San Jose del Pacifico, Oaxaca

I spent my birthday on top of the world. Well, maybe not on top of the world but at the highest point of the Sierra in southern Oaxaca. It was a nice change of temperature from the beach towns we had been in the two or so weeks previously, and it was a sweet reminder of home to be in the woods again surrounded by pine trees and giant rock formations. San Jose del Pacifico is a small town of around 500 people I would guess. It serves as a stopping point for many people who make the trip from Oaxaca City to Pachutla, on the other side of the Sierra. The day we got there we rented a cabin for 100 pesos (around $8 USD) and star gazed until our eyes and our minds could stretch no further. The next day, Tama and I spent the morning and afternoon hiking the surrounding mountains. It was absolutely incredible. First, we ascended into the forest along the trail, unaware of what or where we were trying to reach. After about three hours we were immersed into the clouds and came upon a flat aread of about 300 sq yards on top of this mountain. It was an Alice in Wonderland feeling. The only souls for miles, we walked through one of the most impressive displays of nature I had ever seen. The forest was majestic, and with the addition of the clouds, it really added to the experience. We spent a few hours exploring this mini valley and soaking up the experience. I commented to Tama while on top of the mountain that although I would love to see my friends and family, a birthday on top of this mountain, in the middle of the Oaxacan Sierra, sure beats a night out at the bar.

The planned two day visit in San Jose del Pacifico turned into five days of reading, hiking, and star gazing. At 100 pesos a night, its hard to leave a comfortable cabin with a patio and a view of the Sierra. San Jose del Pacifico is an awesome place, a majestic mountain town with nice people and great scenery. Every evening the clouds rolled in a passed directly in fron of us, and we spent some sunsets sipping hot chocolate (Oaxaca is famouse for chocolate) and eating tlayudas.

Zipolite, Oaxaca

Zipolite is a well known beach community of hippies, nudest, and freedom seekers alike. Situated about an hour south of Puerto Escondido, I guess Zipolite has been a well known spot for ¨amor y paz¨ for quite some time. We got there later on in the evening and we´re kind of stumped on where to find a cheap place to stay. We walked down the beach a little ways until we met a young guy setting up his beach front reggae bar for the oncoming party. He invited us to stay in his hammocks he had about 30 meters of the beach. The stars were not as impressive as Chacagua, but the fire dancers on the beach equally invigorated the night. With flaming balls called Poi attached to chains, this woman spent the better part of two hours dancing and twirling these balls around, over, under, between, behind, and every which way around her body. This was the first time I had seen this although supposedly its rather popular. Pretty damn cool though. You can check out an example of this through this youtube link
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2IjdnMvBW_A

The next day we decided to pack up and move camp as a result of Tama getting bitten about 200 times by mosquitos. That and the fact that our bathroom was a scene even the devil himself would refuse. So we moved ourselves down the beach a little beat to a cheaper and more accomodating place, an 8 x 8 beachfront hut with a hammock out front. We spent the day reading, exploring the beach, and playing in the waves. Every once in a while we get a kick out of nude spectating. Though most of the nudes were old and rather unpleasant to look at, it was quite an experience since I had never really been to a nude beach myself. And no, I did not go nude, I gather that it takes years of being a Zipolite beach bum to reveal the jewels. Something I could not get use to. The experience was good though, and the food was cheap too, we never ate for more than 30 or 40 pesos. We left that night as Kyle, my friend who had been visiting, needed to catch a bus back to Mexico City where is outbound flight was to leave. The bad thing is, we lost track of our days, easy to do while on a hippie beach, and sent him back a day early.

Though more well known, easier to access, and more built up than Chicagua, Zipolite still has the draw and charm it has always possessed. Just be warned, you will see a lot of pot, old wrinkly nudes, and smelly life loving hippies.

Chacagua, Oaxaca

A true paradise, Chacagua is one of those untouched places that I will always long to return to. The tiresome journey to this place ironically is a blessing as it keeps its purity and desolation virgin. To give you an idea of how how one might find themselves in Chacagua, I will document here the ¨camino¨ to the beautiful beach community of Chacagua.

