It’s generally free, and some of the best clubs, with many of the country’s top musicians are right here at my fingertips, so I indulge. On my birthday, I went to see Kermit Ruffins and the Barbecue Swingers- the same Kermit Ruffins that just returned from Washington, DC after playing at the Presidential picnic. He sang and played Happy Birthday to me, and I was thrilled! Memorable, for sure.

Just finished off my frantic workweek with a visit from two parents from Ocean Shore school. We had a blast listening to music, and eating heavenly food. It was such a joy to have more ‘home’ here with me in New Orleans.
I still don’t know what’s next, but I feel very confident that whatever happens is an ok choice. All doors are open, and I have dreamed of this kind of life for some time. I didn’t quite expect it to be here in the states- I expected I wouldn’t have this opportunity to just flow until I left the country. It feels less urgent, as I feel like I have the freedom to choose what I want to do and when I want to do it. This receptionist job is really the first thing I’ve had to schedule around someone else’s time rather than my own, but it is also a short term commitment. Having several jobs for smaller periods of time, and on my own schedule really seems to suit me. While I have this opportunity here, I am not sure it would be quite as successful at home in San Francisco. However, having my own schedule, and living here where my overhead for living is so low, could give me the gift of time to enjoy my friends and family in California whenever I can manage.
Again, I just don’t know, but I am also completely fine with whatever happens at this point. All roads lead to something eye-opening and wonderful, and I am going to continue to keep as many doors open as possible.

museums, museums, museums

I love New Orleans. Yes, it's dirty, dangerous, and I think I already need new shocks on my car because of the roads, but I love it. It's the only place I have been where people embrace being silly and letting go. I'm sure it goes too far in many incidents, but with the company I keep, that is just not the case. For example, last weekend, a group of us went to go see the Soul Rebels, a brass band with a hip hop flare to them. By the end of the evening, the ENTIRE dance floor was doing the electric slide. And it was awesome! I highly doubt I will ever see this in San Francisco!

Last weekend was the French Quarter Festival, a three day free event taking place spattered about the quarter, celebrating Lousiana music, food, and culture. The diversity and quality of music represented was stellar! Here, too, having fun topped any sort of 'cool factor', as 9 and 10 year olds went up on stage with traditional brass bands, singing their hearts out into the microphone (good voices, too!), and dancing on stage with their second line fancy umbrellas. As they are up on stage, there are people, black and white, infant to elderly, boogying their hearts out. Front and center was a woman in her 70's, dressed nicely with a beautiful hat, dancing her booty off! People watching was prime, and people, including me, of course, were having a blast.


Prior to last weekend, I took off for a week on a road trip, and can honestly say it was one of the best trips I have EVER taken in my life. And you know I have taken a lot of trips! I left early Monday morning, with a destination plan of Nashville, TN, about an 8 hour drive. My mom called while I was in central Alabama, so I pulled over to chat with her. She reminded me that there was a lot of Civil Rights history in Birmingham. It was about 3:00, and I thought I could get to the Civil Rights Institute in time to check it out before it closed.I looked in my guide book and found pages and pages of interesting things to do in Birmingham, only, everything was closed on Mondays. I made the decision to stay in Birmingham for the night instead of Nashville, which meant I had time on my hands. It just so happened that where I had pulled over was three miles from a state park, so I ventured in and ended up going hiking for several miles in the foothills, with rivers and wildflowers, winds rustling through the trees- it was absolutely gorgeous, and so very different than the swampy south.

Turns out, after I checked in to my hotel, that one of the top 5 restaurants in the USA is, coincidentally enough, in Birmingham, Alabama. I figured it could only be a fraction of the cost of a fancy restaurant in San Francisco, so I went in search of it. Luck was not on my side, however, as this, too, was closed on Mondays.


