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[sunkissedjellyfish]

Praying to the Porcelain Gods...

Our shuttle bus from Panajachel to San Cristobal was eight hours of winding, overheating, on-the-verge-of-puking fun.  The closer we got to the Mexico boarder the hotter it became.  Once there we all got out, got our passports stamped, grabbed our stuff, and walked across to the other side.  Our Mexican driver and next shuttle was waiting for us a few blocks down the road.  It seems strange to say that once we crossed that boarder everything instantly felt different.  The houses were in better condition and there were more stores and locals shopping, but there was a definite decline of Indigenous people walking around the further we went.  

The Indigenous Mayans who live in San Marcos were by far my favourite to be around.  The men all dressed in dark jeans and well-pressed long-sleeved dress shirts with a well-made cowboy hat on and nice boots, while the woman wore a long fabric held on by a belt around their waist with a very colourful shirt that covered their chest and shoulders.  Their hair was always tied back in either a single braid, or with two braids on either side of the head with coloured fabric woven in. 

The men were so polite and looked so handsome all the time and the women sparkled in all their different colours.  It amazed me to see them walking up a huge hill with a giant basket of who knows what on top of their heads.  As we waddled by with our backpacks on they would drift past us in ease with bundles of wood, baskets of food, or even boxes with chicken in them - It seemed so effortless and looked so beautiful.   

As we came closer to San Cristobal the streets became busier and signs were popping up everywhere for political parties, restaurants, and hotels.  Once at the bus station we jumped into a cab which drove us to a hostel our friend Steven told us about.  We pulled up outside of a giant set of dark wooden doors - Hostel Rosco was to be our home for the evening.

We entered an open courtyard filled with bushes, a fire pit, and a few dogs playing.  There were two levels of dorms, a common room, pool table, and even a movie theatre.  This was definitely not the hippie-chic hostel we were used to in Guatemala, but we decided to stay and treat ourselves to a private room.  We were taken upstairs and given a four person room for the price of a single private seeing as they were all booked.  

Our room was massive, filled with a king bed and a set of bunk-beds, had a private bathroom with a working shower, and even had a balcony with a hammock.  We threw our stuff down, jumped on the bed, and had our first hot shower in weeks.

Later that night we went out searching for something to eat for dinner.  As we walked we realized that San Cristobal looked quite similar to Antigua but had the laid-back feeling of Flores.  The closer we came to the center of town the more expensive and touristy the restaurants became.  I’m sorry, but when I’m in Mexico I do not want to eat sushi.  We finally found a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant filled with locals and took a seat. 

The pictures in the menu were very small and blurry but I could tell it was chopped-up-something with cheese on top, so I ordered one and Kale ordered a sandwich.

This is a warning to all of you, never, and I mean NEVER, eat Huareches.

My plate arrived, a pile of food sat before me in which I was not entirely sure as to what it was.  Jamon, pollo, champignons, nopales, queso, and salchichas were listed on the menu which I soon found out was ham, chicken, mushrooms, cactus, cheese and HOT DOGS.

Kale’s sandwich was filled with the exact same thing just mashed between three layers of bun.  

I couldn’t believe it.  I was eating processed luncheon meat with chopped up hot-dogs covered in melted cheese and canned mushrooms.  My heart dropped and my stomach turned.  A few bites in and I had to stop, I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t put that into my body full knowing what it was made of.  

Kale tried to hold a smile while biting his sandwich but quickly asked for everything to-go.  We slowly walked back to our hostel feeling like we were going to vomit.  We climbed into our gigantic bed and threw the left over food into the garbage promising never to speak of what just happened.

In the morning we found a new hostel a few blocks away that was a little more to our liking.  Waking up to a pack of seventeen year old German girls sitting in a circle charging their iPads, reeking of alcohol, and blocking the path to our room was not the most ideal situation to start our day with.  

Thankfully, Hostel Ermi was just a few blocks away.  A family home turned hostel run by Erika and her partner who lived on the main floor with their young daughter.  We were given a bedroom on the second floor with a double bed, large dresser, and a window overlooking the road.  There were three other bedrooms and a bathroom, a foosball table and a bookshelf with random books from all over the world.  

The kitchen smelled of cooking oil and chicharones – which are Mexican pork rinds – there were thank-you letters on the walls and photos of happy travelers tacked up next to them.  We couldn’t help but laugh at the array of condiments offered on the kitchen table – hot sauce, instant coffee, two kinds of ketchup, and a large bottle of hair gel.

We settled in and made our way to the local market in search of lunch and fresh produce.

Tourists and visitors from far and near flooded the streets, locals pushed around carts of baked goods, ice cream, freshly cut mangos, and brightly coloured candies, and Kale began his hunt for mole.

We walked through rows and rows of vegetable and fruit stands, meats hung on hooks and mountains of breads until we finally found Jennifer – a thirty-one year old mother of five with an empty bench in front of her comedor. 

She happily cooked us up two beautiful plates of mole negro con pollo en arroz – black mole with chicken and rice – while her thirteen year old daughter brought us drinks.  Being the inquisitive man Kale is he bombarded her with questions and she lovingly replied.  When Kale asked what was in her mole she told us that her husband is a chef and had taught her how to make it perfectly.  And if I wanted I could come back tomorrow for a cooking lesson and she would teach me her recipe.

With full bellies and a new friend in San Cristobal we headed back to our hostel.

The next morning I awoke at six to the room spinning.  I rolled over and found the garbage can as quickly as possible and sure enough, threw up for the next ten minutes.  

It seems as though the Huareches were still working their way through my body.  I spent the next four hours either in bed or in the bathroom, only able to keep down water and bread.         

Around noon I was desperate to go outside and search for some fruit….and more bread.

For the next day and a half my diet consisted of fresh mango slices, croissants, raisin nut bread, potatoes, and water.

I said it once, I’ll say it again, DO NOT EAT HUARECHES.

After a few days of wandering the beautiful streets of San Cristobal and a recipe for mole in my pocket, we jumped on another ADO bus and headed north to Oaxaca – our final stop in Mexico.

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Oaxaca – the land of seven moles – a delicious barbeque-like sauce served over chicken with a base of chocolate.  Kale was determined to eat mole everyday until we left.

We arrived in Oaxaca in what we thought would be our last overnight bus of our trip and waddled our way down to a nearby park where we were to meet our couch surfing host Rosalia.  Being a couple hours early we claimed a space and had a picnic.

Rosalia – a twenty-four year old University student studying dentistry was kind enough to host us in her two bedroom apartment for two nights.  Being a few blocks from the Mercado and a five minute walk to the main square it was an ideal spot for us to be.

After a brief introduction made primarily by Kale, I crawled into the next room and passed out for a couple hours.  I woke up ravenous and Kale could only think about one thing – mole – so we got changed and began our search.

As we roamed the streets we were sure to check all menu items for salchichas or huareches.  We finally found a hand-written poster on a doorway without either and mole as a main dish.  A pretty young woman stood in the doorway and kindly persuaded us up a staircase, into a little restaurant, and sat us at a table overlooking the streets.  