Backpack in hand (We had left our bags in our hostal´s supervision for ten pesos a day) we lathargically walked to the center of Puerto Escondido to take our mini camioneta to the town of Rio Grande, about an hour and a half away. Mind you, Chacagua was just an image in our minds and we were only going the route that had been detailed to us by locals. We arrived in Rio Grande, a bit confused on where to go next but we were immediately hailed by a truck with a canopy over the bed, the standard means of transportation for rural communities in Southern Mexico. ¨?Van a Zipotelito?¨ asked the driver. We complied and for twenty pesos we climbed in the back of the truck playing tunes from Kyle´s ukelele. The three of us, about five chickens, and countless other materials made our way to a small community on the edge of a lake about an hour later. We waited at the dock with a few others, entertaining ourselves with a family´s pet racoon and taking pictures of this laguna that seemed to go on for days.

After about an hour and many stomach growels later, we got into the boat with the chickens, groceries, and about ten other locals. We made our way across the laguna, keeping an eye out for crocodiles, in awe of the beauty this area possessed. Shortly after, we merged our way into a small channel of water housed by branches above. We encountered a small dock where another pick up truck was waiting for our arrival. The bugs started biting, mucho. We all rode in the back of the truck for another 30 to 40 minutes before we arrived in Chacagua. And to be quite honest, I had no idea we had arrived anywhere for it was just a few palapas and sand that stretched across the road and into the unknown. We all go off and were guided by a fellow rider to his cabañas that were situated nicely on the beach. The first gaze at the beach was the most memorable. Never had I ever seen a place so beautiful, so pure, and so majestic. The experience was surreal.

We spent the first night in our buddy´s cabaña before finding out that the restaurants on the beach, which provided great seafood and breakfast alike, allowed visitors to sleep in their hammocks for free as long as you ate at their restaurant. We of course went the cheaper option even though the cabañas were only 150 pesos a night (around 12 dollars).

We spent our time in Chacagua surfing, marveling at the star show the heavens put on nightly, and hanging out with our new best friend ¨Salchicha¨ who could be argued as the happiest dog in the world. Chacagua was great, just a small community of maybe 100-200 people who enjoyed the simple life. Cuban music and happiness filled the air and I had begun to wonder, not just because of the music but also of the complexion of the people (who seemed to resemble peoples of African descent), what were the origins of these people. Were they Cuban immigrants, native people from the area who´s direct heat had affected the skin and hair of these people, or perhaps they were descendents of slaves in Mexico. Whatever the cause, it was sure an interesting and beautiful place.

Chacagua is a place that I could bring a tent and a surf board and be happy for months.

Adios Guadalajara, hello Oaxaca!

Friday the 26th of February seemed a blur. I had spent the previous 48 hours saying good-bye to my friends, packing my things, and cleaning my apartment. I departed the Guadalajara bus terminal around 3:00 pm on Friday after a hasty ¨throw everything is the bag and figure it out later¨ exit from my life in Guadalajara. Tama and I arrived in the Mexico City bus terminal eight hours later to meet my friend Kyle, who I had provided me with much laughter during our Semester at Sea and countless other instances. We found him strumming his ukelele in fron of the ticket purchase moments later. We were relieved to spare the time of finding him since our bus to Oaxaca was leaving momentarily. Six hours later, during the wee hours of the morning, we arrived in the city that gave birth to Benito Jaurez, the famed Mexican president who resisted the French occupation, overthrew the empire, and restored the Republic. Not to mention he was a Zapotec native and was the only indeginous Mexican president. My first time in Oaxaca, I was excited.

Instead of getting on another ten hour bus ride to Puerto Escondido, we decided to spend the day in Oaxaca city. We visited the famous pyramids of Monte Alban, built by the Zapotecs around 500BC. The day was hot, and Kyle fell ill from the sun, or perhaps the garlic prepared crickets we sampled in the market later in the evening. Thankfully, he was better after a nap and a sessions of vomitting. At 9:00 pm, we boarded our bus. We were exausted from the day so the ten hours seemed fewer during the night of undisrupted sleep. I did wake up at one point at see snow outside on the ground forgetting that Oaxaca sat almost 7,000 feet above sea level and we were climbing higher to cross the Sierra.

Puerto Escondido´s vibe is uncomparable. It still remains a small port town, though the tourist´s mark continues to construct its way southward down the beach (where the best waves are). Puerto Escondido is considered one of the 10 best locations for big surf waves and though we didn´t experience any while there, thank God, we did have a good time doing our best to shred the waves. We stayed in a couple different hostals, not the cleanest nor best smelling, but were shielded from the blood suckers with our provided mosquito nets.

