#and in mexico too!! real de monte!

[mycological-mariner]

Hmm… Cornish Western story… hm

[colosio-case-archive]

Almost 30 years later, the conspiracy remains: Who killed the Mexican presidential candidate Colosio?

A man (Mario Aburto Martínez) confessed to the murder but many doubt the true story has come out. Find out about this conspiracy in this article by Mexico Daily News:

In 1994, Luis Donaldo Colosio Murrieta, presidential candidate for the then-ruling Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI), was assassinated at a campaign rally in Tijuana, Baja California.

Only one man, Mario Aburto Martínez, was convicted of Colosio’s murder. He was sentenced to 42 years in prison.

But millions of Mexicans doubted or outright rejected that he was the mastermind of, or even committed, the crime.

Twenty-five years later, people continue to deny that Aburto is the true culprit. Most fingers instead point at the PRI – an inside job against a candidate who was trying to shake things up a little too much and made some powerful enemies in the process.

On March 23, 1994, Colosio arrived in Tijuana on the campaign trail for that year’s presidential election, which he was almost certain to win.

According to journalists covering the campaign, the rally in the poor Tijuana neighborhood of Lomas Taurinas at which Colosio was shot was not originally on the candidate’s itinerary for that day.

At around 4:00pm, Colosio arrived – without an excessive security entourage – at the venue that would host the rally.

He appeared to be in a good mood, smiling and greeting the people who had gathered to hear him speak. Just over an hour later, he was shot twice, first in the head and seconds later in the abdomen.

The 44-year-old candidate was rushed to a Tijuana hospital but hours later he was pronounced dead.

A man – supposedly Aburto – was arrested at the scene of the crime but many people believe that a different man – the real Aburto – was convicted of the crime. In other words, the killer was replaced with an innocent man.

After a long and seemingly comprehensive investigation – and a confession by Aburto – the federal government declared that the 22-year-old was the sole culprit, although many people suspected that there were two gunmen.

Miguel Montes, the first of five special prosecutors who worked on the case, believed that Aburto had not acted alone based on the fact that Colosio was shot twice and that the bullets had apparently come from different directions.

Four other men, including former police officer Vicente Mayoral Valenzuela and Jorge Antonio Sánchez Ortega, an intelligence agent for the now-disbanded Center for Investigation and National Security (Cisen), were arrested in connection with the assassination.

But the hypothesis that more than one person was responsible for the murder was abandoned after Aburto admitted that he acted alone.

Building the case against him, authorities established that Aburto suffered from borderline personality disorder, a condition they contended contributed to his actions.

Olga Islas de González Mariscal took over responsibility for the investigation in July 1994 after Montes resigned and five months later she declared that Aburto had indeed acted alone.

Another theory regarding Colosio’s murder is that organized crime was responsible.

Guillermo González Calderoni, a former police commander, said in a 1998 television interview that the Arrellano-Félix Cartel was responsible for the murder.

A total of 29 different versions of events involving organized crime were considered by the federal attorney general’s office, including one that Colosio’s campaign was funded by Colombian drug money or by now-convicted drug lord Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán.

According to three versions of events, Aburto had links to drug trafficking organizations.

However, authorities said there was insufficient proof to substantiate any of the organized crime hypotheses.

Yet another theory contends that Colosio’s own party was involved.

READ MORE HERE

2_news_Who killed Colosio

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // 13

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, tough love, The Cliffhanger (TM)

WC: 4.2k

-----------

One of Mia’s favorite post-date rituals is a long, hot shower. Whether a one-nighter in the Beverly Wilshire or a week on an 80-foot yacht in the Mediterranean, Mia arrives home to wiggles and pets with Pamela, a strawberry Pop Tart and a luxurious shower complete with her good conditioner and lots of exfoliation.

Truthfully, the tradition was born from feeling dirty after her first date. When she came home to her scruffy Mid City studio apartment, she shook violently through her entire shower, scrubbing herself raw with a Dollar Store loofah. But she went on another date, and then another, soon relaxing into the comfort she brought her clients, letting it comfort her, too.

The shower remained part of her routine. Sometimes the Pop Tart made it in with her, propped on a shelf beside her Kiehl’s products for her to take bites of between verses of “Fly Me to the Moon.” Pammy usually lay on the bathmat waiting for her, thwapping her tail against the tile floor when Mia hit a sour note.

Mia had no interest in showering on the afternoon she left Rio de Janeiro. Despite the fact that she came straight from the airport to the show and straight into bed for a long night, she wanted to hang on to all of it as long as possible. Her skin still wears the love of his mouth and the scent of his sheets. She can’t just get rid of that, especially now.

His flight left hours earlier than hers, so she lies in the memories of last night as heavy as the dense, wet fog that surrounds their little mountain retreat. She twists in the sheets, fighting for more sleep that won’t come. When it’s time to get up, she knows she can’t let go, not yet. She can’t let all the color Rio brought her fade, not until she’s really gone.

Mia’s slow packing up, loaded down with luggage despite being there for under 24 hours. She suspects she’s leaving something behind, despite having barely unpacked. All the way through airport security, she mentally sifts through her belongings, checking them off. She has her passport, her phones, her house keys, her phone charger, her power converter.

She’s somewhere over Mexico when she decides what she left behind was a piece of her, the piece that gets to live in the memory of the night before. The rest of her has to move on.

+

Silver walks through a cloud of Hermes 24 Faubourg, inhaling as she goes. She picked up a bottle in Monte Carlo last week after a night tangled up in Sylvie. Silver’s never been accused of sentimentality, but decided if she is forced to be away from this intangibly incredible woman, she may as well have a token that is exclusively hers and reminds her of what’s exclusively theirs.

The doorbell rings. Silver smiles. She straightens the lapels of her blazer, hot rod red rather than her usual monotone uniform, and heads for the door of her dressing room. Down the blank white corridor to her marble staircase, her heels click mutedly, carrying her with grace to where her housekeeper will have brought Penny for their meeting. 

They’re in the solarium today. Silver likes to take advantage of the gloomy Los Angeles days when they come available. Even better if it rains, which it looks like it might. She’s serving a fine Lady Grey in a vintage Royal Copenhagen set an old favorite client left her in her will. 

Penny’s back is facing her when she arrives. She’s perched on the end of her seat, ramrod straight with her legs crossed at the ankle, just the way Silver taught her years ago. She’s a polished, pretty picture in a butter yellow, smartly tailored pantsuit with her hair in soft waves. She doesn’t turn as Silver approaches.

In an uncharacteristically warm gesture that just somehow feels right, Silver bends to reach her, tucking her arms around Penny’s shoulders, resting her chin on her head. She smells freshly showered, a lovely floral and fruit bouquet, soft, touchable elegance.

“Hello, my love. I’ve missed you.”

Penny raises a hand to rest over Silver’s, thumbing against the series of Cartier Love bracelets locked around her dainty wrists. She releases a deep sigh.

“You have no idea,” Penny croaks.

Silver frowns. She releases her friend and walks around the set of chairs to sit beside her. Penny’s eyes are clouded and far away. Her hands, lying in her lap, are limp, the cuticles shredded from her picking. Her expertly applied makeup doesn’t quite cover the circles under her eyes. Silver’s heart rate kicks up in her chest.

“Penny, what’s--”

“Please,” Penny sighs, “Don’t call me that.”

Silver startles. She sits back in her chair and folds her legs, blinking quickly.

“Mia,” Silver begins again, the name foreign on her tongue, a name she hasn’t called her closest friend in many years, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Mia seems to search the blank gray sky for answers. Silver flicks anxiously at her ruby and emerald ring, the one given to her by her grandmother.

“Do you remember why I chose the name ‘Penny?’”

Silver pauses, then nods. “From the Sinatra song. “Pennies from Heaven.””

“I chose it as a way to hang on to who I am through all this. I was worried I’d lose myself in the persona I wanted to create. I thought keeping my name so personal was a smart move, that I’d never really forget myself in this. I don’t think it worked.”

Silver’s lips turn down at the corners. Her eyes drop.

“I don’t blame you, Silver. Please know that. You saved me from becoming something so much scarier. Without you, I’m not sure I could recognize myself at all now.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence weighing between them. Silver doesn’t even know where to begin.

“You want to stop seeing clients,” she says plainly, glancing over for confirmation. Mia nods solemnly.

“You feel you cannot continue because you’ve fallen in love with one.”

Mia wets her lower lip and sighs, nodding slowly.

“Tell me this, my darling,” Silver whispers tenderly, leaning forward, “How do you figure you’ve managed to fall in love if none of this is real?”

Mia’s eyes flicker. Her brow puckers for a moment, then softens. “I don’t--”

“I staunchly disagree with your idea that you lost yourself in Penny. I think instead you found yourself. I think she gave you the freedom to believe you were worthy of praise and admiration, worthy of your own innate power. I think Penny helped Mia transcend. I think Penny is as much your name as Mia is. I think you’re punishing yourself, perceiving love as a weakness. And frankly, I think you should know better.”

Mia’s jaw tightens visibly. Silver rolls her shoulders back and sits up, squaring off.

“No one knows how to love like you do. You lead every day with love. Every choice you make on every date, every meeting, every run through the canyons with Pammy, every car ride with Gus, every FaceTime call with Peter, all of it beautiful expressions of your love. I think you don’t recognize it in yourself because your fucking parents never showed it a day in their lives. I think somehow all the love they were meant to have was born into you instead. I think the first time you’ve really seen it in yourself is with him and it scares the living hell out of you.”

Mia whimpers a sobbing breath. “You’re fucking right, it does! What do I do with this now? What am I supposed to be? I have all this useless love for him fucking rotting me from the inside. It can’t go anywhere, Silver. Where is it supposed to go? Into a fairytale ending? Not for the whore. Not for the woman who sells her time and her body. You know better than anyone she doesn’t get the happy ending.”

Silver flinches, thinking of Sylvie, of all the things she’s yet to tell her, all the things that could flatten this pretty thing, this sweet little flame they’re tending before it has the chance to thrive. She shakes her head, refusing to give in to this kind of thinking.

“Haven’t you been a martyr long enough?” Silver cries, lurching nearly out of her seat, “You’ve given and given and given for five fucking years, I can’t imagine how there could be anything left to give. You’re saddled with the guilt of knowing you cannot continue being a courtesan under the conditions of your personal life, but instead of accepting and embracing the possibilities that offers, you’ll throw it all away? This job that has at once sucked you dry and sustained you? This man that has come alive in your heart and in your bed? For what? For guilt? Will that really be enough? Why can’t you let yourself have something good?”

“What good?” Mia wails, standing, lifting her hands into her hair as she frantically begins to pace in front of the rain streaked windows. Silver’s not sure when it began to rain, but it’s pouring.

“What good do I get? He can’t be with me, Silver, and you well know it. It will ruin him. His whole career, all the strain he’s been under this summer, all of it was bringing him here, to this spot. He deserves this, all of this, all of the praise and the adoration that everyone is giving him now and everything he gets when his album drops. I can’t be the thing he gives it up for. I can’t and I won’t.”

“Why does he deserve it and you don’t?” Silver breathes.

Mia stops. She blinks hard at Silver so a fat wet tear drips down her cheek. She sniffles.

Silver stands slowly, carefully, looking almost her age for once. She approaches Mia head on, fearless but soft. She cups Mia’s sticky wet cheeks.

“Why does he get to enjoy the fruits of his labor and you don’t? Why does he get to stand on top of the mountain, victorious, looking past all the good and the bad that got him there, and you still struggle to climb? Look around, my sweet darling. There’s nowhere left to go. You have done so much good. So much unsung effort and hurt and heart got you to the summit. You’ll never be recognized for it like he is; that’s the nature of your job. But you must recognize it in yourself or none of it matters. What good is it, all of it, if you cannot see what you’ve done?”

Mia is silent, breathing heavily, trembling. Silver closes her fathomless eyes and tilts her forehead to Mia’s.

“You have done enough. You have been enough. You are enough.”

Silver holds Mia when she breaks. She strokes through her hair, smoothing it away from the back of her neck like her mum used to do. She massages circles around the knob at the top of her spine and coos, cradling the closest thing she’s ever experienced to true love in her own life, hoping against hope Mia will be able to accept hers.

+

Shawn feels beautifully even.

There was something about that night with her in Rio. I mean, fuck, there was everything about that night with her. But where he usually finds himself jonesing for a fix of her about 48 hours after they separate, he doesn’t now. He’s in New York doing radio promo for the album drop next week. He left her in bed, spoiled with kisses five days ago. He feels… ok.