Our table was quickly filled with cantaloupe infused water, a bowl of creamy soup, a bowl of Italian vegetable soup, and tortillas.  Kale was in heaven once his plate of chicken and mole showed up and I was definitely surprised with my dish – a plate of grilled back bacon and roasted red peppers with rice and a small portion of pasta.  

We happily ate every bite while watching the sun set over the busy street below.  Just when we thought we were finished our server brought us each a small plate with a square of berry flavoured jell-o topped with caramel sauce.  

On our stroll home we stopped by the Zoocalo – a local hot-spot of restaurants, churches, balloons for sale and candy.  Over the next couple days in Rosalia’s house Kale and I explored the local markets and decided that we would end our Mexican adventure sooner then later.  We bought yet another over-night bus ticket to Mexico City and from there, a flight to Los Angeles.  

It took about six or seven hours for us to come to this decision, find our tickets, and purchase them which kept us indoors for the majority of the day.  This usually would have made us both stir crazy but it seemed to be the perfect day to do it as Kale was now the one feeling the effects of some unknown virus and praying to the porcelain Gods.

On Sunday we packed our bags and were quickly accepted into our new couch surfing home - an apartment on the top of the hill right beside the amphitheatre overlooking all of Oaxaca.  There lived Raquelle, Fransisco, and sometimes Juan - three pot smoking, hula-hoop making, fun loving ragamuffins who happily took us in, gave us a bed, and keys to the house.

With our tickets purchased and itinerary set for our departure to Los Angeles we dropped all our thoughts and relaxed into our new home. 

The boys laughed and played guitar together over large joints and beers while Raquelle chatted my ear off in fast-paced Spanish.  I’ve picked up quite a bit of Spanish during our travels but I understand more then I can speak which turns my conversations into awkward Spanglish with a lot of miming and confused faces but somehow Raquelle and I did just fine and chatted for hours.  

On our last night we were to leave for our bus at eleven, Juan had planned for his friend to come over and cook a meal for us all, and the boys wanted to jam.  What a perfect send-off.

The house filled with the scents of turmeric and lime as people started showing up.  Soon the kitchen was filled with people from all over the world – Canadians, Americans, Mexicans, Argentineans, Europeans, and more.  We sat in a circle and feasted while sharing stories of traveling and World issues, passed around a guitar and drank home-made sangria.  As I packed the last of my things I couldn’t help but smile.  Our send off from Oaxaca was exactly like the send-off we had for Kale back in November at the Spark House.  A room full of friends, new and old, sharing stories, music, and food.  How my heart yearns to be back in that house more and more these days…

At eleven we said our good-byes, exchanged contacts with our new friends, and headed for the bus station.  

Next stop, Mexico City airport….   

[sunkissedjellyfish]

Relax and Fast

6 Days for 6 Months - a fundraiser in San Marcos that Kale and I signed up for in which we were to fast for six days and collect donations to help the program feed sixty of the most needy in the village.

Day one, Monday - I woke up feeling quite happy about being settled in the lush little village for the week with a new challenge to overcome.  I quickly became restless however, as I realized I couldn't cook breakfast - something I adore.

I had a moment of 'what the hell did I just sign up for?' until I had my AH HA!  moment.

Liquid fast of soups, smoothies, and juices = creating new recipes with local in-season foods.  Avocado, bananas, mango, papaya, pineapple, melon, cacao, chia, nuts, seeds, beans, COCONUTS!  - I had entered nutritionist heaven.

There was only one obstacle in my way - the hostel we were staying at wouldn't let us use their blender.

Our solution?  Go to San Pedro and find a molino de mano: a hand-grinder we used in Guatemala City while making the Monkey Balls in Shasta Crystal Space. And as you read in my last post, we happily found our grinder in San Pedro.

With our newest kitchen appliance our meals quickly became a little more complex.  Our breakfast most mornings consisted of goop - a smoothie-like concoction with a base of soaked chia seeds, mashed banana and avocado, cinnamon, and ground cacao.  Lunch was usually soup from the night before or a fresh juice and dinner was a bowl of pureed veggies in broth or fresh coconut milk. 

On a couple occasions some of the volunteers would get together to have a smoothie party.  We all brought ingredients and blended up a storm. Favourites from the mix were avocado, mint, cacao; watermelon, mango, banana; beet, carrot, ginger, lime; pineapple, coconut; and cucumber melon.

Mid-way through the fast a few of the girls were feeling sluggish, had headaches, or were very emotional, but Kale and I seemed to be doing pretty well.  We were enjoying just lying around and taking things slow.

Sure, I would have loved to hike for five hours to the top of a volcano or to find some waterfalls, but something about sitting in a hammock overlooking the water and sipping on my juice just seemed so sweet.  A vacation from my vacation in which I was actually helping the locals.  Beautiful.

By the end of the six days I was definitely missing the feeling of biting things.  I would see people chewing and just stare at them. Funny things happen to your thought patterns when you're not eating enough.  Things become slow, thoughts are unclear, and your body just doesn't want to move.  Seeing these things come up in myself makes me realize how much I've been seeing this all around me since I started traveling.  If this happens to me without proper meals after six days, how long have they been without meals?

I am so proud to say that together we raised almost $8,000 for the Konojel Nutrition Center. That's close to $2,000 more then the needed goal!  That extra money will help to provide more meals, more supplies, and more education for the people in need.   Absolutely amazing.

Kale and I made some lovely connections with the other fundraiser volunteers as well as with the other Hostel dwellers.  I gave out my fair share of nutritional advise, Kale and I got to join a few music jams, and we even had a chance to do a photoshoot with a funky lady from Israel who knits clothing.  

On our last night we had a line-up of people waiting to hug us good-bye and to exchange contact information.  Everyone said we'll come back and I'm pretty sure we will.

As we sit on the dock overlooking the lake and the sun starts to rise to the left I can't help but to feel so much love and connection with this place - being filled with welcoming people, open minds, and a sense of community, it definitely feels like home.  But alas, my heart still yearns to be back on Wreck Beach surrounded by my Tribe, our mountains, and optional clothing.  So we set off towards Panajachel to catch a shuttle to San Cristobal, Mexico.

Thank you for all the amazing adventures over the past month Guatemala.  I'm sure I'll be seeing you again some day soon.

for more information about the Konojel Nutrition Center check out http://www.konojel.org/6days6months/

to connect to my nutrition page check out https://www.facebook.com/BeWellLoveLife

and to see the pictures from the photo shoot check out https://www.facebook.com/klphotograph

[sunkissedjellyfish]

Feels like Home

It's been just over a week since we made our way to Antigua, spent one full day, and left the next. 

It seems that the hustle and bustle of this little city - which was already preparing for the major Catholic holiday 'Semana Santa' - was just too fast-paced and lacking luster for the likes of Kale and I.