I woke early Tuesday morning, fully intending on going to the museum, and heading to Nashville, but on my walk to the museum, I happened across the Alabama Jazz Hall of Fame, so I stepped inside. There was a very well dressed man holding a clarinet, speaking to an English couple, so I tagged along. Turns out, this man was Frank Adams, a musician who played with the greats, including Duke Ellington. The museum was about the size of my apartment in San Francisco, but Frank, or 'Doc' as he is known, was a wealth of information and history. Yes, he had wonderfully told stories about Duke and Ella Fitzgerald, but the real gift was his stories about growing up black in the segregated south. He had such a way with words and universal understanding of the human spirit, with all of it's self-consiousness and conviction, that he had us all glued to every word. In and out of stories, when it was appropriate, he would share music with us on his clarinet, or sing a little bit. I spent two unintended hours listening to his stories, and another 20 minutes talking with a man who has been recording the stories for the museum. Apparantly his stories are different every time- I would go back to listen to him again and again.

I finally made it to the Civil RIghts Institute in the early afternoon, after walking through the park dedicated to the historic riots that took place there. THe institute is dedicated to teaching about human rights interests, using the Civil Rights Movement as it's historic backdrop, but also to engage people in continuing the stuggle for more current issues. Again, I spent an unsuspecting 3 hours in the museum, and then some time in their resource room, where they have been collecting oral histories of people during that time period. You can access these oral histories on their website: http://www.bcri.org/index.html I highly recommend it!

By the time I left the museum, it was almost dinner time, so I did finally eat at Highlands Bar and Grill. It was every bit as delicious as I had hoped! FInally, I was off to Nashville......until it got dark suddenly, and there was sheet lightning and hail, and even tornado warnings. I was very happy to watch the light show from the inside of my motel in the middle of nowhere, northern Alabama, than in my car!

Finally, Wednesday, I got to Nashville! But I was so high from my experience in Birmingham, I almost didn't care. It was strange to be back in neat little neighborhoods with Starbucks on the corner after a month in the rickety, old south, and for the first time since February, I was COLD!Like mittens and a jacket cold! I went directly to the Country Music Hall of Fame, which is a high quality museum that surprised me in many ways. FIrst of all, I didn't think I liked country- and that's partly true- but when I learned that this is the genre that gave the start to people like Elvis, Johnny Cash, and Gillian Welsch, I had a much broader understanding of it. THey even had an entire showcase dedicated to Ray Charles- in the Country music hall of fame! What was also very interesting was alligning music to historical events, like the dustbowl, and especially the civil rights era in the 50's and 60's.

I didn't bother to spend the night in Nashville, and headed straight to Memphis, where I was fortunate to stay with a good friend's family. Still high from Birmingham, I didn't have the same fear of missing out that I usually encounter when traveling. But I was taken to Beale street for a while, and listened to some music at the original BB kings, which is nothing like it's chain sisters in other cities. Next day, I headed to the Memphis Civil RIghts museum, which is housed in the motel where Dr Martin Luther King, JR was shot and killed. Though there was nothing special going on, it also turned out that I was at this museum on the anniversary of his shooting. THe museum was good, but not as thorough as Birmingham's- it's most intense draw being the location.

Sure enough, right downtown the Smithsonian Rock N' Soul museum was calling my name. I thought I would be sick of it by now- truth be told, I generally have a "one museum, half hour limit" attention span. But I'm drawn to social history, and obciously music, so there ya go. Another fantastic experience this was, as it weaved in the country music, and the civil rights era I had been 'studying'.

Originally, I had planned on taking the Natchez Trace back home, but was inspired to take the 'blues route' which everyone talked about, but no one could tell me about, other than it existed. SO off I went, stopping an hour later in the teeny tiny town of CLarksdale, MS, the actual Crossroads. I was told to stop here- that it was great- but no one told me why, or where to go or what to do. So I parked and knocked on the door of a small flower shop, where I was directed to the Delta Blues Museum (to which I laughed), which was closed, and to Morgan Freeman's restaurant and juke joint. I was also directed to "this crazy plantation about three miles out of town- you should check it out- they turned the sharecropper shacks into bed and breakfast hotel rooms". How could I NOT stay in a place like this?? I got myself a room in the cotton gin, adjacent to a storage room of rusty farm equipment, and took myself out for a night on the town (all two and a half blocks of it). Next morning, museum attended, finally with a blues route map on hand, I went south on highway 61, roughly following the bend of the Mississippi River, and stopped to see a couple of Juke Joints out in the middle of nowhere. I would love to come back with some friends to actually get out and enjoy the music (let me know if any of you get a hankerin'!)- especially to Poor Monkey Joe's, which is about a mile and a half down a dirt road, with absolutely NOTHING around it.