Just because he’s not tearing his hair out and panting her name when he frantically fucks his fist in the shower doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss her. He misses her in this beautifully sane way that doesn’t feel dangerous or scary, it feels right. He thinks about her often, when it’s a quiet moment in a hired car crossing the city for his next interview or waiting for a table at some chic Brooklyn diner. It doesn’t eat at him and drive him up a wall. It feels like the need for a hit he’s been near constantly craving from her since the beginning of summer has finally worn off.

He thinks, or hopes, that it’s because maybe she misses him, too.

He’s heading back to LA soon for the album drop. He has a Spotify promo show and a bunch of other press to do as he gets ready for the release of his career. He’d like to see her, maybe take a quiet morning and bring Pammy on a hike through the canyons. He wants to learn her favorite spots.

Shawn stands outside in a courtyard after Elvis Duran with his legs crossed and the phone to his ear. He chews on a cuticle and waits to hear her pretty voice.

“I’m sorry. The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected. Goodbye.”

Shawn blinks. He holds the phone away from his ear. He squints at the screen almost comically. He tries again.

“I’m sorry. The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected. Goodbye.”

In a blind panic, with nothing else to do, he tries it again.

“I’m sorry. The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected. Goodbye.”

Oh my god.

+

It takes Shawn a few hours to remember to try calling the agency. He blames the daze the call put him in and the busy afternoon for how long he spent thinking he has absolutely no avenue to her, and for the state of complete disarray it put him in.

He struggles to focus on the rest of his press stops. His precious evenness is long gone. He’s jittery and irritable and unfocused. His team watches him with trepidation, unsure what’s knocked him so off-kilter. It’s worse than it’s been before when he’s been without her. Before, she was a phone call or a text away. Now, she’s just gone.

The thought hits him like a brick over the head midway through a Buzzfeed interview. It manages to perk him up slightly. He at least has hope now that goes beyond racing to wait outside her house until she deigns to talk to him. But he’s forced to wait until that night during dinner when he can slip away.

He finds the number under “Dentist” and dials, bouncing back and forth from toe to heel, knocking into the wall behind him.

“Thank you for calling La Splendeur, how may I assist you?”

“Colette?” Shawn squawks, pausing to scrub a hand through his hair, “I need to talk to Mia. I mean, Penny.”

There’s a long, heavy pause. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

He huffs. “It’s Shawn Mendes. My verbal password is ‘Ireland.’ I need to talk to Penny, please, Colette.”

Another pause. He turns and kicks the wall not too gently.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mendes, Penny is no longer employed by La Splendeur.”

He almost drops his fucking phone. “She… what?”

“Penny no longer sees clients through this agency,” Colette explains softly, her fake accent faltering.

“I don’t understand,” he gripes, “She just… quit?”

Colette sighs. “I’m not really allowed to--”

“Wait, Colette, please,” Shawn pleads, pressing his free hand into the brick wall and hanging his head, “Please, you’ve gotta have her personal cell, right?”

“I’m not able to give that to you, Mr. Mendes.”

He grunts and fists his hand, tapping it repeatedly against the brick. “Please, there has to be something… shit.”

His heart is in his throat. His forehead rests against the prickle of the brick. He exhales slowly, trying to calm down.

“I’m sorry, Shawn.”

She’s dropped the accent altogether. It feels like the final nail in the coffin of this conversation. He nods, though she can’t see him.

“Yeah. Uhm, it’s ok. Thank you anyways.”

She says goodbye and hangs up. The silence hurts his ears.

+

Edge - Shawn Mendes

By: Christian Becker, Editor in Chief, September 29th, 2020

The fourth full length release from Canadian singer-songwriter Shawn Mendes has been the most highly anticipated of the fall. Though already a multi-time Grammy nominee with several international tours under his belt, including an impressive festival run this summer culminating in the performance of his career in front of a crowd of 80k on the third night of Rock in Rio only weeks ago, the 22-year-old remained a boy in the eyes of many, especially those who were paying attention when he cropped up fresh-faced and innocent at 16. 

No longer. This record is a definitive departure from Mendes’ boyhood. The sound is mature and focused even in its variations of style, from R&B to rock to soul to bouncy pop that he knows better than to shy away from, even if it is associated with a younger fanbase. The lyrics are a masterful collection of mourning, of longing, of lust, of life itself through his eyes, very clearly now the eyes of a man. They contrast beautifully with his surprise summer single release, “Far,” a lively, radio friendly pop duet with Bex, his very recently ex-girlfriend. “Far” is a celebration of freedom, of feeling totally safe with a partner in a way never thought possible. (The break-up, well documented by major gossip outlets, begs the question of whether another round of Mendes’ more heart-wrenching work is on its way. If it is, it may well have been worth it.)

Edge as a whole is a coming of age of sorts, lacking the obvious connotations of Jimmy Eat World’s “The Middle” or Bowie’s “Changes.” Mendes has arrived. He stands unafraid of his past, of the critics who have seen his babyface and can’t manage to unsee it. He places before us his heart in record form for us to judge, as honest and as poignant as I’ve ever seen. For that we at Vertigo Magazine commend him and look forward to future triumph and heartbreak.

5/5 stars.

Shawn sniffs and tucks an arm behind his head. He’s read Becker’s review so many times he’s got it nearly memorized. He thinks it’s his favorite thing that’s ever been written about his work. He doesn’t even mind anymore that Mia wore his necklace on a date with the guy. Mostly.

The first time he read it, he felt like he let go of a breath he’d been holding for weeks. The news had just broken about the “Shex” break-up -- the stunt had done its job and run its course. Bex’s album sales had been much higher than anticipated and her mid-size national club tour had sold out. She was invited out to open for Alessia Cara on her international arena bout next summer. And as for Shawn, the single absolutely exploded, declared “song of the summer” by just about every pop radio station on the planet. The album sales were even better than his team originally planned for. Announcing the international stadium tour, his first of its kind, would come next in just a few weeks. 10 months, 86 cities. He’s so excited it hurts.

He’s made his peace with it all. Mia was right. In the end, it was worth it. He’ll never be just a kid again in anyone’s eyes. For all the time he spent feeling trapped by it, by the lies and the smiles, it freed him. The whole summer and all its contradictions brought him freedom.

Shawn has a glorious two week break before putting his nose back to the grindstone to start promoting the On the Edge fall 2021 tour. He plans to spend nearly all of it writing, like he’s been doing in every free moment lately. Missing Mia seems to make it pour out of him.

He unlocks his phone again and reads highlights of the last paragraph, saved in his Notes app. 

Mendes has arrived

He stands unafraid of his past

He places before us his heart in record form for us to judge

They feel like big statements. Shawn supposes they’re appropriate. He knew when he was making this album how personal and real it is. He held nothing back -- the darkness, the light, the hate, the hope. 

He feels drawn to the words and how they paint him. He wants to live up to them. He knows his album does. He’s not sure about himself yet, though.

Shawn cranks himself upright to sit. He chews his lower lip and thinks about it again.

He has this… daydream. He imagines throwing himself in the car and speeding to her house, only about 15 minutes away. He bangs on the door and takes her in his arms and tells her everything, everything he’s held back for the sake of their professional relationship, everything he told himself he wasn’t allowed to feel, everything he’s pretty convinced, after Rio, that she feels for him too.

Every time he lets himself think about it, he adds more detail -- the cadence of her moaning breath when he sweeps her into his arms, the way her hair smells, the way Pamela lies at their feet, content that her owner is safe and happy. It’s lush with overdramatic nuances, but that’s just what his brain’s been after lately.

He places before us his heart in record form for us to judge

That’s what’s left. He has shown her all he can. The only thing left is to tell her.

His back straightens. He looks around. Is he really doing this? This, the stupid daydream he’s had pinballing around his addled brain as a distraction from his album release stress? He’s just going to go over there and confront her?

His brows lift.

Fuck yeah, he is.

+

There’s construction in Coldwater Canyon. The lane is backed up by guys with stop signs, waving through traffic from both sides as the two lane road is reduced further. What usually takes Shawn a few minutes takes over an hour.

He supposes that should’ve been his first clue, that bad omen.

The second should’ve been the absence of Pammy’s leash on the rail outside.

The third comes when he jumps to peek through her garage door window and sees both her cars inside. The house is dark. No Mia, no Pamela. No one.

He plants a hand on his hip and pants, sifting the other through his hair. His jaw tenses. He closes his eyes and forces down the panic.

It’s time for the nuclear option.

He reaches for his phone and leans against her railing, enjoying her view.

“Hey, Colette? It’s Shawn Mendes. I need to talk to Silver.”

+

Shawn would be embarrassed by how hard he worked to wear Colette down enough to get Silver’s number. He definitely groveled, he certainly begged. But he doesn’t have the capacity to feel anything but anxiety as Silver’s number rings.

“This is Silver,” a smooth, cool voice answers.

“Silver, hey. Uhm, this is Shawn. Mendes.”

Good start. You sound like a fucking teenager calling his ex-girlfriend’s house because she blocked your number.

Silver is quiet for a few long beats. “Hello, Shawn.”

He sighs. “I tried calling her a few weeks ago. The number’s disconnected. You probably know about that. I just… I need to talk to her. Colette wouldn’t give me her number. I… I just went to her house and she’s gone. I’m kind of freaking out.”

He’s definitely freaking out. And he knows she can hear it. Again, he can’t be bothered to worry about how it looks or feels. Nothing feels worse than having no idea where she is.

“I’m sorry, Shawn. I really can’t--”

“God, Silver, please,” he begs, voice weary as he leans against her front door, “I… fuck. I love her. I really fucking love her. And I never said it. I was an idiot, like I thought I could make it go away because I knew I wasn’t supposed to. But, Jesus, I love her so much. You know her better than almost anyone. I… I think she might love me, too. Please, Silver. Where is Mia?”

Silver’s intake of breath is sudden, startling Shawn. He frowns, then realizes he used her real name. He turns his gaze downward a little sheepishly.

“She told you,” Silver murmurs, wearing a placid smile that Shawn can’t see. 

Shawn sighs. “She told me. Before Rio. When… it was the day of the in-call at her place.”

Silver is painfully silent again. It grinds Shawn’s teeth. He squirms against the door.

“Shawn, listen to me. If I tell you where she is, you have to promise me something.”

“Anything,” Shawn swears, lurching off the door to cling to the railing.

Another long pause.

“You have to be patient with her. She’s worth it, I promise. But she needs to see it from you, that you’re willing. Can you do that?”

Shawn nods for a few seconds before speaking. “I can do that.”

Silver smiles. “Good. Every summer, Mia and Peter spend the month of August at her great grandmother’s old house in Ravello. Peter couldn’t go this year because of school, and Mia missed it. She sent Pammy off to Gus and she left last week.”

Shawn nods frantically, temporarily drunk on finally having an answer. “Ok. Ok, great. Where… uh, where’s Ravello?”

Silver laughs. “The Amalfi Coast, Shawn. Mia’s in Italy.”

He huffs a breath. “Ok. Well. I guess I’m going to Italy.”

----------

WE’RE GOING TO ITALY!!!!!!

If you’d like to buy me an espresso or a cappuccino or an affogato, the link is in my bio.

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @searchingunderthestars @buggy-blogs @mendesficsxbombay @tnhmblive @greedydevil @tamegray @meltingicequeen @havethetimeeofyourlifee @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @hannahlouiseee @sarahlauramendes @shawnsmoose @mendezlatte @1dbetch @graysonmendes @shawnsababe @ineffsi @ultradreamologistblog @bluerose711 @sauveteen @valedictorian65 @cleocc @ly--canthrope

[aratilightwood]

Draw me like one of your French girls.

This is set during Emma and Julian’s travel year.

...

France was fourth on Emma and Julian’s list of holiday stops on their travel year. In New York, they took strolls through Central Park and experienced the rush hour in Time Square. When they were in Mexico, they took many pictures in Monte Alban, and admired the colourful Monarch butterfly migration at the biosphere reserve. Across the ocean, they saw the view from the London Eye and stood next to the statues of celebrities in Madame Tussauds.

After three days in Paris, they’d already visited the Eiffel Tower, and made more plans.

It was a special day.

They woke up early and got ready. The weather was mild outside, not too hot and not too cold. Julian wore a casual cream jumper, dark jeans and trainers. Whereas Emma wore a floral maxi dress with a denim jacket and sandals, even though he warned her they’d be doing a lot of walking.

Once dressed, they went down to the hotel’s dining room to have croissants and tea for breakfast, before they ventured out into the streets of Paris to begin their day.

The first landmark they visited was Napoleon courtyard and the glass pyramid of the Louvre, which showcased the creativity of many famous artists. Julian pointed out the great works of Leonardo da Vinci and Raphael, while Emma listened intently to the historical stories behind some of the paintings.