After a few pictures of brightly coloured churches, getting groceries in the large maze of the market, and jumping full-swing into our Lord of the Rings extended-version marathon, we grabbed a bag of tiny sweet buns and headed to San Pedro.

What was supposed to be a four hour drive turned out closer to be six, and by the time we got to San Pedro it was getting dark.  We pulled up beside Mr. Mullet's Hostel, a place I heard about from a friend living in town, so we decided not to walk around with all our gear and go in.

Mr. Mullet's has been open for just over six months.  With it's small white rooms and terribly cramped bathroom it definitely made me feel a little crazy.  

The backyard, however, was a beautiful surprise.  There were different coloured flowers and a couple hammocks strung up beside large wooden picnic tables, a fire pit and a kooky little dog named Whiskey.  (who tried to play with me and bit me in the butt as I walked away...)

They had a very large communal kitchen which included a very large mess.  Kale and I had to clean for a good twenty minutes before we could make a meal - which became super awesome as we found a woman at the local market who makes tortillas filled with black bean paste.  SO GOOD!

After a day of walking around, visiting the local shops, and eating a few too many tacos, Kale and I headed across the lake to San Marcos as we were happily accepted by a couple on Couchsurfing.

Tim and Osi, a beautifully happy open-minded and soon to-be married couple living in San Marcos graciously gave us a bed to sleep in on the top attic-like open concept room of their newly built home.

Tim designed and built his home over the past three years using as many local and earth-made materials as possible - including 700 handmade adobe bricks.

Having a beautiful well-stocked kitchen to create in and Neil Young playing in the background instantly gave me the feeling of being home with my mom and dad - two people I have been missing more and more these days.

With no plan of action or itinerary written we came to San Marcos without a single clue about what we could do here.  So when Osi told us that the Festival of Conscousness was happening over the weekend we realized that we were flowing in the right direction. 

Opening ceremonies on Friday night brought us to Hostel Del Lago, a funky colourful place filled with artists, musicians, travelers and everything in-between.  There were different paintings strung about, a large open kitchen, a dock built above the water with hammocks underneath, and acrobatic silks dangling from the side.  Now that I think about it, it reminds me a lot of my house back in Vancouver.

The weekend was thought-provoking and action-packed, filled with intentional, spiritual, and Eco-friendly workshops.  Yoga, Holistic Healing, Tantra, Performance Improv and Chakra Meditation kept me busy while Kale was learning about playing the didgeridoo, how to make Adobe bricks out of mud, and had a chance to take photos at Osi's Ashtanga Yoga workshop.

After everything was finished, our minds had been blown and our bodies stretched.  We had spent three lovely days in the home of Tim and Osi and decided to stay at Del Lago for the week to ride out Semana Santa.

During all the action I met a lovely woman named Rachel who lives here in San Marcos, and has recently become head of the Konojel Nutrition Center.  I saw a flyer advertising a fundraiser which would be starting on Sunday so I decided to pick her brain about it.

The 6 Days for 6 Months fundraiser would be taking part during the week, consisting of volunteers going on a liquid fast for six days to raise money to help provide balanced nutritious meals for the sixty most needy locals during the rainy season.  A goal of $6,000 was set and each volunteer was to raise $200 each.  Seeing that Kale and I were now going to live in San Marcos for the week, we decided to take part.

On Sunday night we joined the group at a local restaurant to have our first of many liquid meals and talk about the different activities we could take part in over the week.

Rachel was absolutely thrilled to have us join.  We had already met so many beautiful people during the weekend and now we had our own group - our fasting posse if you will. 

Kale and I made a game plan.  Seeing as we love to cook and buy local we needed a way to make soups and smoothies, what with the hostel not having a blender in the communal kitchen.  We decided to head to San Pedro for supplies and to look for a Molino do Mano - a Guatemalan-made steel hand-grinder.

After an hour and some funny looks we finally found our grinder.  We filled our backpack with peanuts, forest honey, chia seeds, and some beautiful fruits and veggies then headed back to San Marcos.

Day one of fasting was officially underway and Kale and I were jumping in with two feet.

If you would like to contribute to the Konojel Nutrition Center for the 6 day for 6 months fundraiser you can find them at  http://www.konojel.org/6days6months/

I'm off to make my last chia goop before celebrating the completion of the six day fast.

My experiences during the week and recipes soon follow.

[sunkissedjellyfish]

Beautiful Surprises

As I write this entry I am sitting on a wooden bench, on a hillside just outside of Antigua, between two volcanoes, at Javi’s cabin.

Javi, the man who wrote Kale and I on Couchsurfers, is quite a magical human.

We arrived at his communal home seven days ago.  Within our first five minutes of conversation we realized that he's the artist who covered quite a few walls in our good friend Jasper’s house in Vancouver, and that we share more then a few friends in common.

After a good laugh about the whole situation and loving how the Universe has brought us together, Kale and I got settled into our new home in Guatemala City.

Javi started this communal home six years ago.  Back then, it was a dirty, empty, abandoned four-story warehouse.  When he moved in there was no electricity, no running water, and urine stains on the walls.

Over the years with the help of some wonderful friends the once ugly duckling has turned into an amazing home filled with lush plants, growing vegetables, colourful painting on the walls, and happy people.

The newest addition to the main entrance is Javi’s restaurant called Shasta Crystal Space.  With maps hung on the walls from different places he’s traveled, shelves with stones and beautiful crystals, locally made breads and cakes, and in-housemade “monkey balls” for dessert the atmosphere was completely welcoming. 

The kitchen is run by Brazilian-born Thiago Figueiredo with a menu featuring only vegan and vegetarian cuisine with regular and gluten-free options.

This is where I spent the majority on my five days.

Once I explained my background of cooking, living in a Communal Home, and being a Holistic Nutritionist, Thiago was not only completely trusting of me being in his kitchen, but allowed me to create dishes by his side. 

We would look at our ingredients together – which were all bought either that morning or the day before from the local market – and think of all the dishes we could make.  Once we decided on three we would get to work.  Hours would pass by before everything was set and ready.  Some days we would be waiting for customers to show up and some days they would be waiting for us to open the doors.  It turns out that Shasta is the only vegetarian restaurant in all of Guatemala City.

By the end of each day I was absolutely exhausted but so very proud of myself for being able to feed all these people beautiful, healthy, locally produced food.

By the end of the week Kale and I had shared some great meals with the housemates of Vida Vida both - in the restaurant and in the kitchen of the house.  We shared stories of travels, sang songs, and laughed a lot.

We definitely felt at home with Javi and his team of housemates.

During the week Javi revealed to us that he has a cabin just outside of Antigua that he goes to every weekend, and that if we were to stay until Saturday we could go up with him.

And this is where I am - sitting on a wooden bench on a hillside, just outside of Antigua, between two volcanoes.   

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Our time at the cabin was short and sweet. 

We would wake up to birds singing and wind-chimes ringing, make breakfast, and eat on a blanket in the sun.

During the day we would read about our next adventure, write, play music, and climb a seventy-five year old avocado tree to knock down some fruit.