At this point of the trip, nothing going as planned and everything perfect because of it, I was smiling non stop. The thought that I wasn't done yet was amazing to me, I had experienced sooo much. I stopped quickly in Natchez, MS, an absolutely beautiful antebellum town perched on the bluffs of the Mississippi, and then headed directly to Breaux Bridge, Louisiana. It was cold, and pouring down rain, so I didn't get to go on a boat in the Atchafalaya Basin, but it was perfect nonetheless. This is traditional Acadiana, here, and Saturday morning I went to the Zydeco brunch. I am not so much a fan of Zydeco, but culturally, it was fascinating. More people were smooshed into this restaurant than I though feasibly possible- and EVERYBODY was dancing- all ages, black and white, fancy dressed, cowboy hats, high heels, bare feet- everything- and everyone dancing together. It was a little much before coffee, but still amazing.

Because of the rain, I ended up at more museums!! After a couple hours at Avery Island, where there is a crazy jungle garden complete with a buddha AND alligators, as well as the Tabasco factory, I went to the African American and Acadian museums. Very interesting to learn about the Cajun and Creole cultures, and explained some things to me that I had been confused about.

After two nights in the beautiful bed and breakfast (a bayou teche, if you ever want to go!), where owner Mary Lyn took me out to see nesting snowy egrets and blue herons, I was on my way back 'home' to New Orleans. It was the best field trip I have ever been on, and makes me very excited to explore more of the south.


And now, back in New Orleans, I have been adding to my resume of fun and funny experiences- I got a very part time job at a wonderful wine store, and get to meet really nice people, drink wine, and listen to fantastic music, sometimes live, and get PAID for it! Last night, I assisted a photographer at a wedding in a southern mansion (where everyone was in fancy clothes, but most were missing all of their teeth- very strange), today, I have a gig doing a trial run of a scavenger hunt through the French Quarter for a company in San Francisco. For Jazz Fest, I'll be working the promotional tent for nola.com, and I think also pouring mango daquiris. It all makes me laugh, but I am meeting good people and having fun, and right now- that's what is making me happy.


Miss you all, and want your stories!

Time

It's been a while, I know. No apologies, no excuses. I have been learning and living and here I am, with a little time. Time- something I take for granted on a regular basis, but here I am, in the midst of 'living in the moment', and time becomes the most generous gift I could be offered.

I didn't have enough time with either set of grandparents, and I know, that no matter how much time I dedicate to them it will never be enough. My maternal grandparents in southern California were such a joy to spend time with. So much so, that I am considering going back for a few months this summer. My grandmother is a Holocaust survivor, and entrusted in me her memoirs, which I would really like to edit and complete. My paternal grandparents are outside of Phoenix, and I was lucky enough to spend time with them, too. My grandpa has macular degeneration, which basically translated into becoming almost completely blind in the last month or so. It's been intense, eye-opening (no pun intended), raw, wonderful, and every other emotion that no blog entry would ever indicate. I AM LUCKY. that;s it, that's all, I have all 4 grandparents alive and relatively healthy. There isn't much more I can add to that to make it more amazing or worth reading and writing about.