After they finished with the museum, it only took them ten minutes to walk to a cafe called ‘Angelina’ in the early afternoon. They had warm drinks, fresh cream cakes and scones to eat. Julian refused to let Emma pay for her half of the meal, even when she protested. Although, he succeeded in making her laugh as he purposely got whipped cream over his upper lip when he took a sip of his hot chocolate. With affection, Emma called him a ‘not so’ fat Santa Clause.

They than walked passed many shops in Champ Elysees such as Lacoste, Gucci and Bexley. Julian brought a black beret and was forced by Emma to wear it for the remainder of the day. In retaliation, he tried to convince her to buy a bustier, which only left her blushing over the mention of naughty lingerie. He was amused when she jokingly suggested he buy one for himself.

When they returned to the hotel in the late afternoon, Julian felt the urge to paint something. Luckily, the view outside their window depicted a beautiful landscape of Champ de mars at a distance. He set up his portable easel and placed a blank canvas on it. When he decided what paints he wanted to use, he started mixing them on a palette.

“I’m just going to freshen up in the bathroom before we go down to dinner,” Emma said.

“Sounds like a plan,” he replied without taking his eyes off the canvas, yet he heard the door to their ensuite open and close as she went.

Julian became absorbed by the scenery outside their window, that he failed to notice Emma exit the bathroom. So it surprised him when she cleared her throat.

He turned around and saw her standing beside the end of their double bed. She was wearing a small, red robe that came down to her thighs. To his surprise, there was no mistaking the fact that the silk material was the only piece of clothing she was wearing.

“What are you doing? Why are you wearing that?” Julian asked, a little confused.

“You’ve never taken me up on my offer,” Emma said.

“What offer?” He replied as he raised his eye brows.

“Of you drawing me like one of your French girls,” Emma said while she idly ran her fingers across the seams of her robe.

He gave a small chuckle, “I thought you were joking.”

“I was before. But I’m not now,” she said.

Julian watched while Emma slowly undid the belt of her robe. His gaze never left hers as the material fell off her shoulders, and dropped to the floor. His eyes darkened as they travelled from the graceful shape of her neck, down to her bare legs.

“Do you really want to do this?” He asked.

Emma nodded, “where do you want me?”

“Lie on the chaise lounge,” he said.

Julian waited patiently as Emma walked towards the sofa. She laid down and placed her head against the only backrest available. Her right arm came around to support her neck, while her left draped across the side of her body.

Once he was certain she’d readied herself completely, Julian rotated the easel so it was facing her. He than mixed a larger variety of colours onto the palette and brought his attention back to the canvas.

As soon as the lounge was sketched briefly, he started drawing the oval shape of Emma’s face. He’d always loved the colour of her eyes. They were the darkest of browns, and the same shade as the maple syrup he often used to flavour his pancakes. They held sincerity and spoke of deeper understanding. But they also contained a treasure trove of mysteries, some of which Julian had yet to uncover.

Her eyes were hooded by thick, long eyelashes and Julian drew them grouped together. Whenever she blinked, they reminded him of the fluttering movement of butterflies, and the gentle flap of an angel’s black wings. He knew how they felt against his skin. It was no secret that a simple touch of her lashes was enough to undo him, and awaken desire.

The colour Julian used for her lips was the same baby pink of a rose bud. They were uneven. The top was thin, and in the shape of Cupid’s bow. While the bottom was full, and more plump. She had a slight smile on her face but her dimples weren’t visible, much to his dismay.

As he finished with her facial features, Julian began working on the shape of her body, which gave the impression of an hour glass. He drew the curve of both her breasts and waist.

Julian than focussed on more detailed areas. He didn’t forget to include the scar on Emma’s arm. It was same one she inflicted on herself after her parents died. He made sure he drew the bruises and scratches on her hands, because they were a symbol of all the years of training and fighting. He used black to colour the permanent runes of her skin, as well as a lighter shade to show marks that faded over the years. The Parabatai rune, in particular, left a painful ache in his chest because it created both happy and painful memories.

Julian wanted to draw her with all her perfect imperfections because without the scars, she wouldn’t be his Emma.

Lastly, he marvelled at the length of Emma’s hair. It cascaded down her shoulders in long waves, like liquid gold. He was glad to finally find a paint that was close to the colour of her strands.

When the painting was complete, Julian wrote ‘Emma Cordelia Carstairs’ at the top left corner of the canvas, while ‘Thursday 14th February 2013’ was written at the bottom right.

“Done,” he said as he set the palette and paint brush down.

He watched Emma stand up from where she lay and put her robe back on, before she walked towards him and the canvas.

Julian braced himself for her reaction.

He was grateful that she didn’t say anything immediately, and instead, observed every inch of the painting.

“It’s beautiful,” Emma exclaimed.

Julian smiled widely.

“It’s nothing compared to what the masterpiece looks like in real life,” he said while he kept his eyes locked on hers.

Emma wasn’t able to reply as Julian brought his hands around her waist, and lowered his face to capture her lips with his, feverishly.

[danystargaryens]

tagged: by the lovely @proinsiasweeney tagging: @cristalcarrington @blarke @diyozah @maddigriffin @madigriffen @bellamyblak @daniels-gillies @queen-daenerys @sapphic-wanda @softloki

Rules: Answer these 85 statements about yourself, then tag 20 people.

last

1. drink - coke

2. phone call - ? my mom ?

3. text message - also my mom ? lmao i have no friends

4. song you listened to - chase atlantic - church.

5. time you cried - ? i cry almost everyday so hah, wednesday? too tired of life.

ever

6. dated someone twice? - no

7. kissed someone and regretted it - nope 

8. been cheated on - kinda ?

9. lost someone special - yes

10. been depressed - yes

11. gotten drunk and thrown up - nope

fave colours

12. black

13. blue

14. purple

in the last year have you…

15. made new friends - yes!

16. fallen out of love - no

17. laughed until you cried - yes

18. found out someone was talking about you - yes.

19. met someone who changed you - i guess ?

20. found out who your friends are - i literally have nobody so.

21. kissed someone on your facebook friends list - nope

general

22. how many of your facebook friends do you know irl - all of them

23. do you have any pets - two dogs and three cats.

24. do you want to change your name - secret.

25. what did you do for your last birthday -spent time with my family & had a nice meal.

26. what time did you wake up today - 8 am?

27. what were you doing at midnight last night - sleeping.

28. what is something you can’t wait for - how sad couldn’t figure anything out.

30. what are you listening to right now - rooster teeth podcast

31. have you ever talked to a person named tom - not really.

32. something that’s getting on your nerves - that i ‘’fall in love’’ with any man that gives me attention. it’s not real love. and i hate myself for it.

33. most visited website -  tumblr omg. this site is addicting.

34. hair colour - blonde.

35. long or short hair - long. 

36. do you have a crush on someone - only celebrities, fictional characters & maybe a guy idk.

37. what do you like about yourself - my eyes

38. want any piercings? - yes !!

39. blood type - no idea

40. nicknames - meg // meggy // angel // princess // cutie

41. relationship status - single

42. zodiac - libra

43. pronouns - she/her

44. fave tv shows - about 20 that i love. but ultimate favs are from dusk till dawn, the 100, teen wolf & the originals.

45. tattoos - i have some pallned

46. right or left handed - right handed

47. ever had surgery - nope

48. piercings - nope

49. sport - no thanks 50. vacation - still wish to visit spain, mexico & new york.

51. trainers - converse.

more general

52. eating - bread

53. drinking - cola

54. i’m about to watch - rooster teeth lmao

55. waiting for - tmr. so i have another relaxing day.

56. want - to be happy.

57. get married - nah 

58. career - i hear they’re nice to have this time of year

which is better

59. hugs or kisses - hugs bc i want affection

60. lips or eyes - eyes

61. shorter or taller - taller

62. older or younger - older

63. nice arms or stomach - stomach

64. hookup or relationship - relationship

65. troublemaker or hesitant - hesitant

have you ever

66. kissed a stranger - no

67. drank hard liquor - yes

68. lost glasses - yes

69. turned someone down - yes

70. sex on first date - never been on a date, but prob not (?)

71. broken someones heart - idk

72. had your heart broken - yes

73. been arrested - no 

74. cried when someone died - yes

75. fallen for a friend - yes, in the past

do you believe in

76. yourself - ?? no idea

77. miracles - yep i do.

78. love at first sight - with the right person

79. santa claus - nope

80. kiss on a first date - if it goes well then ok

81. angels - yep

other

82. best friend’s name - kath & moose.

83. eye colour - blue

84. fave movie - 21/22 jump street, moulin rouge, power rangers 2017, pirates of the carribean, monte carlo, big hero 6, suckerpunch, jawbreaker, burlesque, garfield, hercules, transformers, beauty & the beast, wild child, oceans 8, jennifer’s body, st. trinians.

85. fave celebs - eiza gonzalez, ana de armas, tom hiddleston, amber heard, margot robbie, holland roden, zoey deutch, tom felton, dacre montgomery, richard harmon, bob morley, selena gomez, deepika padukone. yeah those are just some.

[abqjanitorial]

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[chicanocuisine-blog]

El Cubilete brings authentic, savory Mexican food to Niagara falls

Take a seat at El Cubilete in Niagara Falls and they arrive almost immediately--warm chips, with the nutty taste of corn, and freshly made roasted tomato salsa, which has a well-rounded flavor with just the right amount of heat. El Cubilete offers authentic Mexican cuisine. El Cubilete's owner and chef, Roberto Montes, came from Cueramaro, in Guanajuato, Mexico, and after spending years working in Mexican restaurants in the Northeast, he came to Niagara Falls and started his own restaurant. "I didn't know why nobody was using true Mexican flavors," Montes said. So Montes fashioned a menu that features the true subtleties of Mexican cuisine. Beef, chicken, pork--are slow cooked and then pulled into shreds or cut into chunks before becoming tacos, tamales and enchiladas. There are savory sauces: tomatillo, chipotle, Ranchera, red hot, burrito, mole, cheese (asadero and Oaxaca) sauce and a "Our Special" sauce which you have to try to know what it is like to really dine in Mexico, while still in Niagara Falls. Some dishes are spicy, but Montes tries to cater to the customer. If you ask for "Mexican Hot" however you will get the real spicy, hot taste of Mexican cuisine. El Cubilete is at 9400 Niagara Falls Blvd, at the location of the former La Bruscetta; the decor is in golden yellow with green and red accents, adorned with art work and photographs reminiscent of old Mexico. El Cubilete is intimate space. It has comfortable tables and brown and maroon booths, with high walls which allow for privacy that makes conversation easy; it's a great place to take a date. El Cubilete has liquor and wine, their specialty is the margarita. The appetizer selection is large and includes not only an array of nachos, but queso fundido (cheese dip with Mexican sausage and tortillas) jalapeno poppers, chile relleno, taquitos (rolled corn tortillas filled with shredded beef) and pork tamales. The guacamole, made fresh daily, is buttery and mild, with luscious chucks of fresh avocados. Then there is the shrimp dishes for which it should be justly famous. The Canarrones Al mojo, Camarones a La Crema (Large shrimp drizzled with cream sauce), or Camarones A La Diabla, comes with rice, beans and guacaomole. The flavors are bright, clean tasting. The Caldes De Res soup, brimming with beef, vegetables and rice, is a meal itself. Of course, El Cubilete's authentic menu includes all the traditional items: quesadillas, enchiladas, burritos, tacos, tamales, fajitas. But they are more sophisticated than the usual Tex-Mex fare or what you get elsewhere. Here they come out steaming and savory, spiced to perfection. The steak in dishes like Poblan Chipotle Tampiquena is lean and juicy. The enchiladas are taste sensations, especially the verde (chicken with green salsa topped with lettuce tomato and sour cream), and the rice and beans that accompany most dishes are full of flavor. Carnitas, chunks of pork shoulder marinated in citrus juices and slow cooked until they are falling-apart good. Chile verde, a casserole of pork chunks simmered in a chile mora sauce. have to be sampled. You can become addicted to this kind of fare. Save room for dessert. The Churros is light and saturated with flavor. The Xangos Cake (cheese cake wrapped in tortilla, fried and dusted with cinnamon and sugar) is satisfying; The flan is rich, its sauce has a real home-cooked texture. El Cubilete is your gold standard for Mexican food in this area. If you like Mexican food and haven't tried it, you are missing out on something special. Long ago, in a little village in Guanajuato, not too far from Mexico City and Guadalajara, Roberto Montes Jr., learned to cook from his father, Roberto Sr. and his mother Jeromina. They taught him to cook not only with love that makes all food special, but with attention to detail, to using the best ingredients in the most delicate proportion. This is what makes good food great. There is a difference: why one chef is renown while others are forgotten.