Nights were candle-lit and cozy.  Curled up together on a bed sharing stories and laughter, drinking hot chocolate and reading Peter Pan before falling asleep.

Javi left the cabin Sunday afternoon to get back to Guatemala City which left Kale and I over two thousand meters up with no car to get down.

Javi suggested that we hike down the path in the jungle, get a taxi back up to grab our gear, then head into Antigua.

We decided to hike down with all of our gear instead.

Hiking downhill with an extra thirty or forty pounds strapped on your back doesn't seem like the most logical thing to do, but you've probably noticed by now, Kale and I enjoy doing things a little differently.

With the plan of hiking set, we packed up and set off.

Before we reached the first curve in the road we were joined by a neighbours dog who happily walked beside us for the entire journey down.

Butterflies flew past us in every direction, birds sang, and the trees swayed in the wind.  In the beginning, we were amongst the very tops of the trees but over the next hour we slowly became closer and closer to the giant roots of the massive jungle floor.

The air became cooler and water flowed beneath our feet.  The dog left us as we stepped onto the pavement and returned back into civilization. 

With sun on our faces and leg muscles used, we were now on our way to La Casa Amarilla in Antigua.

[sunkissedjellyfish]

Swinging in the Jungle

After a sleepless fifteen hours of overnight travel consisting of two buses and a taxi, Kale and I made it to Flores.

Traveling overnight was our best option as we needed to transfer onto a new bus in Belize City; a get-in-and-get-the-fuck-out kind of place.

And that’s exactly what we did.

Our bus got in at 8:20am, and we were on our next bus to the border at 8:40am.

This was my first experience on what the locals call a chicken bus: an old school bus that is super cheap to ride and packed full of people, their luggage, and cardboard boxes with chickens in them.

On this bus we met and chatted with a few locals, played some songs on my ukulele, and I got to sit on top of the luggage in the back of the bus for a good hour after giving my seat up to a woman toting a two-year-old son and freshly-made three-week-old baby girl.

Once at the border, we packed ourselves into a taxi alongside seven other travelers and arrived at Los Amigos Hostel in Flores a few hours later.

Los Amigos - the first hostel of our trip - chosen because Kale had stayed there three years ago and had a really great experience.

The place was buzzing; a pod of hammocks were hung to the right, a restaurant and lounge at the back, treehouse bedrooms above, and beautiful paintings were covering the walls.

We were swept away into a quiet second building and given a private room hidden under the stairs.  We had to duck under a staircase, climb through a hole in the wall, and jump off a counter to get into our room.  As interesting of an entrance this was, it was now our home for the next three days.

Getting to know our surroundings, eating a good meal, and napping was definitely needed.  We walked around the streets and Kale was amazed by how much had changed on the island.  There were new restaurants, bars, hotels, and hostels all over the place.  Even Los Amigos had tripled in size.  All of this had happened over the past three years because of all the attention on the Mayan calendar.  Flores had become a hotspot for tourists for a place to stay in order to get a look at the Mayan ruins in Tikal.

Menus in English consisting of giant portions of hamburgers and fries, pasta with cream sauce, and ice cream sundaes – although tasty - didn’t really seem too Guatemalan to us, so we went out searching for the locals.

As we walked over the bridge into the city of Santa Elena with a mini-mall and Burger King at the main intersection, we found ourselves sitting at a local restaurant eating tacos made by a mother and thirteen-year-old daughter, followed by a large coconut purchased from the back of truck from a twelve-year-old girl packing a machete.

We had begun to find what we were looking for, real life in Flores, but that all changed once Kale met Maui – a white Mexican with mop-top dreadlocks and countless tattoos who sells his handmade jewellery and exotic animal bones on the street along side his wife Judy and six-month-old son Olie.       

We sat and chatted with the couple for about two hours, going over all the crystals and different animal parts that covered his blanket before he begun to tell us about Uaxactun; a village in the jungle about a four hour bus ride from Flores that he has been living in - off an on -  for about twelve years.

Our eyes lit up and we sat like children while he told us story after story.  When he told us how to get there, and told us we could stay in his hut and leave our extra baggage at his house in Flores we immediately started to pack.  We bought all our groceries, firewood, water, and candles and set off on Saturday afternoon.

We spent four days and five nights living amongst the people of Uaxactun.  The moment we got on the bus we were instantly the minority causing giggles from children, staring and funny looks.  The citizens of this one thousand people village don’t see Caucasians very often. 

A pack of boys ran after us once we stepped off the bus and took everything we had and carried it to our new home.  They stayed with us for about an hour and returned at least three times each day. 

The young girls made eyes at Kale, drew pictures with me, and danced around.  The boys played the ukulele while Kale played guitar and yelled my name as they ran by hoping I would look up at them.

The hut we were staying in was located on the property of Don Elfido, the mayor of Uaxactun.  He and his wife Ampalo live on and run a small campground called Aldana’s Lodge.  Aldana’s was equipped with showers, washbasins, an outhouse, cabins for rent as well as room for tents, and livestock roaming the property.

Everyone cooked over an open flame and Ampalo was kind enough to share hers with me.  She would come in and out of the kitchen while I cooked taking a peak at what I was creating.  We had more then a few awkward moments when she would try to strike up a conversation with me or tell me the names of the foods I was using and I had absolutely no idea what she was saying to me.  For the first couple days I felt like she didn’t like having me around because of our language barrier, until one morning she grabbed my waist and said “Bonita” - which means “beautiful”.  I wish I could go back and pick her brain; what is it like being the Mayor’s wife, having raised eight children, feeding the children at the school house, having to put up with random strangers who stumble upon her property looking for a place to sleep and call home for a few days.  But now that I think about it, I don’t need to ask her, I already know.  She does it all out of love – for her husband, her children, her community – she is very much a woman; a woman who reminds me a lot of my Grandmother.

Kale and I set off on a few adventures while in Uaxactun.  There are two sets of Mayan ruins on either side of the village that have not been made public just yet.  We got to explore all alone.  The sizes of these structures were massive and completely boggled my mind as to how the Mayan people built them. 

In the village there is a small museum filled with artefacts found while excavating these ruins.  The shelves were filled with clay bowls, cups, had two skulls, and special jars for drinking cacao.  There was a table with different whistles, arrowheads, and earrings just like the ones we saw in Cozumel in Alejandro’s collection.  The shopkeeper told us that there would have been plenty more but a lot of pieces were demolished when the workers first started excavating, having used dynamite. 

After exploring the local ruins we headed off on the bus at six in the morning to Tikal – a giant set of Mayan ruins and major tourist attraction.  With a backpack full of food and walking sticks in hand we set off on a four hour hike around Tikal. 