We spend a few days in Puerto Escondido, surfing, burning our skin, and lounging in hammocks until we we´re ready to head to our next spot, Chacagua. This was a ¨mythical¨ place we had only heard of by word of mouth but we were ready to find it.

Visit to Guanajuato

A week ago today was my last day of work at Harmon Hall, the language institute I've been working at during the previous months. I will be leaving the city of Guadalajara in a little more than a week, but before leaving, I decided to take a trip to one of Mexico's most prized possessions; a colonial town nestled in the mountains in central Mexico. The city, founded in 1554, played an important role in the independence of Mexico as it was the birthplace of the movement. At one time, it was home to Miguel Hidalgo as well as the famous artist Diego Rivera. If one desires to visit Mexico for the purpose of its culture, Guanajuato is unmistakably a center point.

"Un boleto a Guanajuato por favor." I had arrived to the Central Camionera fifteen minutes before the next departure to Guanajuato and full of excitement, I boarded the Primera Plus bus headed for the state of Guanajuato. Three short hours later we arrived in, what I thought was my destination. We were in Guanajuato alright, but not in the city of Guanajuato. Unknowingly, I marched myself downtown and began looking for a hostel. Unbeknownst to me, I spent two hours wondering the city of León, asking everyone where one could find a hostel or "Mercado Hidaldo." I couldn't figure out why everyone had raved about the beauty of this city, it was actually quite ugly. It wasn't until several blank stares later that I decided I had better buy a map. Luckily, before I purchased the map, I read the cover..."Mapa de León, Guanajuato." SHIT! Frustrated and sweaty, I marched myself back to the bus station, and boarded the next bus to the city of Guanajuato.

Finally, I arrived in Guanajuato. The city bus I had taken from the bus station winded and curved, hugging the rocky sides of the bronze hills that compliments Guanajuato's beauty. The bus passed through several tunnels, in fact, most of Guanajuato's main streets run underneath the city in tunnels with rock walls and arched entry and exit ways. I got down near the center of the city and began to explore. Quickly, I had tracked down the hostel, dropped my bag off and headed out toward the city. Walking through Guanajuato's streets feels almost like a maze, narrow streets and high walls decide your direction. The colors of the city wee incredible. Most of the homes edge the hillside that surrounds the city center. Bright colors reflect the sunlit homes that scale up the mountain side, seemingly defying physics or just ignorant to the power of mother nature herself. Walking around Guanajuato feels like walking around a a doll house or a little xmas village. Everything is small. Wander away from the main streets and you will find yourself in small alleyways between the thousands of homes that paint the hillside.

The next day I decided to head up to Pipila, a statue that sits atop one of the highest hills commemorating the legend of Pipila. Supposedly, the Alhodiga, a castle like structure in the center, was the last stronghold of the Spanish the turn of the 20th century. Unable to penetrate the castle due to Spanish gunfire from atop, Mexican soldiers below were in a bind. Pipila, with the help of others, placed a large slab of stone on his back. Deflecting bullets with the stone, he carried a torch to the door of the castle, lighting it on fire and allowing hundreds of Mexican soldiers to enter the castle and dismantle one of the last Spanish strongholds in the country. His heroism is honored with a giant statue overlooking the city with the same determination that carried his country to victory. I visited several other historic sights during that day and spent some time in one of the many plazas reading. I returned later in the evening with a six pack of cerveza Indio to watch the sunset from the roof of my hostel, coincidentally where a scene from the movie "Once Upon a Time in Mexico" was filmed. I invited another hostel resident I had befriended. Gary the frenchman complied and we had a nice discussion watching the sunset. He was spending one year traveling the world, and his stories inspired me to continue south to Colombia, his favorite country thus far. I also met two Japanese guys in the hostel who were spending through years bicycling the globe. They had started in Alaska, and had made it to Guanajuato. They were to continue south through Central America, South America, then on to Africa and Europe before crossing Asia and finishing back in Japan. Pretty brave for two guys who speak neither English nor Spanish.

Gary and I went out on the town for a drink. After a few disappointing stops we followed the Reggae music we had heard hours before. At the entrance of the bar was its only inhabitant, the owner "Ariel." Ariel turned out to be the baddest mo fo I had met. An immigrant from Cuba, we sat with Ariel and a few of his friends listening to reggae and salsa hits for the next few hours. Sharing stories, laughing, watching Ariel teach Cuban salsa steps, the night turned out to me a memorable one. He gave me many suggestions of places to visit in Cuba and rekindled my enthusiasm for the country.