"El Cubilete brings authentic, savory Mexican food to Niagara falls." Niagara Falls Reporter [Niagara Falls, NY], 13 Jan. 2015. Infotrac Newsstand, http://link.galegroup.com/apps/doc/A426901211/STND?u=mont93762&sid=STND&xid=280a697a. Accessed 6 May 2018.

[alohaexpeditions]

Top 100 Unique Hotels you should visit before you die

Read also: 1000+ enchanting destinations you need to visit before you die! Top 100 Unique Hotels you should visit before you die 1) Whitepod Hotel, Switzerland An eco-luxury alpine escape for adventure seekers. Website 2) Attrap Reves, France This extraordinary bubble hotel lets you sleep comfortably but still feel like a part of nature and the night sky. Website 3) The Caves Resort, Jamaica A luxurious oceanfront resort built into the cliffs. Website 4) Hotel de Glace, Canada A magical hotel intricately sculpted from ice. Website 5) Magic Mountain Lodge, Chile A strange place for eco tourists to feel close to nature. Website 6) Singita Sweni, South Africa One of the many luxurious game reserves in southern Africa. Website  7) Sala Silvermine, Sweden An underground hotel with a few unique guest rooms. Website 8) Poseidon Undersea Resort, Fiji An underwater resort. Although it is up and running, I can’t seem to find a single photograph- so you get concept art instead. If I’m buying into a hoax, let me know. Website 9) Iglu Dorf, Switzerland Spend the night in a cozy igloo in a winter wonderland. Website 10) The Atomium, Brussels This strange structure provides an escape from everyday life and is an experiment in communal living. Website 11) Ngorongoro Crater Lodge, Tanzania Another gorgeous safari lodge in Africa that puts you close to nature. Website 12) The Oberoi, India Staying in this gorgeous hotel will make you feel like royalty. Website 13) Jade Mountain, St. Lucia A stunning luxury resort in a tropical paradise, with private infinity pools. Website 14) Ice Hotel, Sweden Staying in the largest ice hotel in the world is like living inside a diamond. Website 15) Kakslauttanen Igloo Village, Finland A magnificent  winter wonderland with bold colors and luxurious accommodations. Website 16) Juvet Landscape Hotel, Norway Located in the heart of a fairytale forest, each room has at least one wall of glass and overlooks the dramatic scenery. Website 17) Nhow Berlin, Germany A vibrant and colorful hotel dedicated to celebrating music. Website 18) Amangiri Resort, Utah, USA A luxurious hotel designed to blend into the desert landscape. Website 19) Viceroy Hotel, Bali A stunning hotel in paradise with an amazing view. Website 20) Sorrisniva Iglo Hotel, Norway Another magical ice dwelling for the adventure seekers. Website 21) Ubud Hanging Gardens Hotel, Bali Where each room comes with a private infinity pool hanging over an island jungle paradise. Website 22) The Mirrorcube Tree House Hotel, Sweden Stunning rooms of glass hang nearly invisibly among the trees of a winter landscape. Website 23) Hotel Villa Honegg, Switzerland Comes with an amazing view of the Swiss Alps from a steamy infinity pool. Website 24) Fairy Chimney Hotel, Turkey Hotel built into an alien landscape. Website 25) Atholl Palace Hotel, Scotland A majestic castle hotel overlooking the highlands. Website 26) Barin Ski Resort, Iran A futuristic resort with modern comforts. Website unknown 27) Air Hotel, Belgium Whimsical hotel rooms built off the ground are an exciting place to spend the night. Website unkown 28) Koija Star Beds, Kenya Part of a larger resort, these star beds are a truly unique way to spend a night under the stars. Website 29) Jade Screen Hotel, China A hotel built into the mind bogglingly beautiful cliffs of China. Website unkown 30) Orient Express Safari Camp, Botswana Yet another gorgeous and luxurious game camp in southern Africa. Webstite 31) Propeller Island City Lodge, Germany Many themed rooms provide a unique atmosphere without being too kitschy like other theme hotels; this is the amazing mirror room. Website 32) Free Spirit Spheres, Canada Spherical tree houses constructed like boats hang among the foliage. Website 33) Quinta Real Zacatecas, Mexico Built around an old bullring and updated to be grand and elegant. Website 34) Hotel Endemico, Mexico The setting and comfort of these little rooms packs a surprising punch for the size. Website 35) Tree House Point, Washington, USA Little cabins in the canopy provide an upgraded wilderness experience. Website 36) Aurora Express, Alaska, USA The train converted to a hotel retains some old school elegance without being too corny. Website 37) Kolarbyn, Sweden Traditional forest huts in the woods, like little fairy houses. Website 38) Eco Camp Patagonia, Chile These cozy and comfortable domes are an eco-friendly place to stay in one of the most beautiful places in the world. Website 39) Hotel Jested, Czech Republic A strange and tough structure built atop the mountains. Website unknown 40) Hotel Puerta America, Spain Stay in one of the many exotic and futuristic rooms at this unique hotel. Website unkown 41) One by the Five Hotel Paris, France One room superbly decorated for a romantic couple’s experience. Website 42) Crazy Bear Hotel, United Kingdom There is a fine line between extravagant and kitsch, but this hotel is go big or go home. And it looks awesome. Website 43) Katikies Hotel, Santorini, Greece Stunning white walls built into the cliffs overlooking the sea provide an luxurious and exotic escape. Website 44) Seven Hotel, Paris, France This gorgeous hotel is sleek, modern, and mysterious. Website 45) Jumbo Stay, Sweden A Boeing 747 turned hotel provides a unique, but rather cramped, hotel experience. Website 46) FantaSuite Hotel, Minnesota, USA A hotel with various strangely themed rooms, seems a little on the lower quality side but still fun. Website unknown 47) Cabanes Als Arbres, Spain Another fun and comfy treehouse hotel with a spectacular view of the forest. Website 48) Locanda Rosa Rosae Inn, Italy This very romantic inn considers all the details and provides a luxurious, back-to-basics hideaway. Website 49) Kasbah Du Toubkal Hotel, Morocco The colorful architectural flair of Morocco comes through in this luxurious hotel set amongst the highest mountain peaks of North Africa. Website 50) Hotel Antumalal, Chile This luxurious hotel plays with rich textures and colors for a comfortable experience in lush private gardens. Website 51) Marrakech Hotel, Morocco One of the most beautiful, colorful, and luxurious hotels in one of the most beautiful places in the world. Website unkown 52) Saguaro Hotel, California, USA This hotel is colorful and vibrant, inside and out, and is an exciting place to stay in an exciting town. Website 53) Wanderlust Hotel, Singapore This hotel has themed rooms, but they are pretty epic and unique, and seem to remain high-quality rather than kitschy. Website 54) Hotel Missoni, Scotland This hotel has a sleek and modern style all its own, with bold and vibrant colors and decor. Website 55) W Retreat & Spa, Puerto Rico This hotel is exquisitely detailed and uniquely designed for an exotic getaway. Website 56) Hotel Areias do Seixo, Portugal A super classy, sleek, and bold hotel for luxury seekers. Website 57) Sofitel So Bangkok, Thailand A stunning and bold hotel with rich modern comforts. Website 58) Citizen M Hotel, England This vibrant and quirky hotel focuses on what is new and stylish. Website 59) Buqshan Hotel, Yemen A colorful hotel in an arid landscape. Website unknown 60) Taj Lake Palace, India A majestic hotel in the middle of a lake, with an air of royalty. Website 61) Adrere Amellal Ecolodge, Egypt A simple but fun setting built into the natural environment. Website 62) Klapsons Hotel, Singapore A futuristic, bright, and sensory hotel designed to provide guests with a unique experience. Website 63) Grotta Palazzese Hotel, Italy A spectacular hotel carved into a cave on the Mediterranean Sea. Website 64) Monte Bianco, Italy A hotel precariously perched on the mountainside. Website unknown 65) Hotel Costa Verde 727 Fuselage, Costa Rica This old plane-turned-hotel is perched in the trees as if it crash landed there, and actually provides a surprisingly nice experience for guests. Website 66) Yellow Submarine Hotel, England A neat little hotel on water with a trippy interior. Website unknown 67) Hotel Parador de Ronda, Spain A former town hall on the edge of a gorge provides an epic view. Website 68) Yankee Ferry, New Jersey, USA An old ferry converted into a wacky hotel. Website unknown 69) Giraffe Manor, Kenya Where the giraffes stick their necks through the windows and eat dinner with you. Website 70) New Hotel, Greece The design is modern and vibrant, but strange and quirky. Website 71) Burj Al Arab, Dubai The iconic and futuristic hotel has quickly become a Dubai landmark. Website 72) Cocoa Island Hotel, Maldives The famous boat hotel in paradise. Website 73) Hotel Marques de Riscal, Spain Whimsical, curvy architecture and bright colors make this hotel an iconic part of the landscape. Website 74) Boscolo Exedra, Italy A modern luxury hotel that transports you to another world. Website 75) El Cosmico Hotel, Texas Renovated RV’s , teepees and yurts provide an artistic place to spend the night. Website 76) Llandudno Lighthouse Bed and Breakfast, Wales A picturesque setting and old-world elegance in a lighthouse. Website 77) La Claustra, Switzerland An underground hotel with a cool, mysterious atmosphere. Website unknown 78) Chalet White Pearl, France A rich and luxurious chalet with all the expensive amenities. Website 79) Museumotel, France The fact that it is a motel should give you an idea about the quality, but the shape is unique and it looks cool from the outside. Website 80) Hang Nga Guesthouse, Vietnam The exterior is what earns this place a spot on the list, but from the few pictures I’ve seen, the interior seems hideous. Website 81) Palacio de Sal, Bolivia Located in the strange salt flats, this hotel is entirely made of salt. What it lacks in style it makes up for in creative use of resources. Website 82) Jules Undersea Lodge, Florida, USA Terribly ugly and cramped, this place makes the list for a great concept- it is the first underwater hotel. You have to scuba dive to get in. Website 83) Marataba, South Africa An ultra-luxurious game resort in the middle of the African wilderness. Website 84) 25 Hours Hotel, Germany A playful and unique hotel with whimsical decorations. Website 85) Una Vittoria, Italy This hotel mixes old Italian art and tradition with modern style for a completely unique experience. Website 86) Hotel Everland, France A one-room hotel in Paris with vibrant colors, sleek curves, and an amazing view of the Eiffel Tower. Website 87) Earthship Biotecture, New Mexico, USA Spend some time in this sustainable structure and feel closer to nature and the plants that grow inside. Website 88) La Balade des Gnomes, Belgium Jump right into a fairytale at this strange and intricate bed and breakfast. Website 89) Utter Inn, Sweden This hotel, while cramped and unpleasant, makes the list because it is half underwater, and underwater is where you sleep. Website 90) Huvafen Fushi Resort, Maldives This hotel makes the list mainly for its stunning tropical location and attention to details- who doesn’t want sparkle lights in their swimming pool? Website 91) Hotel Sidi Driss, Tunisia While not a very pretty hotel, it makes the list simply because part of Star Wars was filmed here. Nice. Website unknown 92) Hotel Le Moulin du Roc, France Lounge in this charming hideaway among lush foliage. Website 93) Grand Daddy Hotel, South Africa This rooftop trailer park was made sheik and stylish with modern designs. Website 94) Golden Nugget, Las Vegas, USA Cool features like an indoor water slide through a shark tank land this hotel on the list. Website 95) Hotel Au Vieux Panier, France A very interesting and artistic hotel, where each room has its own cool design. Website 96) Marina Bay Sands, Singapore A hotel with an awesome infinity pool looking over the skyline. Website 97) Marriot, Shanghai Sleek, dark, and futuristic. Website 98) La Rosa Campsite Extraordinaire, United Kingdom Not exactly luxurious, but definitely interesting- spend the night in a gypsy wagon or circus tent. Website 99) Barcelo Raval Hotel, Spain This bold designer hotel is go big or go home. Website 100) Arte Luise Kunsthotel, Germany A super unique and artistic hotel with many differently styled rooms. This one doesn’t even seem real. Website

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[jimharbor]

Exploring Ixalan: The Tools of the Trade part 1.

Welcome guys, thanks for all the great feedback on the three previous articles.

Last week  we narrowed in on the real world cultures that helped form a faction. This time, in a multi part series, I’ll be focusing on the weapons and equipment of all the tribes of Ixalan.

Jade

As detailed in the PAX Worldbuilding Panel, the tribes of Ixalan each have unique designs cues. The Merfolk are marked by their stunning use of Jade. It’s seen used for their weapons and armor, and as treasure plundered by pirates. 

Jade use in Mesoamerica goes back millennia. It’s has been used by the Olmec, Aztec, Maya, Nahua and countless native cultures for decorative and ceremonial purposes.