Monkeys swung in the treetops overhead and bright yellow butterflies danced by.  The deeper we went in the larger the temples became.  We hiked up eight different structures, one of which was sixty-four meters high.  We sat in one structure which overlooked four others in a court yard and imagined what it would have been like to live there, to have it filled with life.  How they used different seeds for paints, fruits for glue, animals for clothing and giant rock slabs for buildings.  My mind is still completely dumbfounded by how they could have made these buildings so large, some perfectly symmetrical, and for what purpose?  I guess we will never really know…

When Kale and I returned to Flores we were warmly welcomed into the home of Maui and Judy and stayed for a few days.  We shared our stories of Uaxactun and begun to plan our next move.

Guatemala City was on the radar as a get in, get out kind of place until Kale received an email from a random man on Couch Surfing inviting us to his Communal Home. 

Having just been in the jungle for five days, the thought of being in a city was a little overwhelming but hey, what are we here for - to experience as much of Guatemala as we can.

So, next stop, Guatemala City!

[sunkissedjellyfish]

One chapter comes to an end and another begins...

It’s time to move ship, set sail, and start a new adventure!

During our final weeks on Cozumel, Kale and I spent some time planning our trip, experienced Carnival, I went scuba diving for the first time in my life, and got to spend more time with Alejandro and Manina (the owners of the music store) and our neighbours whom I call the Mucks.

Carnival on Cozumel had been hyped up for weeks before the official weekend.  Every Sunday night there would be dance rehearsals on a giant stage in the main square where all the locals would come out and vote for their favourites. 

When the big day finally came – which was actually three days long – a giant amusement park was built in a parking lot and beer tents popped up everywhere. 

During the day there wasn’t too much happening but once it got dark the party began.

The streets were filled with drunken tourists, beads were being thrown from rooftops, and children ran around dressed up as their favourite Disney characters.

The first night Kale and I went out to see what was going on, and lasted all of fifteen minutes.  There was music blasting everywhere you went, large floats covered from top to bottom in multi-coloured sparkles filled with dancing children and scantily clad women twirling around stripper poles, food vendors selling deep-fried everything, and garbage everywhere.

Needless to say, we did not go out again on the second night.  But we were convinced to try again on the last night.

We decided to stay away from the main street where all the big attractions were.  Instead we went down to the carnival rides and were instantly in another world.

We walked around in a sea of smiling faces, children playing silly carnival games while eating cotton candy, vendors trying to ring in the next big winner, and teenagers getting tossed about in the clanking rides.

As we sat and shared a bag of freshly made sweet buns we realized that we were the only white people in this part of Carnival.  And that we had actually found the REAL Carnival.  

A few days after that I tried my hand at diving.  Scuba diving – something I know quite a lot about but never considered doing.  Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE water - I spent every summer at my family cottage since I was born - but just the fact of breathing underwater seemed wrong to me.  So when Kale came home one night and told me he wanted to take me on my first dive, I had to take a breath and put on my oh-shit-this-is-a-terrible-gift-but-smile-so-you-don’t-hurt-his-feelings-face. 

Over the next few days whenever Kale would ask me when I wanted to go, I did whatever I could to change the subject.  Still trying to process the concept of being underwater was haunting my thoughts and completely terrifying me.

Finally, the day came where I caved.  We set up our time at the Blue Angel and off we went.   I did my briefing and DSD training, went over all the gear with my personal instructor – whom might I say was quite a hunk – and we got suited up.

I walked into the water - completely and utterly terrified – reminding myself to breathe and hold strong onto the oh-shit-put-on-a-smile face. 

Breathing is a very simple task - we do it day in and day out without even thinking about it - but put a giant plastic nozzle in your mouth, attach some weights on your body so you sink, and trust a tank strapped to your back to provide you with air?! Yeah, that’s a bit of a mindfuck.

It took me a few tries to relax and understand what was going on.  But eventually I figured it out.  We set off under the sea and started our adventure. 

Along the way we saw hundreds of little fish swimming about, a big black eel and even a sea horse.  We were only about twenty minutes in when I realized I had to pee – very, very badly.

No problem right? Wrong. 

Peeing in the water is not a big deal - I’ll admit, I’ve done it many times - but peeing in the water in a full-body wetsuit, hell no.

I tried.  I really, really tried.  But it wouldn’t come out.  It got to the point where I was literally in physical pain so I told Kale and that was it.  I peeled that wetsuit off me and ran.  I peed for so long that I put Austin Powers to shame.

As I sat in a lounge chair afterwards staring at the water and processing what I had just done, I felt a little sad about having to leave the water so quickly.  But I did it.  And that’s what matters.

A lot of our week was spent lounging by the pool with our neighbours Sara and Doug.  Two of the three stooges I call the Mucks. 

The Mucks consist of Sara - a spunky Danish world traveler and a hell of a cook; Doug – a broad shouldered English man who is nuts about diving photography; and Julian – a foul mouthed South African with the most ridiculous giggle, a passion for blunts, and really good hugs.

We’ve spent quite a few nights laughing and carrying about with these three - sharing meals, stories of home, and even recipes.  I named them the Mucks because of how they were always joking around, getting high and just laughing for hours about life and their ridiculous work situations.  They took us in on a few different occasions, gave us a bed to sleep in and a stove to cook on when ours crapped out, and fed Kale more then a few second dinners. 

The Mucks - Sara, Doug, and Julian – three people that I am so happy to call my friends and cannot wait to share another meal with.

Planning our travels for the next three months was a little overwhelming at first.  Looking at bus schedules and trying to plan an exact route just wasn’t possible without proper information from the bus stations.  So we decided to wing it. 

We packed our things, had a lovely coffee date with Alejandro and Manina – which included far too many Mexican pastries – and headed for the ferry.

Destination: Flores, Guatemala.

[sunkissedjellyfish]

Observing

Hello my friends, it's been a while.  A few weeks in fact.  I haven't done much besides taking it all in, here on Cozumel.  Living, loving... adopting cats...

Kale has recently finished his Divemaster and Scuba Instructor training at the Blue Angel. (YEY!) While he was in class he would get up at 6:45 every morning and be gone until six or seven - leaving me alone all day to roam the island at will.

When he would awake and go into the kitchen, he'd often open the front door to let some air in.  Always quick to join him was a young grey and white tabby cat who we have named Babe.  Babe, a stray who hangs out most days on a lounge chair by the pool in our apartment complex, seems to think she owns our couch.  She usually comes in, get a scratch and a little cuddle, then curls up on the couch and doesn't move until I put her back outside when I leave.

After Kale would leave for school I'd eat a bit and head outside to do some yoga before the sun got too hot.  I'd wake Babe up and place her back on her lounge chair before getting started.  As I begin the warm air fills my lungs.  The sky is bright blue and the sun is hiding behind a fluffy white cloud.   Flocks of black birds soar wildly high above me and the landlord's golden lab runs past me and jumps in the pool.

At this point Babe wakes and decides she wants my attention.  For the next thirty minutes she winds in and out of my legs, lays on my mat under my body while I'm held up in the air, and continuously headbutts me.

Definitely not your typical yoga practice. 

This has been my routine most mornings.  The rest of the day includes swimming in the pool, eating lunch, grocery shopping, attempting to teach myself Spanish, and going for bike rides through town followed by swimming in the ocean.