I awoke chapped and cotton mouthed the next day, and hurriedly packed my belongings to catch my bus back to Guadalajara. In summary, my trip to Guanajuato was just what I needed. It reminded me of how much I love being on the road, meeting new people and creating memories with complete strangers. I returned to Guadalajara refreshed and optimistic. My next stop is Morelia to visit some old friends, then on to Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca. Good times.

Housing Project San Luis Talpa, El Salvador

In July of 2009, I arrived in the San Salvador airport as a volunteer for the Fuller Center for Housing. A city that boasts one of the highest murder rates in the world, around twelve murders a day, San Salvador's violence and socioeconomic issues are the result of a bloody civil war spanning twelve years (1980-1992) and taking the lives of over 75,000 of its citizens. Most recently, the image of El Salvador is characterized by the tattooed faces of the MS-13 and the 18th street gang whose beginnings are traced back to inner city Los Angeles when Salvadoran immigrants were bullied by preexisting Mexican gangs. Today these two gangs are largely responsible for the violence that torments this beautiful landscape and its wonderful people.

After becoming acquainted with the rest of the group, whose members consisted primarily of great folks from Mason, Georgia, we were directed to our rented guest house. We had dinner that night, prayed for the safety of the group and for the work we had ahead of us. Since we had arrived on Saturday, we had Sunday to mosey about and decided to take an elective trip to Zoyapango, a neighborhood just outside of the city, to see a recently completed project. Two vans bumped up a poorly paved road to one of the most gang infested neighborhoods of the capitol city where murders are a daily occurrence, blank stares were abundant. Through a retracting fence, the vans entered an area of about five acres surrounded by fifteen foot concrete walls topped with barbwire. What had previously been an oversized garbage dump two years ago, had been reproduced into a housing complex providing a home to over 200 families. Mike, Fuller Center's Salvadoran representative, is an American expat who headed the project and is truly a saint to the people of Zoyapango having not only constructed homes, but a school, playground area, and a soccer field. A true humanitarian.

We began our build early Monday morning around eight a.m. and I must say, an El Salvadoran day in July is beyond hot and humid, especially for a person raised in Seattle, Wa. We worked hard, and I did my best to act as foreman, translating and directing where we needed help. We took water breaks often to account for the gallons of sweat produced from pick axing water trenches, mixing concrete, constructing gardens, wheel-barreling dirt and grass among other tedious tasks. Every day around noon, we were provided a lunch cooked by some of the local community. Appreciative of our work, the Fuller Center has established over fifteen homes in an area so poverty stricken, many of the families were living in shacks made from cardboard, garbage bags, and sticks. Villa Kawanis, as the area is called, now provides the basic necessities for these families. During our time in Villa Kawanis, we made that possibility a reality for two more of these families. Prior to our arrival, another group had constructed a small building with sewing machines which the women use to make hand bags and clothes, which are then in turn sold to volunteers and other visitors! Because of Fuller Center, these people not only had newly constructed homes, but a chance at life. A chance to provide for their children, and a chance to live comfortably.

Finishing the second home in Villa Kawanis accounts for the fourth home I have helped to construct in Latin America, and one day I hope that number supersedes the hundreds. To volunteer with such an organization like Fuller Center is a truly unforgettable and rewarding experience. The next time you think of taking a vacation to get away from the stresses of life, where a beach a corona and a palapa await, take into consideration a volunteer project. The change in perspective you will experience will take care of that stress you feel, and the work you do will drastically improve the lives of countless underprivileged human beings. (If you think physically you are burdened, I had a seventy something year old woman working by my side, how's that for motivation? ha!).

In summary, my time spent in El Salvador was informative, inspiring, and worth while. Not only did we do something great for the people, I met some incredible Americans I will never forget. They're prayers, optimism, and encouragement echoes in my memory. I hope to turn this kind of assistance into my life's work one day, and this kind of experience continues to inspire me to do so.