Zapotec jade and shells mask, ca. 200 BC - 100 AD, Monte Alban, Mexico. Photography © Jorge Pérez de Lara

The River Heralds being the faction to use jade isn’t just because of the great color scheme. Jade is naturally harvested from rivers, and in fact it was thought until 1996 that all Mesoamercian Jade was mined from the shores of the Motagua River. It’s deep ties to the Merfolk, natural guardians of the 7 great rivers of Ixalan, is only fitting.

The Morion

The iconic crested helmet knows as the morion is classically assumed to the signature hat of the Conquistadors who lead the Spanish invasion of the Americas. Ironically, the morion wouldn’t come into widespread used until decades after the Spanish invasion of the west. But art and pop culture has left them as an iconic Spanish image.

The Helmet was in use all around Europe in the 15 and 1600s. In England, it was associated in with pikeman for it’s use deflecting spear tips in the massive Push of Pike battles that wrecked the continent of that era. Imagine thousands of people  repeatedly stabbing each other with ten foot long pointed poles until enough people died that one side ran away. While being stabbed.

Push of Pike, by TaoDragon

A neat fantasy twist on the Morion is that the Vampires of Ixalan have fangs on theirs. Unlike Innistrad with its close up gothic horror art, many of the Ixalan vampires are seen at a distance, in imitation of  “Lost World” and “Age of Exploration” painting and frescoes. Because of this, the classic “bearing fangs” image of a vampire shows up on a card less clearly and the points on the helmets and spears are added to make up for it. Even their flag (as seen in the bottom of Vanquisher’s banner) is just a mustache with fangs on it.

The Censer 

Censers are ancient and widespread bowls used for the burning of incense. Used by religions and meditative groups the world over, Ixalan’s Catholic inspired Vampires make use of these in their designs.

On Ixalan, the Black vampires tend to be soldiers and knights, ruthless Paladins of the Legion of Dusk. The White Vampires take up the spiritual role among the legion and so Censers show up in the religiously tinged art of various white spells.

The twirling wisps coming from the vents in Bishop of Rebirth’s censer, while not iconically Catholic, do show some similarities to the Hill Censers used in the Western Han dynasty of China. These vents were added to make the smoke whirl and twist , just like the clouds on the sacred mountains these censers were built to look like.

The Macuahuitl

The Macuahuitl is the iconic weapon of the Aztec Triple Alliance. Immortalized in their codices and European paintings, this weapon was a large oar shaped hilt with edges lined with volcanic obsidian glass.

Obsidian is naturally hyper sharp, with edges as thin as molecules, and backed up by a powerful swing from pounds of wood, they could do severe damage. These things easily decapitated and dismembered horses.

Ironically, they also found use in non lethal capturing of human sacrifices. The gaps between the blades used  in some  designs limited damages, and the weapon  could be turned to the flat wooden side to give blunt force trauma to knock victims out.

The ones on Ixalan follow this popular “gap” design, but many of these swords had a smooth and sleek edges, including the last remaining original Aztec design. Destroyed in a fire in 1884 and shown with modern reproductions below. 

Reproductions by Jim Winn, author of original sketch unknown.

Wrap-Up

Ixalan is wonderfully fleshed out and full of amazing details. Too many for just one article. Come back next time and we’ll take a deeper dive into the Sun Empire’s Weapons, do a  breakdown of the pirate faction, and see some cultural influences that go across the tribes. As always feedback is welcomed and thank you for reading.

[nebris]

The first global city

High in the Andes, Potosí supplied the world with silver, and in return reaped goods and peoples from Burma to Baghdad

In 1678, a Chaldean priest from Baghdad reached the Imperial Villa of Potosí, the world’s richest silver-mining camp and at the time the world’s highest city at more than 4,000 metres (13,100 feet) above sea level. A regional capital in the heart of the Bolivian Andes, Potosí remains – more than three and a half centuries later – a mining city today. Its baroque church towers stand watch as ore trucks rumble into town, hauling zinc and lead ores for export to Asia.

Elias al-Mûsili – or Don Elias of Mosul, as he was known – arrived in 17th-century Potosí with permission from Spain’s Queen Regent, Mariana of Austria, to collect alms for his embattled church. Potosí silver, Don Elias believed, would stave off the Sunni Ottomans and Shiite Safavids who battled for control of Iraq, periodically blasting Baghdad to smithereens with newly scaled-up gunpowder weapons. Just as worrisome to Don Elias were fellow Christians, schismatics with no ties to Rome.

The great red Cerro Rico or ‘Rich Hill’ towered over the city of Potosí. It had been mined since 1545 by drafted armies of native Andean men fuelled by coca leaves, maize beer and freeze-dried potatoes. When Don Elias arrived a century and a quarter later, the great boom of c1575-1635 – when Potosí alone produced nearly half the world’s silver – was over, but the mines were still yielding the precious metal.

By 1678, native workers were scarce and the output of the mines dwindling. Yet in the city’s royal mint, Don Elias marvelled at piles of ‘pieces of eight’, rough-hewn precursors of the American dollar, fashioned by enslaved African men. He saw them ‘heaped on the floor and being trampled underfoot like dirt that has no value’. For a long time, Potosí’s medieval technologies kept producing fortunes, if on a smaller scale.

On Potosí’s main market plaza, indigenous and African women served up maize beer, hot soup and yerba mate. Shops displayed the world’s finest silk and linen fabrics, Chinese porcelain, Venetian glassware, Russian leather goods, Japanese lacquerware, Flemish paintings and bestselling books in a dozen languages. Votive African ivories carved by Chinese artisans in Manila were especially coveted by the city’s most pious and wealthy women.

Pious or otherwise, wealthy women clicked Potosí’s cobbled streets in silver-heeled platform shoes, their gold earrings, chokers and bracelets studded with Indian diamonds and Burmese rubies. Colombian emeralds and Caribbean pearls were almost too common. Peninsular Spanish ‘foodies’ could savour imported almonds, capers, olives, arborio rice, saffron, and sweet and dry Castilian wines. Black pepper arrived from Sumatra and southwest India, cinnamon from Sri Lanka, cloves from Maluku and nutmeg from the Banda Islands. Jamaica provided allspice. Overloaded galleons spent months transporting these luxuries across the Pacific, Indian and Atlantic oceans. Plodding mule and llama trains carried them up to the lofty Imperial Villa.

Potosí supplied the world with silver, the lifeblood of trade and sinews of war – and as Don Elias knew, the surest means to propagate the Roman Catholic faith. In turn, the city consumed the world’s top commodities and manufactures. Merchants savoured the chance to trade their wares for hard, shimmering cash. The city’s dozen-plus notaries worked non-stop inventorying silver bars and sacks of pesos, loaded onto grumbling mules for the trans-Andean trek to the Pacific port of Arica or for the much longer four- to six-month haul south to Buenos Aires. In the rainy season rivers swelled, and in the dry season livestock died of thirst between scant watering holes.

Mule trains returning from the Pacific brought merchandise and mercury, the essential ingredient for silver refining. Most mercury came from Huancavelica in Peru, but the Spanish Habsburgs also tapped mines in Almadén (La Mancha) and Idrija (Slovenia). From Buenos Aires came slavers with captive Africans from Congo and Angola, transshipped via Rio de Janeiro. Many of the enslaved were children branded with marks mirroring those, including the royal crown, inscribed on silver bars.

Soon after its 1545 discovery, Potosí gained world renown, but central European mines also flourished after 1450, faltering only before Potosí hit its stride in the 1570s. Silver was discovered in Norway in the 1620s, but not enough for export. The Iwami silver mines of southwest Japan, developed in the 1520s, exported substantial silver via the port of Nagasaki after 1570, first by the Portuguese and then, between 1641 and 1668, by the Dutch. The main exporters of Japanese silver however were the Chinese. Scholars dispute the numbers, but Iwami was not quite another Potosí.

As early as the 1530s, Mexico exported silver too, and considerable amounts of it. Yet Mexico’s many mining camps – Zacatecas, Guanajuato, Taxco, Pachuca, Real del Monte and the namesake San Luis Potosí – peaked only after 1690. In the 18th century, the Mexican peso or ‘pillar dollar’ took the world by storm. Even in the Andes of South America there were other silver cities (or towns) besides Potosí, including Oruro and Castrovirreyna in Peru. But no silver deposit in the world matched the Cerro Rico, and no other mining-refining conglomeration grew so large. Potosí was unique: a mining metropolis.

Thus Don Elias, like others, made the pilgrimage to the silver mountain. It was a divine prodigy, a hierophany. In 1580, Ottoman artists depicted Potosí as a slice of earthly paradise, the Cerro Rico lush and green, the city surrounded by crenellated walls. Potosí, as Don Quixote proclaimed, was the stuff of dreams. Another alms seeker, in 1600, declared the Cerro Rico the Eighth Wonder of the World. An indigenous visitor in 1615 gushed: ‘Thanks to its mines, Castile is Castile, Rome is Rome, the pope is the pope, and the king is monarch of the world.’ A 1602 Chinese world map identified the Cerro Rico as Bei Du Xi Shan, or ‘Pei-tu-hsi mountain’.

For all its glory, Potosí was also the stuff of nightmares, a diorama of brutality, pollution and crime. What Don Elias might not have known in 1678 was that Potosí’s reputation – and with it the Spanish Empire’s – had a generation earlier suffered mightily. In 1647, amid royal bankruptcy, King Philip IV dispatched a former inquisitor to unravel a massive debasement scheme that had metastasised inside Potosí’s royal mint. The plot corrupted nearly every official within 1,000 miles. Even Peru’s viceroy was suspected of complicity. Potosí’s debased coins, mostly pieces of eight, hit world markets after 1638, and before long merchants from Boston to Beijing were rejecting Potosí coins. The fountain of fortune had become a poisoned well.

It took more than a decade to hunt down and punish the great Potosí mint fraud’s culprits and to restore the coinage to proper weight and purity. A new design debuted to signal the new coins, but winning back global trust in Potosí silver took decades. Into the 1670s, even as Don Elias took donations in exchange for sermons in Syriac, Sumatran pepper-growers balked at coins stamped with a ‘P’.

Like the Bernard Madoff scandal of the 2000s, the Potosí mint fraud of the 1640s tells an interesting if not universal story. Nobody wanted to admit that they had been deceived. For Spain’s King Philip IV, the mint fraud – an inside job – was a world-class embarrassment and a sign of the decline of his empire’s fortunes. The global flood of bad coins hurt everyone, rich and poor. Genoese, Gujarati and Chinese bankers suffered ‘haircuts’, merchants worldwide forfeited precious ties of crosscultural trust, and soldiers throughout Eurasia saw their pay halved or worse.

Almost a century before Don Elias visited Potosí, Viceroy Francisco de Toledo revolutionised world silver production. Toledo was a hard-driving bureaucrat of the Spanish empire – and he more than any single man transformed Potosí from a hardscrabble mining camp into a bona fide city. It was a colossal undertaking, but one suited to the ambitions of King Philip II, the first European monarch to rule an empire upon which the sun never set. Toledo reached Potosí in 1572, anxious to flip it into the empire’s motor of commerce and war.

By 1575, the viceroy had organised a sweeping labour draft, launched a ‘high-tech’ mill-building campaign, and overseen construction of a web of dams and canals to supply the Imperial Villa with year-round hydraulic power, all in the high Andes at the nadir of the Little Ice Age. Toledo also oversaw construction of the Potosí mint, staffed full-time with enslaved Africans. Its first coins were hoarded, higher in silver content than they were supposed to be, and overweight.

Toledo’s successes came with a steep price. Thanks to the viceroy’s ‘reforms’, hundreds of thousands of Andeans became virtual refugees (those who survived) and, in the search for timber and fuel, colonists denuded hundreds of miles of fragile, high-altitude land. Implementation of a new technology, mercury amalgamation, introduced from Mexico on the viceroy’s orders, fouled the region’s air and streams. The city’s smelteries belched lead and zinc-rich smoke, guarantees that its children would suffer lifelong stupefaction.

Environmental hazards multiplied as the city boomed, and with these ills came murderous social conflicts, vagabondage, sex-trafficking, gambling, political corruption and general criminality. Epidemics swept the city every few decades, culling the most vulnerable. How did people respond to this lawlessness and chaos? How could they live in such an iniquitous and foul place? In what might be termed the ‘Deadwood paradox’, bonanza brought out the worst in people even as it also provoked startling acts of liberality. It was, after all, the city’s generosity, its profligate piety, that brought Don Elias to Potosí, all the way from Baghdad.

The Habsburg kings of Spain cared little about Potosí’s social and environmental horrors. Potosí silver, for them, was an addiction: deadly and inescapable. For more than a century, the Cerro Rico fuelled the world’s first global military-industrial complex, granting Spain the means to prosecute decades-long wars on a dozen fronts – on land and at sea. No one else could do all this and still afford to lose.