My bike rides have become quite interesting to say the least.  Some days I can peddle around and no one seems to notice.  Some days I get whistled at every thirty seconds and asked if I need a Mexican boyfriend.  And sometimes I get lost for three hours...

On this adventure specifically I found fun spots in Cozumel that I didn't know existed: a costume shop filled with belly-dancing outfits, colourful wigs, and ridiculously high stiletto platform heels.  Memories of Drag Queens dancing on a float to Rupaul's "Supermodel" in Toronto's Gay Pride Parade went flashing through my mind.  I found a health food restaurant specializing in fresh juice mixtures and smoothies, a clothing store that has neon-coloured spandex everything, large walls covered in beautiful graffiti, and a street that isn't even on the map.  That's when I knew I was lost.

Funny things happen to your body when you bike for three hours.  Yes, you get sweaty and dirty and tired - but the days to follow include some awkward moments. 

Bruises and sore muscles begun to surface.  My arms felt like jelly for a couple hours from all the vibrations and my ass was tighter then Ned Flanders in his sexy red ski suit.  The bruises were the ones that caused slow movements, loose clothing, and a preference of sitting on the couch versus a stool.  You see, riding a hard, not-so-well designed Mexican-made bike seat can cause a bit of tenderness to those areas where the sun don't shine...

Needless to say, I stayed off my bike for a few days.

In the evenings, I would have dinner ready for Kale when he got home after his ten-hour school day and head to Capoeira.  For those of you who are not familiar with it, Capoeira is a Brazilian martial-art that combines elements of dance and music.  It is taught here by Maurizio Torelli, a widowed Scuba Instructor and fellow firespinner. 

Getting back into the routine of getting my butt kicked on a regular basis was something I had missed, oddly enough.  As you may or may not know, I spent five years of my life studying kickboxing at Twin Dragon, a small dojo in my hometown of Newmarket, Ontario. 

Some of you may think that it's odd, but I just love learning a new way of moving my body, sweating my butt off, and kicking ass.

Since then my bike rides have become shorter and with somewhat more of a planned route.  I find myself drawn to a patch of rocks beside the ocean where the locals take their kids to picnic and swim in the shallows.  Here, I find peace.  No whistling, no one trying to sell me anything, and no other tourists.  Here, I am a local.

As I watch a few tiny crabs pick at some algae on a rock in a little pool of water in front of me, a young family comes out from under the shade to go for a swim. 

Two girls, no more then sixteen years old and a boy most likely the same age take a seat fully clothed in a shallow pool of water.  One girl is holding a chubby little baby boy and the other is holding her eight month pregnant belly.  The girls sit and chat while the baby laughs and splashes about.  The boy jumps in the ocean and swims away for quite some time.  When he returns the girls don't seam to notice and he sits by them in silence.  After a while they go back to the shade and the young girl changes the babies diaper while balancing him over her knee - a skill I observed the day before from a woman sitting on the side of a road.

Change tables?  No way.  Car seats?  Only for the rich who have nice cars with working seat belts.  Speed limits?  If it's not posted, the largest vehicles lead the way.

It amazes me how many people can fit onto a scooter here.  I've seen a full family of four tucked onto a road bike.  Dad is driving with mom on the back, a baby in her lap and a young child helping dad steer.  Helmets for the adults, nothing for the kids.  Smiles by all as they drive by.

The major thing I've noticed here is how people drive.  Yes, the roads are busy and at first I was a little more then nervous to ride my bike in the dark with no helmet, but people drive so well here.  Maybe it's because there are visible children hanging off of their parents or maybe it's because of the weather - whatever it is I have not seen a single bought of road rage, an obscene amount of anger filled honking, or a cyclist being obliterated by a passing bus. (Fellow Vancouver cyclists, you know what I'm talking about) 

After acknowledging all this I can't help but wonder, if we weren't so fear based in all that do, so focused on rush rush rush, be there, get there, fast fast fast! and just stepped back to simplify our actions, maybe - just maybe - we would gain a little more confidence in ourselves and respect for our fellow humans...and for this life in general.

Now that Kale is finished school and back at home with me, we have had a few of our own fun adventures.  Some of which included a surprise party with a few friends to celebrate his completion of school; having to move in with our neighbors for five days over Carnival because the grandson of the man who owns our apartment came down with six of his friends to party; going on a drive to drink blue margaritas the size of my head with Sylvia - a very blunt Quebecker who hits on Kale like he's the last man on Earth -  and today, we will find a bakery with chocolate cake.  

I leave you now with some pictures I took - on Kale's awesome camera - of a few things outside our place.

[sunkissedjellyfish]

Processing

Today marks the twenty-fifth day for me living here in Cozumel. 

I find it very interesting how these past twenty-five days have gone.  What has come up; what I've let go of; how I've grown.  When we leave our bubble - our comfort zone - we never really know what to expect.

And that's the best part: living without expectations.

You see, coming out here was a ridiculously huge leap for me.  It was both exciting and extremely nerve wrecking, and not because I was leaving my friends, my home, or my music career.  These are things that I can come back to.  It was more about the situation I'd be moving into.  Living with Kale.

At this point you're probably thinking "what?! are you kidding me?!" but I'm serious.  The last time I've lived with a boyfriend was not the greatest experience, to say the least.  It was almost eight years ago.  Eight years since I've lived with a partner.  Eight years since I've trusted someone enough to share my life with.  Eight years to figure my shit out and understand how to live with somebody else.

Kale and I started this relationship by agreeing on a couple things: to be blatantly honest with each other and to allow ourselves to be ridiculously in love.  And I must say, we're pretty damn good at it.

Please, don't get me wrong - our life isn't perfect. There's no such thing.  But when things are getting cloudy, or something is just not right, communicating about it as quick as possible resolves issues in a flash.  Who would have thought, communicating resolves issues?! 

(That was sarcasm.)

As it seems, I have a pretty decent handle on the "living with a partner" scenario and now have come to focus on the "living with myself" aspect.  Funny how I put living with a partner first... why do we do that as humans? Put others first?  It's one of our greatest gifts and biggest downfalls.  It's absolutely beautiful and drives me fucking crazy all at the same time.  It's like we've been brainwashed that being selfish is a bad thing.  Go ahead, look "selfish" up in the dictionary.  There are some pretty harsh words there - egotistic, narcissistic, self-infatuated - but some of them, some of them I feel are great - self-loving, self-involved, self-concerned - and if those can be looked on in a positive light, being selfish wouldn't be so bad after all.  And me coming here wouldn't seem so crazy.

One of the best lessons I've ever learned is that people joke about or mock what they do not understand. That most people default into fear and put up a wall of judgement when something different comes along instead of approaching it with an open heart to learn and understand what it is.  It can be as minor as how a person dresses, or on a larger scale, someone who speaks a different language.