Morelia, Mexico

I finally let gravity prevail as I dropped my backpack to the floor of the airport terminal and relieved my body to a chair. I was in the airport again, alone. I hadn't stopped one time nor seen much of anything familiar for the last 5 months, and I was getting ready to do it again, for another three. But i loved it, I loved everything about it. The ironic thing was that I hadn't really been home in a very long time, and at this particular moment, I felt more at home while traveling, than I ever had before. I arrived at the small Morelian airport just after sunset, we walked down the stairs of the plane and entered the building. That night I met my new family. Vicki, greeted me at the door and following close behind was Rana (a nickname meaning ''frog'')a family friend. Rana was my first introduction to the group of friends that I would be spending many of my nights with. Rana truly resembled a frog, espeically since the alcohol he had been consuming permitted his eyes to wander aimlessly throughout his head. I sat my bags in my room, and was drawn towards the noise. The backyard was an energetic gathering of my host father, a few of his friends, as well as my host brother and his closest compadres. Johnny Walker seemed to be present at almost every social event with this particular group as well. Little did I know my presence sparked a movement they had been waiting all night for, and we made our way out the door as I changed my shirt on the way out. We went up to a club that was situated on one of the city's highest hills, with a spectacular view of my new home. I arrived on Saturday, so the next day was a great day to get over my ''crudo'' and get to know my family a little better. I started meeting other students during our orientation the first day of school, as well as my teachers. English had become nonexistent and I was having some minor difficulty with the language as my Spanish and Portuguese were blending together, since I had been in Brasil the three weeks prior. I was a few weeks in and school was really starting to pick up. My Spanish class was difficult, as I had been placed in the 499 level, with some of the native speakers, and it was a struggle everyday. The others weren't as bad, but still required attention almost every night. The basis of study in my Cultura Mexicana class focused primarily on current or recent social issues within the country. Everything from Nueva Jeruselem to the Zapatista struggle in the heart of southern Mexico in the state of Chiapas. As a tourist, or taking even an extended vacation to another country, one learns some cultural customs, traditions, daily schedules, and even some of the language. However, there are things that exist that are invisible to the foreigner's eye, things that are visible only once you have truly lived in another country. At one point, you jump from the shores of comfort and reservation and begin swimming with the fish. During this time, you see the bottom, the top and everything inbetween, not just the surface. There exists an immense amount of poverty in Mexico, with little support or help from those with the ability to do so, but there also exists a number a wealthy Mexicans. Most commonly refered to as 'fresas' by the majority, the rich exists in large numbers in many of the major cities. In the capitol of the state of Michoacan, Morelia's nearly one million inhabitants are not familiar with a city's skyline, as the church remains the tallest edifice in the city, and there is actually a law protecting this. Point being that this city has very little industry, yet a plump handful of wealthy people driving around the latest luxury cars. Hmm where does the money come from then? Well, Michoacan is also the largest exporter of drugs to the United States, perhaps there is a correlation? Since I was attending a private university, many of the student with whom I studied were the sons and daughters of this elite class. In fact their exists in Mexico more millionaires per capita than anywhere in the world, aside from the U.S. I really enjoyed our excursions to some of the smaller towns around Morelia; Patzcuaro, Tzintzuntzan, Guanajuato, etc. We often visited lake Patzcuaro, a very large lake and center of sustainability for the dozens of indigenous communities thathave existed on the shores of the lake for centuries. From a moutaintop, one can view the lake in its entirety, and can actually witness the influences of modernization creeping into many of the villages of the Purepatchan people. Villages that have roads that connect to the larger towns have felt this more than the villages who still survive untouched, utterly inaccessable to motor vehicles. Many of the inhabitants only speak a little Spanish, as they continue to practice Purepatcha. Over the course of three months I developed relationships with people stronger than I ever imagined could be developed in such a short span of time. I spent much time with a couple, Sarah and Jersa. Sarah was an American who had moved to Morelia years ago, and married Jersa, who became one of my best friends. The relationship that existed between these two was truly inspiring, it was like watching ''Fools Rush In'' in real life. They battle things every marriage is confronted with, but also deal with their differences in culture, background, expectations, etc. However, within this home, a love exists that continues to squash even the most intense repugnances. Through this, they have created two beautiful children and a warm home. My friends that I met while there will always be near to my heart, and my experience will never be forgotten. I feel as if I learned more in that short span of 9 months while travelling, then I have since the beginning of secondary education. I have to say, I was not looking forward to returning home, and now that I have had a taste, I can't stop eating. I'm going to South America next month.