A steady flow of Potosí silver – or, rather, the promise of silver futures – rendered the Spanish Habsburgs’ otherwise absurd dreams possible. Then, all of a sudden, it didn’t. Even before the mint fraud of the 1640s, which helped bankrupt the crown, large quantities of Potosí silver slipped away, siphoned off by the empire’s friends and enemies alike: foreign bankers, contraband traders, pirates. At the same time, silver’s abundance stunted other parts of Castile’s internal economy. Some joked that the Habsburgs had discovered the magic formula for turning silver into stone.

The great Potosí bonanza, source of price disruptions, fiscal crises and costly building projects all over Europe, mostly fuelled commercial and imperial expansion in Asia. Throughout the 17th century, Dutch, English and French merchant-colonists, followed by a few intrepid Italians and Scandinavians, jockeyed with each other and with the embattled Spanish and Portuguese for a space at the great Asian table. All that Asia wanted, beyond tips on gun design, was silver. Europeans steered or inflected some of this pan-Asian trade and empire-building, but not most of it.

Often forgotten were the many thousands of Asian and African merchants and bankers based in Mombasa, Mocha, Mosul, Gujarat, Aceh, Makassar, Canton and many other port cities, including European-controlled Goa, Batavia, Madras, Macau and Manila. In the 17th century, these ‘country traders’, as Europeans called them, moved and lent more Potosí silver than all Europeans combined. Chinese diasporic trading communities in Southeast Asia alone controlled a large share of this global business.

Asian emperors were another matter. Mughals such as Akbar and Shah Jahān, or the Safavid Shahs Abbās I and II, or the Ottoman Sultans Murad III and IV, ruled tributary states whose size and diversity more than matched the empires of the Iberians. Northern Europeans, Dutch ambitions notwithstanding, were far behind. Just as the Spanish Habsburgs began squaring off against the French and English, the ‘gunpowder’ monarchs of the Middle East and South Asia scooped up satellite kingdoms and principalities, propelled to a degree by Potosí silver.

And what about China? As the Potosí mint fraud reverberated, the Ming Dynasty collapsed. The tipping point came in 1644, but the historic Qing takeover was hardly instantaneous. Both Qinqs and Mings spent massively as China’s economy shuddered from war and famine. Ming subjects scrambled for slivers of silver to ward off invading soldiers or to buy passage to freedom. Even a debased peso was a gift of heaven.

When Don Elias visited in the 1670s, Potosí had seen better days. But it was without qualification a global city, a site of suffering but also of wonder, a showcase of technological innovation and cultural sophistication. In the 1970s, proponents of dependency theory, most famously Eduardo Galeano in Open Veins of Latin America (1971), held up Potosi as the tragic exemplum of third-world underdevelopment, a hollowed-out periphery. Yet in its own day, Potosí was a recognised centre. A 1640 manual by Alvaro Alonso Barba, its great metallurgist, was translated and republished for centuries. Numerous painters, poets and playwrights made the city home. In the decades before the great mint fraud, potosinos challenged the king, proclaiming that he (and the world at large) needed them more than vice versa.

The end came not as spectacular implosion but as irreversible decline. Lower taxes and the imposition of a harsher labour regimen lifted silver production in the later 18th century, but the mines were deep and mercury expensive. Technological fixes failed. Simón Bolívar reached a beaten-down but jubilant Potosí in 1825, but British capitalists – close on the Liberator’s heels – could not revive the mines. It was local entrepreneurs and smallscale miners and refiners, many of them indigenous, who kept Potosí alive to the end of the 19th century using archaic but trusted technologies, including the methods of Barba.

By the time that the American historian Hiram Bingham visited the former Imperial Villa in 1909, Potosí had less than a 10th of the population it had boasted three centuries before. A colonial precursor to Bingham’s 1911 ‘discovery’ of Machu Picchu, the old Imperial Villa struck the professor as a silent spectre, not a typical US ghost town but rather a ‘super-sized’ object lesson in the vanity of Catholic Spain’s global ambitions. By this time, mineral rushes had helped to produce cities such as San Francisco and Johannesburg, but nothing quite compared for sheer audacity with the Imperial Villa of Potosí, a neo-medieval mining metropolis perched in the Andes of South America.

Today, almost 500 years after its discovery, Potosí’s Cerro Rico continues to supply the world with raw metals, a bit of silver and tin, but mostly lead and zinc. Half-processed ores wend their way through town and across the mountains and the Altiplano, to refineries in China, India, South Korea and Japan. The city has grown considerably in recent decades, now surpassing its colonial population (and severely straining its water supply). Has Potosí come full circle or is it stuck in the same rut? Will the sale of metallic mud to Asian manufacturers do more for ordinary folks than what was done by the silver-hungry Spanish, British or Yankees?

Potosí remains a globally connected city, a cog in the world economy, a regional magnet for migrants, a space for self-reinvention. Yet recalling its Habsburg heyday, the Imperial Villa of Potosí was famous not only for its mineral bounty but also for its artistic production, its political heft, its piety. Despite their own troubles, the city’s inhabitants gave Don Elias a small fortune in silver to fund his quixotic project in ‘Babylon’. Potosí also remained infamous for its pollution, its round-the-clock workingman’s horrors, its perennial violence, its corruption. Potosí was a mountain of silver that changed the world even as the world changed it. After five centuries of globalisation and exploitation, we can look back on this unique city’s history and ask what, in truth, it means to be ‘worth a Potosí’.

https://aeon.co/essays/potosi-the-mountain-of-silver-that-was-the-first-global-city

[toldnews-blog]

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/travel/25-of-the-worlds-most-romantic-hotels/

25 of the world's most romantic hotels

(CNN) — For some, a romantic getaway means five-star luxury and poolside pampering. For others, it’s all about glorious solitude and stunning scenery. And then there are the action-and-adventure lovebirds who prefer excitement and high-adrenaline sports over rest and relaxation.

Whatever your preference for where you stay, we’ve rounded up 25 hotels that should have you covered.

Whether you’re after a low-key Caribbean island escape or an African safari adventure — or something else entirely — these destinations will make your heart sing.

The Resort at Pedregal (Cabo San Lucas, Mexico)

Some of the suites at The Resort at Pedregal open right onto the water.

Robert Reck/The Resort at Pedregal

Set on a long sweep of beach at the base of towering mountains, this dreamy resort on the Baja Peninsula of Mexico is as romantic as it gets.

Each of its 118 rooms features a roomy terrace outfitted with private hot tub overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Select casitas open directly onto the ocean — you’ll feel like you’re practically floating in open waters. And they boast private plunge pools and fire pits. The cliffside restaurant El Farallón, with its divine sunset views, makes for an unforgettable date night.

Four Seasons Resort Maldives at Landaa Giraavaru (Maldives)

Though the Four Seasons has several breathtaking properties in the Maldives — including the Voavah private island — the resort at Landaa Giraavaru has the edge when it comes to romance.

Each of its 103 thatched-roof, standalone bungalows features private water access, offering the ultimate seclusion and privacy for couples.

Amorous offerings include candlelight dinners on a private sandbank, tantric couples massages and sunset Champagne cruises around the surrounding UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve.

Hôtel de Paris Monte-Carlo (Monaco)

Monaco’s legendary Hôtel de Paris Monte-Carlo has just undergone a four-year, $280-million-dollar makeover, bringing the historic 19th-century property slap-bang into the 21st century.

Architects Richard Martinet and Gabriel Viora have preserved the property’s Belle Epoque chic, while giving it a lighter, more contemporary look.

The new rooms, all of which have balconies and close to half of which are suites, feature romantic details such as white marble floors, Louis XVI-style pieces and Murano glass chandeliers and lamps.

The light-filled, marble-fitted bathrooms feature an intoxicating mix of elegant curves and clean lines, and you can pamper yourself with Guerlain toiletries too.

Rosewood Baha Mar (Bahamas)

Rosewood Baha Mar has private beach access as well as luxurious lagoon-style pools.

Courtesy Rosewood Baha Mar

It might be just 15 minutes’ drive from Lynden Pindling International Airport, but the Bahamas’ newest resort feels like its own private island hideaway.

Set upon a serene stretch of Cable Beach, Rosewood Baha Mar’s lush, jungle-like grounds are peppered with lagoon-style pools, hot tubs and quiet relaxation nooks hidden behind leafy banana palms.

Guest rooms and villas boast a relaxed beach house vibe, while common areas dazzle with polished marble, coffered ceilings and hand-painted murals.

&Beyond Kichwa Tembo (Kenya)

If there was a safari lodge made especially for lovers, this would be it. With its sprawling, three-part swimming pool and chic, open-air restaurant, you could almost mistake it for a sexy Palm Springs resort — if it weren’t for the jaw-dropping views of the Masai Mara from every angle.

Its 40 revamped tents are minimalist but luxurious, decked out with plush oversized beds and roomy ensuite bathrooms. Romantic offerings include safari by hot-air balloon and sunset cocktails at Oloololo, which overlooks the expansive wilderness.

Gritti Palace (Venice)

Gritti Palace rooms are furnished with Venetian antiques, exquisite original art and rich brocade silks.

Courtesy Gritti Palace

Built in 1475, this stunning palazzo is one of the most luxurious and romantic hotels in La Serenissima. It occupies the loveliest spot on the Grand Canal, looking across to the magnificent Santa Maria della Salute church and the Palazzo Venier dei Leoni, home to the Guggenheim Museum.

Rooms are downright decadent, furnished with Venetian antiques, exquisite original art and rich brocade silks. Its intimate, fresco-adorned restaurant, Club del Doge, is one of the most beautiful restaurants in Venice (if not all of Italy).

Wildflower Hall Shimla (Shimla, India)

This Oberoi property is worth visiting for the extraordinary views alone: It sits atop a mountain, 8,250 feet above sea level (around 2,500 meters), and is surrounded thickly by cedar forests and wildflower fields. Its rooms are just as stunning, furnished with exquisite colonial furniture, colorful hand-woven Indian carpets and original watercolor paintings.

Though the hotel’s main draw is its stillness and tranquility, there are still lots of low-key activities on offer for couples. Highlights include scenic guided nature hikes, mountaintop picnics and private dining inside a forest gazebo.

Royal Mansour (Marrakech)

The elegant Royal Mansour is layered with intricate patterns.

jean-bernard YAGUIYAN/Royal Mansour

Commissioned by King Mohammed VI, the Royal Mansour is an oasis of 53 elegant private residences, or riads, quiet courtyards and intimate restaurants just five minutes from the Jemaa el-Fnaa.

The riads are as extravagant as they come, strewn with suede and silk carpets, velvet brocade sofas and Baccarat crystal — guests will feel as if they’re living in their own private palace. Riads aside, honeymooners will love the hotel’s sumptuous private spa suites, each decked out with their own hammam, plunge pool and terrace.

Soneva Kiri (Koh Kood, Thailand)

Offering everything from tree pod dining to free chocolate, Soneva Kiri in Koh Kood is one of Thailand’s most incredible luxury resorts.

Wedged between the jungle and the ocean on the lush, under-the-radar island of Koh Kood, Soneva Kiri makes for the perfect romantic escape. It has just 36 thatched villas, each with its own private infinity pool, sundeck and a lavish indoor-outdoor bathroom.

The resort’s pièce de résistance is its jungle-enshrouded Cinema Paradiso, an open-air movie theater set above a lagoon (date night will never be the same again).

Soneva Kiri, 110 Moo 4, Koh Kood Sub-District, Koh Kood District

Shangri-La Hotel, Paris (Paris)

There are countless swoon-worthy hotels in the city of love, but the Shangri-La might be the most romantic of them all. Behind its picturesque wedding-cake facade, you’ll find impossibly lush landscaped gardens, two Michelin-starred restaurants and 101 opulent, antique-filled rooms. But what sets the Shangri-La apart from the others?

Its unparalleled views of the Eiffel Tower directly across the river — it’s so close, it feels like you can reach out and touch it from your own balcony.

Helena Bay Lodge (New Zealand)

Helena Bay Lodge is located in the northeast corner of New Zealand’s North Island.

Chris McLennan/Helena Bay

With no more than 10 guests on the property at a time, this North Island hotel offers couples the utmost privacy.

Its five villas — set upon nearly two miles of windswept coastline — are cozy but luxurious, outfitted with real log-burning fireplaces and terraces overlooking Helena Bay. Property highlights include a fine-dining Italian restaurant with a 1,000-bottle wine cellar and a spa inspired by a traditional Russian banya (bath house).