It's been very interesting over the past twenty-five days how people here in Cozumel have treated me. In a place where I am the minority - as I do not speak their language - I stick out like a sore thumb because of my skin colour and light blonde hair.  I've had my fair share of hollers from men, giggles from little children, and spit on the ground as I've walked by.  But when I think about it... I get that everywhere I go.  If I was to dwell on that I would have never met the lovely local couple who I now fire spin with, I would have never been confident enough to bike alone and find a gym where they teach Capoeira, and I would have never gone to the grocery store without Kale.

"What is the point of all this?" you may be asking.  Well, there is not really a point my friends, I'm just processing - giving myself a chance to spew out what has been going on inside my head. 

Over the past twenty-five days I've been able to do whatever I want.  Something I have not been able to do since I was a child.  Or should I say, something I have not allowed myself to do.  We forget as we get caught up in the Default World that this life, in fact, is ours to control.  And with that, we choose what we do day in and day out.  If that is going to work, so be it.  If that is sleeping in, so be it.  If that is letting everything go to travel the World, then so be it. 

To wake up in the morning when the sun comes up and ask myself "what would you like to do today?" is something I wish I would have been doing for years. 

To look forward to each day.  To be thankful for this life.  To empower the soul that is in this body. To be happy.

Over the past twenty-five days I've become more physically active then I have been in the past ten years, I've spent more time in my kitchen creating meals; I've started writing this blog; and I've spent a lot of time alone.  And I must say, for being out of my comfort zone, it feels pretty damn comfortable.  

[sunkissedjellyfish]

A Lot Can Happen in a Few Days...

It's been a week and a half since my last post.  I could make up excuses - blame something or someone - but to be honest... mentally, I was not well.

You see, not five minutes prior to my last posting, I logged onto my Facebook only to read a friend's status informing everybody that Brea Garner, one of my five housemates from back in Vancouver, had suddenly passed away.

In that moment my heart sank.  My brain tried desperately to make sense of what I was reading. I went onto her profile page and sure enough, there were postings from friends filling her wall, pictures popping up, and a note from her mother confirming that her darling twenty-two year old had left us.

         I spent the next two hours waiting by my computer for one of my housemates to come online and was soon greeted via Skype by Nia, Ryan, Jocelyn, and Melissa.  Sadness, clarity, and remembrance came pouring from both sides.  I felt so overwhelmed with the feeling to jump on the next plane to return home.  After we chatted Kale and I spent the rest of the day in bed; unable to converse, weeping for moments at a time, completely shocked by what had happened. 

The next couple days were no easier for me as questions and e-mails began piling up and a virus started to take over my intestines.  Remembering her, honoring her, and allowing moments to grieve were so important.  It's funny how in moments of sadness, or release, we crave comfort.  From loved ones, from friends... even from our food.  When we are so exhausted mentally that cooking is unbearable, community jumps in and shows up with cookies, casseroles, warm hugs and flowers.  For me, all I had was an empty stomach (which included a virus that was not allowing much nourishment) and my partner Kale.

Kale, being the amazing wonderful human that he is, hugged me when I needed it, cooked when I was hungry, wiped the tears from my cheeks, and found the best goddamn pizza I've eaten in years.  I then slept like a baby only to wake up the next day with a fever.  Whatever virus was trying to take me, I was going to win and this was our final battle.

I spent most of the day sleeping with small attempts at trying to converse with Kale only to sound extremely intoxicated and be sent back to bed.  My diet that day consisted of numerous glasses of jamaica and two sleeves of "Crackets;" the Mexican version of "Ritz".

Before Brea's passing I would spend most days outside playing with Diego (5) and Laura (9), a brother and sister visiting family here with their mother.  During the evenings I would practice spinning my poi and show them a few moves while Kale took pictures or played on his guitar.  After breaking my fever I was able to join the children outside again.  We made pigs out of my poi and an orange I had in my kitchen, and Diego started giving me Spanish lessons. 

What does a five year old teach you ask?  All the colours on his "Cars" t-shirt and as many numbers as he could remember.  On one of their last nights they presented me with a small bouquet of flowers and big bears hugs.  The simplicity in a child acknowledging another humans emotions is extremely heartwarming.  

                     Since they left, Kale and I have gotten to spend more time together during his break from classes.  There has been more snorkeling, some music playing, food creating, and adventures around the island with new friends in the complex.

The thought of leaving, of going home once I found out about Brea, was questioned with "what would Brea want you to do?" A question I sat with for quite some time.  

Brea was ridiculously excited about me leaving to travel, something she'd done her fair share of.  Although only twenty-two, this young woman has lived many lives, seen many things, and has told many tales.  She could dance like no other and create the most intricate garments (not to mention her crazy super food smoothies).  Brea taught me so much in our eight months of living together: the importance of discussion, one-on-one, without interruption and completely from the heart; the understanding and communication of intention and boundaries in any and all situations; and most of all... how to cry without holding back.  

Although I am saddened by Brea's passing I am deeply grateful for knowing her and having her in my life.  Seeing how many people she has touched and shared similar moments with has brought so much joy to my heart.  

            So the question of "what would Brea want you to do?" still remains. 

The answer, I feel, is to continue my travels.  To return home with as many beautiful stories as she once did, to learn and grow and hold her in my heart so that she may travel with me. 

        In my thoughts, in my words, in my heart. You will remain.

Rest in Peace sweet Faerie.

[sunkissedjellyfish]

Sometimes, I Play with Fire.

"Poi."  A word I first heard while living in Canmore, Alberta almost five years ago.  It was during a potluck dinner at Serena and Steve's house, a beautiful home filled with homemade bread, almond milk, instruments, and toys.  Lots of toys.  These weren't your typical children's toys made of plastic with flashing lights and annoying sounds - these were handmade hula-hoops and artistically-crafted poi. 

Side note - for those of you who have no idea what poi is - poi-spinning (to my knowledge) started off in New Zealand as part of their ritual/tribal dances.  Outsiders got a glimpse of this and created their own versions.  Some with lights, some on chains, and some that light on fire.  Spinning poi, staffs, fans, and even hula-hooping have become hugely popular in the festival community.  If you don't know anything about that, well, that's a WHOLE other blog. 

Back to the story.  Here I was in this beautiful house, being introduced to poi-spinning for my first time.  It was the most mesmerizing dance I had ever seen.  I jumped at my chance to try, both ridiculously nervous and extremely excited.  It seemed so effortless.  Spin them a little and gravity does the rest - flick your wrist one way and that's where they go; force them in a certain way and you'll get smacked in the face.  Obviously, I fell in love, and a few weeks later I had ordered my first set of poi from an online site called Home Of Poi in New Zealand. 

Spinning became a hobby while in Canmore.  I soon found a whole group of people in town who introduced me to the festival scene on the West Coast.  We would get together and practice, teach each other tricks, and they would tell me stories of Shambhala, Freezer Burn, and Burningman.  

The love of spinning poi came quickly; the love of spinning fire hit me like a ton of bricks.  To spin fire you need to have two things: one, to be able to spin well, and two, to be a little crazy.  Seeing as I had these down pat I fearlessly took the chains into my hands.  