The drive across country was slow at times, and too quick in others. My friend Ivy followed in her car, and we stopped in the small town of Mesilla, New Mexico, and stayed in the most amazing bed and breakfast. It was Southwestern in a way that was trying to make fun of itself. Super cute and charming, in the middle of a pecan grove, teeny tiny Mexican zocalo, cactus, adobe...you get the drift. Next stop of significance was Austin, Tx. We rented a bedroom in a home and set out for a day of music at South by Southwest (sxsw). We aimed for free shows, which also led to free food and free drinks, so no complaints. The experience was great, the music left a lot to be desired, but I am glad we went. One of the reasons I wanted to drive out here was to check out a few cities to see if they resonated well. AUstin resonated well in the home department- it was all about the garden and the yard (and those oaks I can;t get enough of!), but the music was a little too...garage band....for me. So no go for now, but I am glad I checked it out.

We drove and drove and arrived in New Orleans early Saturday morning just in time (see the theme here) for the St Patrick's day parade. For those of you who know me well, you know this is one of my least favorite holidays- St. FRAT-rick's day, if you will. But I also knew that things would be different in New Orleans (NOLA). I met up with my friend Ruth uptown.She introduced me to a dozen wonderful people on Magazine street, and we were able to watch some of the parade from the balconies of businesses there, which was a treat. Later in the evening, Ivy and I met up with my friend Marcia and her mom on the neutral ground (median) adjacent to the French Quarter. We went crazy for beads, trinkets, trumpets, frisbees, and even pickles. Yes, pickles. So much fun.

And now? Now I am here in NOLA. Got my Louisiana state ID card today, went to my favorite bar in the quarter and my cutie bartender remembered me and my drink. Headed out to Frenchmen street and saw the New Orleans Jazz Vipers, and a bluegrass band. I have several leads to part time jobs which I have yet to follow up on, and well, right now, I am just enjoying being 'home' whatever that means for a little while, sprucing up the place, and making lots and lots of lists. Life is good. A/C is already on (and it's snowing in NYC??), and I am on perpetual spring break.

Time has been a gift. Time is something I have realized means more to me than money, which is somewhat ironic, as money allows me to have more time. I like living this simply. I emptied my car, and could still get rid of half of what I own. Time is what I am aiming for, and here, I seem to have a lot of it. Time is a gift, a commodoty (sp). If I ever get married, this will be the number one thing on my registry.

Much love to all of you. Hope to hear from and see you all soon.
Rebecca

Culture Shock right here in the US

Such a bizarre place I landed in. At first, bland, and somewhat "Truman Show"-ish as each block I drive past looks exactly like the last. Weather is still and comfortable, people swim in February- outside- and there is a long wait outside the California Pizza Kitchen.

After two weeks, which feel like months by the way, much of that is unchanged, but I can also begin to see how this is just normal to people who grew up here. It's no wonder that there are people with an extreme focus on the superficial- the right body, the right clothes, being up to date on current fashion, trends, pop culture. THis is NOT Los Angeles, mind you. This is the O.C., a stretch of suburbia that runs about 100 miles between Los ANgeles and San Diego.

Near the beach is a different experience, I have been lucky to have been shown. THe beaches are gorgeous, and the 'city' life around it has, at least, a bit of character. Though it still creeps me out that I met friends for sushi in a strip mall that also contained a furniture store and a Ferrarri Shop. But this is normal to Southern California, in the same way walking into a home that has been converted into a coffee shop is normal to Portland, or a dog sitting inside of a nice brunch spot in San Francisco, or selling groceries in a restaurant in New Orleans, or going to Dunkin' Donuts for a GOOD cup of coffee in New York is normal. It's a cultural experience that I find fascinating and hysterically funny at the same time. Especially when last week, my grandmother was so concerned about me finding a grocery store- there's one on every corner!

Delivering flowers on Valentine's Day was interesting- not a job I would have ever imagined doing, but fun to liven up people's day. It took 10 hours to do about 4 runs.The first three were easy, the last one took 3 hours and was hardly worth the cash I made. But I learned a LOT about getting around this area, which is a gift when everything is so spread out.

Tutoring is going well, and I am working more than I expected or intended, but I am also recognizing that this is who I am. I am actually in the process of interviewing for a nanny position with a high-profile band. We'll see where that lands me. It certainly wasn't in the plan, but I am trying to walk into open doors as they show themselves to me. It could be a really fantastic experience.

I'll keep you all updated.