Helena Bay, 1948 Russell Road, Helena Bay, New Zealand

Four Seasons Maui at Wailea (Hawaii)

Fresh off an extensive makeover leaving guest rooms and suites plusher than ever, the Four Seasons on Wailea Beach continues its reign as Maui’s most luxurious resort.

There are even more couples’ experiences on offer now, from the adventurous (helicopter rides to neighboring Big Island) to the relaxing (couples’ instructional massages by the beach). But the most romantic experience of all is the candlelit oceanfront dinner by the famous adults-only Serenity Pool — it comes with exclusive nighttime use of the pool.

Belmond La Samanna (St. Martin)

Built upon the unspoiled shores of Baie Longue, Belmond La Samanna makes for a low-key but luxurious destination. Following hurricane damage last year, the resort reopened in December and its $25 million makeover is due to be completed by March 2019.

The resort has something for every couple, whether it’s a Champagne sunset cruise, an art exhibition or a jet-skiing excursion on the Dutch side of the island.

Though every room and suite at La Samanna is a dream, its eight Mediterranean-style villas –perched atop a cliff overlooking the beach — offer the most privacy (and best views).

Ponta dos Ganchos (Santa Catarina, Brazil)

Ponta dos Ganchos has 25 ocean-facing bungalows.

Courtesy Ponta dos Ganchos

If it’s peace and relaxation you’re after, skip the glitzy resorts on Ipanema and head straight for Ponta dos Ganchos, a romantic hideaway on the picturesque Emerald Coast Brazil.

Its 25 ocean-facing bungalows are hidden blissfully inside a rainforest and are luxurious to boot — think infinity plunge pools, deep-soaking hot tubs and even private saunas. Added bonus: It’s adults-only, making it that much more tranquil.

Ponta dos Ganchos, Rua Eupídeo Alves do Nascimento, 104, Gov. Celso Ramos, Santa Catarina, Brazil

The Beverly Hilton (Los Angeles, California)

Though it’s best known for being home to the Golden Globes — historically held in its ballroom every year — this historic Beverly Hills hotel is as romantic as it is glamorous. Everything about the property feels understated but sexy, from the retro, dimly lit Circa 55 restaurant to the classic Hollywood-style pool, heated to 75 F (24 C) year-round and open 24/7 in case you fancy a midnight dip.

Cabana suites are breezy and tropically inspired and open directly onto the pool deck, but the most romantic rooms are in the Wilshire tower: They’re bright and airy, with wraparound terraces and heart-stopping views over Beverly Hills and the glittering Los Angeles skyline.

La Bastide de Gordes (Gordes, France)

Perched on a cliff next to a 12th-century castle in the picturesque Luberon village of Gordes, La Bastide is romantic by default. Its fresco-adorned rooms and suites, decorated thoughtfully with Louis XV antiques and plush Provencal fabrics, further add to its rustic charm.

And after a 20-million-euro revamp in 2015, it’s more luxurious than ever with a new Sisley spa, four swimming pools and a second restaurant by Michelin-starred chef Pierre Gagnaire.

Conrad Bora Bora Nui (Bora Bora)

The Conrad Bora Bora Nui’s bathrooms leave little to be desired.

Adam Bruzzone/Conrad Bora Bora Nui

Though you’d be hard-pressed to find a resort that’s not romance-worthy in Bora Bora, this resort is one of the most impressive the destination has to offer.

For starters, it has two-story overwater bungalows, offering extra space (over 3,000 square feet) and added privacy. There’s also a hilltop spa, a white-sand beach, an infinity pool with a swim-up bar and a sunset lounge with a glass floor that offers a glimpse into the coral reefs below.

Southern Ocean Lodge (Australia)

Built atop scrub-covered bluffs on the southwest tip of far-flung Kangaroo Island, this isn’t your typical lovers’ retreat. The landscape here is wild and rugged rather than breezy and tropical, but that just makes it all the more special.

Each of its 21 glass-fronted suites are cantilevered to ensure jaw-dropping panoramas over windswept Hanson Bay. And though the resort is eco-friendly and built entirely from sustainable materials, it’s also incredibly luxurious: Each suite has a private terrace, sunken lounge and a deep-soak tub with a view.

Four Seasons Resort Serengeti (Tanzania)

Reclining is an adventure in the Serengeti.

Courtesy Four Seasons Serengeti

When it comes to romance, the Four Seasons seems to get it right every time — even in the middle of the wilderness. Its magnificent Serengeti property offers a vast menu of couples’ offerings, from floating sunset dinners atop the desert-facing pool to burudika spa treatments using local plants and healing minerals.

Its 77 rooms are luxurious yet blend seamlessly into the environment with their thatched-grass roofs and neutral, earthy color palettes. All have open-air sundecks and several even offer private infinity-edge pools that face directly out onto the watering hole.

InterContinental Danang Sun Peninsula Resort (Danang, Vietnam)

Just looking at this resort on Vietnam’s Son Tra peninsula is enough to inspire romance: Its whitewashed villas cascade dramatically down a green mountainside into the ocean.

Its 200 rooms and suites are just as heavenly, outfitted with sprawling terraces and spa-like bathrooms with ocean-facing tubs. Its signature restaurant, Citron, takes date nights to whole new heights, quite literally: Couples can dine in a cone suspended over the mountain. But perhaps most romantic of all is the resort’s adults-only infinity pool, which overlooks the pristine white sand beach below.

Marquis Los Cabos Resort & Spa (San José del Cabo, Mexico)

Infinity pools seem to flow right into the sea at the Marquis Los Cabos.

Courtesy Marquis Los Cabos

There’s something for every couple at this all-inclusive, adults-only resort, built along a picturesque stretch of coastline on the emerald-blue Sea of Cortez. Its never-ending menu of couples-friendly diversions includes dance lessons, tequila tastings and his-and-hers massages at the 13,000-square-foot Spa Marquis.

There are three oceanfront infinity pools and a pristine beach to enjoy, as well, with water activities to boot. Of course, that’s only if you can drag yourself from your ocean-facing casita — rooms here are so colorful, charming and luxurious that you might never want to leave.

The Caves (Negril, Jamaica)

With its breezy, bohemian vibe and dramatic cliffside setting, the adults-only Caves hotel is considered one of Jamaica’s most romantic escapes. Its 11 colorful cottages and suites are built along lush, foliage-lined paths and dramatic seaside cliffs carved with stairways leading down into the ocean.

Property highlights include a lovely Aveda mini-spa perched above the water, a romantic bar built inside of a grotto and dining in the al fresco gazebo. But what you’re here for is the famous cave dinner — a private, five-course dinner set inside a cave that’s lit up with dozens of flickering candles.

Halekulani (Honolulu, Hawaii)

There are certainly newer and flashier hotels in Honolulu but the legendary Halekulani, built in 1883, remains the top choice for a romantic getaway. It’s luxurious but low-key, elegant but understated, and remains miraculously Zen-like despite its prime beachfront location.

Its oceanfront freshwater pool — laid with 1.2 million pieces of blue glass in the shape of an orchid — is easily the most luxurious on Waikiki. And there’s no more romantic way to spend an evening than listening to live ukulele ballads under the stars at House Without a Key, Halekulani’s signature restaurant.

A Japanese outpost is set to open in Okinawa in July.

Secret Bay (Dominica)

With just eight bungalows hidden amid thick, jungle-like foliage on the face of a cliff looking over the ocean, Secret Bay feels as if it were built specifically for lovers.

Bungalows are equipped with so many luxurious features — hammocks, plunge pools, sundecks, personal libraries, chef’s kitchens — there’s not a single reason for you to leave. But you must, if only to watch the sun set over the Caribbean Ocean from the gorgeous Vetiver Sunset Deck.

Amangiri (Utah)

When it comes to desert escapes, it doesn’t get much more luxurious than Amangiri. Its 34 sleek suites are perfect for lovers, boasting private courtyards with show-stopping desert views, and in some cases, private pools.

Property highlights include a Navajo-inspired spa with a desert-facing water pavilion and a stunning main pool, wrapped dramatically around an enormous natural sandstone butte.

Supermodel Emily Ratajkowski chose the resort for her honeymoon, while in 2018 Kanye West tweeted that “we need to Amangiri the world,” following he and wife Kim Kardashian West’s stay here.

Amangiri, 1 Kayenta Road, Canyon Point, Utah

Krisanne Fordham has written for Conde Nast Traveler, Fodor’s Travel, Departures and Travel + Leisure. She grew up in Sydney and now splits time between Umbria, Italy and New York.

[sailorgreywolf-legacy]

Legacy - Chapter 51

The letter was laid out in brilliant, eloquent sprawl:

My dear country,

I hope this letter reaches you. I have taken great pains in finding a way to write to you. For these years I have seen you from the distance, and I flatter myself to think that I know you. But, alas, you have evaded my best efforts to capture you. Now I have decided to write to you to solicit your attention. It may be my delusion, but I believe that you have taken note of me as I have taken of you.

I shall start at the beginning. I do not know what you have been told about me, but I imagine you have been told that I was offered a position in the rebellion and I declined. Miguel Hidalgo was someone I considered myself well acquainted with. When he spoke to me about the rebellion he was planning, I did not believe in his vision. I admit that I thought there was no possibility that the rebellion could be anything but the short lived folly. I believe, and I still do, that Spain is a tyrant. But, it would not do to replace the authority of Spain with anarchy. When Miguel told me of his idea that the peasantry would rise up, I could imagine it as nothing but anarchy. I swear this to you, I would not have made the choice I did if I had known of your existence. I am sure you can understand that the existence of your kind is not self evident. If I had known of you then, I would have come to your side immediately and persuaded you to pursue a more reasonable path. I think you are far more fit to rule than Antonio. You have been willing I want to bring you independence, and I would intend it to be a lasting one.

Do you know when I first saw you? It was several years ago at the Battle of Monte de las Cruces. I have thought often about the way I saw you leading the charge, shining like the beacon of a new age through the smoke of battle. I knew at that moment that my fate was tied to yours. I knew it as much as I know it now. I will shape your fate. Did you see the fire of my determination when I met your eyes?

I think you are intelligent enough to question my motives; you know I have pursued you ruthlessly. If what Spain has told me about you is true, and I am inclined to believe it is, then you are savvy. You have certainly done well to evade me. So, I am certain that you question why I would persecute the rebellion so throughly. I am no loyalist. I assure you I have no love for Spain. What I have done so far, I have done with you in mind. I thought it best to bring you back to the order of Spain than to throw you to the auspices of rebellion and anarchy. I have fought with such determination because of my loyalty to my Patria.

I did not risk the life of one of my best scouts to exchange pleasantries. But, it was necessary that I first clarify my position. The men surrounding you now would undoubtedly have you believe that I am a loyalist. I doubt that your current general has any love for me. I want you to know me through this letter before I make my intentions clear. I chose to write to you to make a proposition: I propose that we meet. I wish, fervently, to speak to you in person. I have spent long enough seeking you across battlefields. I think I have a plan that will be able to satisfy your ambition for independence without much more bloodshed. I will disclose it when we meet. I will leave the discretion of place and time to you. You are free to lure me deep into rebel territory if that is what you wish. I will come wherever you dictate.

I await your response,

Agustin de Iturbide

Mexico let out a long breath he had been holding as he read. The letter said everything he needed to hear, almost too perfectly. It made it very clear that the feeling Mexico had felt when their eyes had met was mutual. That strange feeling of destiny was shared. Iturbide's assertion that he would shape Mexico's destiny, though it was arrogant, was undoubtedly true.

But, was that enough to lie to Guerrero and engineer an underhanded meeting with Iturbide. Every fiber of his instinct told him that he needed Iturbide, that the patriotism he expressed in this letter was genuine. He knew it with absolute certainty, dizzyingly absolute. Given the record of Iturbide supporting the Spanish government, it didn't make sense for any of this letter to be true. It could easily be a trap. Perhaps Iturbide thought that by returning Mexico to Spain he could reinstate his position and his wealth. If Guerrero was correct about Iturbide's motivation, then that was exactly what he expected.

But, Mexico's sense of danger told him otherwise. How could Iturbide set a trap when he was not dictating where or when they should meet? This letter was not demanding, it was placating. Mexico could see it through the words. But, the risk was still there. Mexico forced himself to consider the hypothetical possibility that it was a trap. If he went, completely without his general's knowledge, and disappeared back into Spain's clutches, he would leave Guerrero with no option. The mortal's face flashed across his mind, heart broken at the betrayal. The image sent a spike of pain through Mexico's chest. He couldn't do it.

His mind was reeling. There had to be a middle ground where he could avoid hurting Guerrero and not spurn Iturbide. This felt like the opportunity he had been waiting for and he didn't want to let it slip between his fingers. Then it struck him. There was a way, and only one. He tightened his grip on the letter and walked out of the tent. He had to find Guerrero. It didn't matter that it was late in the night, or that his General had likely gone to sleep. If Mexico allowed himself to sleep on this instinct, he would lose his nerve.