That sound.  My god that sound.  I don't even remember what was going on around me - all I could hear was the fire ripping past my face.  And in the blink of an eye, a trail of golden yellow followed only to be devoured by the night sky. 

Over the past five years I've had my share of spinning at festivals, with friends on Wreck Beach in Vancouver, and now here, in Cozumel.

Before I arrived, Kale had told me that he had gone to the main square on a Sunday night and saw a couple spinning fire.  My heart nearly exploded out of my chest in excitement.  Upon my arrival, I counted down the days until we could go looking for them again.  On Sunday, January 6, we rode our bikes into town and there they were - toys lined up, super hard psy-trance blasting from their portable speakers, fire blazing.

We stood and watched the whole show, my face hurt from smiling so much.  I had to talk to them.  Ivan and Leslie, a young married Mexican couple who live on the island, have been busking by spinning fire for a while now.  They had a hoop, two types of poi, a set of fans, small snakes, mini sticks, and two kinds of staff, all of which Ivan has made by hand.  We chatted for a while and once I told them I spin they immediately offered me the use of their toys. 

I was now a kid in a candy store.

We chatted for a while longer and decided that I would come back to spin with them on Wednesday night.  And did I ever.  We set up at the main square and Ivan started off while Leslie laid out all the toys and said "take your pick."  So I started off with my first love, poi.  

Barefoot on the cobblestone road with a restaurant full of people to the right of me, tourist onlookers to the left, and a small crew of Mexican B-Boys sitting with Ivan and Leslie... I begun my dance.  

That sound, my god how I love that sound ripping past my face.  Spinning with another person's poi can be a little tricky at first.  Considering the weight differences and length of cord, it took me a few spins to get my bearings, but soon enough it was on.  The love that I felt five years ago had returned once again.

We all took turns spinning the different toys.  I had my first go with the fire hoop as well as the fans; the B-Boys would jump in to throw themselves around or spin on their heads while we lit up. 

Ivan and Leslie spin five nights a week so I'll be back to join them very soon.  Most likely tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that...

[sunkissedjellyfish]

Musical History

Within the first few days Kale was here in Cozumel he found a wonderful little music store called Unahi Paax, owned and operated by local couple Manina and Alejandro.  Kale bought a guitar after chatting with them for a while and they revealed that they have the largest collection of musical instruments, in all of Mexico, at their house.  Kale, being the sassy photographer and music lover that he is, asked if he would be able to see the collection to take pictures and they both agreed.  Thankfully, Kale waited to go over until I got into town.

On Thursday, January 3, 2013, Kale and I walked just a few blocks down the street from our apartment to a giant black metal doorway.  He rang the bell.  I stood silently with a small bouquet of white tiger lilies in my hands, and we both had the biggest shit-eating grins on our faces.

The door swung open and there stood Alejandro: a jolly older man dressed in a t-shirt promoting the music shop, khaki shorts, socks under his sandals, and a beautiful smile that could just be seen under his epic moustache.  As we entered the house his lovely wife Manina greeted us with a hug and took us into the music room.

My jaw dropped as I entered.  Never in my life have I seen so many instruments in someone’s home.  The main wall, the height of a two story house, was covered in string instruments: guitars, bass guitars, mandolins, fiddles, banjos - you name it, it was there.  There were hand drums of all kinds, marimbas, flutes, whistles, headdresses for sacred Mayan and Mexican dances, turtle shells, and didgeridoos scattered in baskets or hung high for all to see. 

There was one cabinet filled with Mexican, Mayan, and Native artefacts.  Some of these items were a few hundred years old and some were dated back to 1800 B.C. 

Alejandro made us a cup of café (not coffee, this stuff was outrageously good) and told me stories while Kale took pictures.  Then one by one he went through the items in the case.  He could play them all; he knew where they were from and the purpose of why they were made.

  Each one made such a unique sound: some high pitched like a bird singing, and some very low like an animal grunting.  One in particular made the most eerie sound, as if Death was breathing down your neck.  It was used by a native tribe just before they would attack their enemy.    

He then picked up a large black stone and placed it in my hand.  It was a Mayan spearhead made of black obsidian.  Again, my jaw dropped.  The weight of it, the sharp edges, and the thought of how many lives this may have taken and protected…completely mind blowing.

Before heading out, Alejandro played us a beautiful song on what looked like a modern-day recorder - an instrument I haven't heard since grade school.  He posed for a few photos with his wife and hugged me like my uncle, with a tight squeeze and an earful of laughter.

If you would like to read Kale's blog and see more pictures, you can find it at http://klworld.tumblr.com/

[sunkissedjellyfish]

It's Official...

It’s official.  At 9:45pm on Monday, December 31, 2012, I stepped foot onto the streets of Cozumel, Mexico to begin the newest chapter of my life.  Arriving an hour earlier then expected, my partner Kale, who has been living in Cozumel for the past month, was not standing at the pier awaiting my arrival.  After finding a bench and a local who let me use their phone, Kale was by my side and we were standing in the doorway of our apartment in no time.

With less than two hours before midnight Kale quickly made me some dinner; tacos filled with a mixture of black beans, potato, onion, avocado, and local cheese, then we were out the door to join the New Years celebration at the Blue Angel resort where Kale is taking his Dive Master course.  We arrived with 30 seconds left before midnight to an outdoor party with a DJ, open bar, ridiculous party hats, and women jumping into the pool in their underwear.  After a kiss, some introductions, and awkward dancing, Kale and I found ourselves sitting on the nearby dock staring at the stars and dreaming up what life could possibly be like over the next few months.

After a lazy morning we found our way back to the Angel.  Perks of Kale studying there, we can use the equipment!  We each grabbed a sea kayak and headed off.  The water was blue and gentle, the sun kissed my face and warmed my body right down to my bones, and Kale and I continued to share our dreams until we arrived back at shore only to grab some fins and snorkels and head back out.

I’ve only been snorkeling once in my life which was on a family vacation to Cuba where my dad ended up pushing me most of the way because I had no idea as to what the hell I was doing.

This time, it went a little better.  With Kale as my guide and all the time I needed to become comfortable with my new surroundings I slowly eased into understanding the art of snorkeling.  At first, I was blown away by what I could see; coral, sting rays, multi-coloured fish and eels, random car parts, starfish, and sea urchins.  Then I realized how tense I was.  I looked straight down at the fishes below me, dancing freely with one another, and I stopped moving.  All I could hear was my breath.  My body became weightless.  I had become part of the sea.

As Kale dove down in front of me the fish quickly scattered and swam away then turned to watch what he was doing.  They were as interested in him as he was in them.  As he swam away I noticed the fish were getting closer.  I look to the left and there were literally 50 different fish swimming up beside me.  I reached my hand out to touch one and barely missed, there was less then an inch between this beautiful black and yellow stripped angelfish and my fingers.

As we made our way back to shore I watched one more little white fish search through a group of black sea urchins for a snack before I toweled off to watch the sun set.

Needless to say, day one was anything less then magical.