He barely saw anyone he walked past as he hurried through the camp. So fixed was his intention that they all faded to shapes in the night. He found Guerrero's tent quickly; his feet knew the way well. To his relief, there was still obviously a candle lit behind the canvas. This made things easier. It would have been much harder to explain if he had to wake the mortal. Without even pausing, Mexico pushed aside the flap of the tent and walked in. He knew this was brazen, even untoward, but he needed to act now.

Within the tent, Guerrero was clearly unprepared for the intrusion. He had been in the process of removing his clothing and was down to just his undershirt. He turned quickly on his heel as he heard the steps behind him, a dagger in his hand. But he immediately sheathed the weapon when he saw that it was only Mexico. Then he said as he put down the dagger, "You startled me, Ale. What is wrong?" His tone was surprised, but there was still warmth in his eyes. Mexico could only imagine what this looked like to him. They had agreed that the night had been long enough less than an hour ago.

But, before Mexico could speak the other caught sight of the letter in his hand and said, sounding even more puzzled, "What is that?" There was the unspoken question in his eyes, the same one that Mexico had asked himself. Who would be writing directly to Mexico instead of writing to Guerrero? The country took a step into the tent before answering the question. It was not the kind of news you gave someone standing in their threshold. For a moment, he considered asking the man to sit, but that would be superfluous. So, once he was inside he said, "It's a letter from Agustin de Iturbide. He wrote to me directly."

The words rolled off his tongue, dry and factual. But, he knew what they meant well enough to brace for the reaction. But, it did not come immediately. Guerrero looked genuinely shocked for several moments before he visibly collected himself. His first reaction was not anger, it was only an almost imperceptible wince as he looked at it. There was strain barely concealed in his voice as he said, "You've opened it and read it already. I thought I had made it clear that that man does not care about you."

It may have been a trick of the uneven light in the tent, but Mexico saw another look of pain pass over the man's face. He scrambled for an answer, even a lie that would relieve some of the guilt he was feeling. The words came to him, half way between the truth and deception, "I thought about bringing it to you, but I needed to know." It was not a real excuse, but there was an apology for his weakness implicit in it.

But, Guerrero did not accept it. His emotions finally transformed into anger. A deep crease formed between his brows and his mouth set itself into a scowl. He stepped forward and said, as he took hold of the letter and ripped it from Mexico's hand, "Let me see what that arrogant bastard wrote to you." Mexico offered no resistance as the parchment was pulled out of his hand, leaving a thin cut across the palm of his hand. His plan relied entirely on Guerrero reading and understanding the letter. So, he didn't say anything as the mortal's eyes raced over the paper. He just watched as the man's eyes got wider and wider as he read. The muscles around his jaw were showing through his skin, completely taught. He got to the end of the letter and then looked back up at Mexico, his expression somewhere between incredulity and indescribable rage.

He struggled for his words before saying, "This is-" He paused, swallowed his rage and attempted to start again. He said, "This is the most revolting thing I have ever read! The thought that you would ever dane to meet him." He let out a short bitter laugh, but Mexico did not join him. He wished he could find the concept amusing or absurd as well. But, he had to be honest. He had not come here to lie to the man. He wished that he could; he knew it would have been easier. Mexico clenched his hands and took a deep breath before saying, "I do want to dane."

It was all he needed to say to make his intentions clear. He knew that the answer was not what Guerrero wanted to hear, but Mexico would rather have this point clear than to lie and arrange the meeting on his own. This time he did see Guerrero flinch. All emotion had left the mortal's voice as he said, "How can you want that?" Mexico kept his own emotions deep within his chest. He could feel them writhing, wrapping their way around each other, and pulsing painfully. If he let even a piece of his guilt or concern slip through, it would tear him apart and he would end up in his friend's arms begging for forgiveness. Guerrero said, his voice shifting back to anger, "There is no discussion on this."

It sounded like he was trying to draw a line to define his own position. But Mexico squared his stance and responded, "You are right. There is nothing to discuss because I am going." Every word tasted like poison as he spoke it. He knew he was driving wedges into the relationship with every word. But, he was determined. Mexico knew that this was what he needed to do. There was no question for him; he had spent long enough defying his instincts. The incomparable feeling that urged him toward freedom told him that he could not ignore the draw of Iturbide.

He could see Guerrero trying and failing to maintain control. He picked up the dagger from the table and pulled it halfway from the sheath and then slid it back in. It seemed little more than a nervous gesture as he searched for words. He was not a man of letters, so the actual physical act was more familiar to him. Mexico could hear every piece of control the man could muster in the words, "If you were going to go anyway, why bring me the letter? Has it occurred to you that this might be a ploy to capture you?"

His rage was mixing with another pain that Mexico couldn't believe to be anything but disappointment. But here, Mexico knew that he could offer a genuine explanation, one that would hopefully prove that he still cared deeply about the insurgency. He replied, "Of course it has. I'm not a fool." He didn't allow the other to fill the small gap between his sentences. He could see that Guerrero wanted to chastise him, but this time he was going to dictate the direction of the rebellion. He continued, running over the first syllables of whatever his general was about to say, "Which is why I am telling you. I want you to know exactly where I am in case it is a trap. I am going whether you approve or not, but I would rather you were able to save me if there is a trap. I intend to go, but I don't intend to give Iturbide anything he can use against us."

Once he had finished laying out his reasoning, Mexico waited. If Guerrero was the man he thought he was, then he would understand. There was agonizing silence as the man fidgeted again with the dagger in his hand, his fingers betraying how tight his hold was. One hand was tight on the pommel while the other drummed nervously on the sheath. Guerrero did not meet Mexico's eyes and the country feared that he had done irreparable damage. But, then the mortal finally said, "I understand. Perhaps this is not a terrible idea. If you meet him, you will see him for the snake he is."

A self assured smile slowly returned to Guerrero's smile. He put down the dagger and then looked directly at Mexico. The reproach was gone from his eyes, but Mexico fancied he could still see the shadow of distrust there. Would it have been better to bring the letter unopened? The country did not respond immediately. His was not yet certain that his transgression was forgiven. He still felt an unaddressed friction in the air, the accusation that his insistence on Iturbide was unwarranted. Guerrero continued to speak, adding conditions to his approval, "I want you to take note of what he says to you. It will be just like this letter, full of empty flattery. No matter what he says, he will never be a true patriot."

Now Mexico felt comfortable enough to walk further into the tent and find a seat. He had the distinct feeling that now that they had agreement, the conversation would be much longer. Mexico let himself smirk, "I spent nearly 200 years in the Spanish court. I am used to empty flattery; you need not worry about that." He doubted that there was anything a discredited officer could say to manipulate him. Mexico was no longer the malleable colony. He could do exactly the opposite, and it would be easy. Iturbide had reason to hate Spain now. The dismissal was a painful blow to a proud man. Mexico would need to do very little to turn him against the Spanish cause. He spoke again, "Perhaps I can even charm this snake."

The look his general gave him was yet another of disapproval. Mexico could see the lines above the man's brows that indicated prolonged stress. There was distance in his response, "I never thought of you as a courtier." The words stung. Mexico had not expected to be met with this resistance. He shifted uncomfortably where he sat as he responded, "Did you imagine I survived two centuries of colonialism with integrity and my good looks?"

He looked up at the other, but the man had turned away from him. The mortal was busying himself with pieces of parchment that he moved from one place to another and then back again. He didn't respond to the rhetorical question, but the muscles of his shoulders were full of tension. Mexico stood up, deciding that he would not let this continue. He said, as he put a hand on the other's shoulder, "Are you disappointed? Have I damaged your faith in me?"

He could feel the emotions flow through his hand. He could feel the muscles tensed in the other's shoulder. He didn't want the answer to the question, but he preferred it to the uncertainty. Guerrero slowly turned towards his country and said, "I have often tried to imagine your life as a colony, especially after the letter from Spain. Knowing you as I do, I could only imagine you lied. I think I always knew you were capable of this. But, I believe you're better than this. I've seen it. You don't need to lie and manipulate like a Spaniard to succeed. If I can bring you independence, I will make sure you never have to again."

Mexico pulled his hand away, not a stung as he expected to be. There was an earnestness in the words that he couldn't help but appreciate. But, he couldn't deviate from his original plan. Iturbide would remain a thorn in their side if he was not dealt with. The urge welled up in Mexico's chest to fall to his knees and tell Guerrero everything from the moment he had left Tenochtitlan, leaving out nothing. But he pushed it away. That could be done later. The man certainly deserved the truth, but now was not the time for it.

Mexico had to remain resolute; he had to deal with the problem of Iturbide first. He put aside all pathos and said, "Do you want me to be completely candid with Iturbide when I meet him? He will take advantage of it." He meant the question honestly. It seemed best to play the politician with a man like Iturbide.

Guerrero seemed to weigh the question for only a moment before shaking his head, "No. Don't give him anything. Just remember, you're only going to get the measure of him. Don't promise him anything." Mexico nodded, glad to finally have this approval. True, this was only a begrudged approval, but it was enough. The chance to see Iturbide off the battlefield was indispensable. He said, slowly moving back to the chair he had vacated, "I won't. Where should I tell him to meet me?" _______________________________________________________________

Mexico paused for a moment, the words dying in his throat. He was trying to focus on the memory, but there was another night that was coming to mind. Another night when he had argued with Guerrero about the duplicity of politics. But, then it was him begging to keep his friend home and safe. Guerrero had heeded him exactly as well as Mexico had.

"Babe, are you alright?" America was looking at his lover with genuine concern. Mexico replied shortly, "I am fine." He could hear a slight quiver in his own voice that he hated. Why should this memory, above all of them, feel like a fresh wound. There was more than two centuries between then and now. But, he could see his general's face in his mind's eye and it hurt again.

America replied, "Then why are you crying?" Mexico put his hand to his own cheek and realized that it was wet. He said, "Fuck."

He didn't elaborate and America decided not delve into the subject. Instead, he said, "So, what happened next? Did you send a letter back?" Mexico was wiping the moisture away from his cheeks, cursing the fact that he had been so transparent. Only once he had finished this task did he say, "Of course I did. Vicente and I spent the whole night working on my response. I agreed to meet him at a small town well within our territory. I had to be sure that I wasn't going to be lured into a trap."

America could hear something hidden just under the surface of the words. For a moment, it struck him as odd that it would take the whole night to write a letter. But, perhaps a letter with such strategic importance look several drafts. He decided not to ask another question. He let Mexico continue to speak, "I was not certain what to expect when I met Agustin. I had been told so much about him that I prepared for lies." He paused for a moment and scoffed, "Like he could ever fool me. Well, needless to say, he surprised me." __________________________________________________

Mexico arrived early in the morning, deciding to canvas the area before the fateful meeting. He had a very clear plan of action, of which both he and Guerrero were aware. The spot they had agreed on was on a plain surrounded by forested hills. A fairly small insurgent force could easily hide in the forest and give Iturbide the illusion that he was alone. If the man was planning an assault, he would soon find himself out numbered and over whelmed. Mexico had also insisted on this place in particular because it was small and remote. There would be nothing to serve as a distraction, it would just be him and his destiny.

He had expected a feeling of nervousness to overtake him as the hour of the meeting came nearer. But, there was a cool calm in him. This was what he had been hoping for, if not with such clarity, since the first time he had seen the man. He had been prepared to meet Iturbide face to face on the battlefield for what felt like years now. This was the far more civilized tactic.

He was currently sitting on one of pews in the small chapel. There was something serene about this place. The altar lacked the grandeur of those he was used to, but the early morning light filtering in through the stained glass windows had an etherial charm. He had chosen this place because it was so central and most men would respect the tranquility of a church. Mexico did not feel the anxiety that he should. What would come was meant to be and he could feel it in his chest. His heart beat for this moment, he knew it instinctually. He put his hand to the medallion that was, for once, not under his clothing. He was used to feeling it against his skin. He usually wore it against his heart, but he wanted it to be visible today. It would be best for Iturbide to be able to see it. He needed to know who he was dealing with. Mexico had been wearing it in the same place for so long that wearing it elsewhere felt legitimately odd. Putting his hand against it let him feel it again.

He was not entirely sure of the hour, but he had the distinct feeling that the agreed upon hour was approaching. He should dread it, the prospect of coming into contact with this loyalist commander who had hunted him for so long, but the feeling would not come. If anything, this was what he had been waiting for.

The door opening behind him broke the silence. Mexico felt a familiar sensation run up the back of his neck and he knew who was looking at him. He was keenly aware of Iturbide's presence, but he still stood slowly. There was no need to let Iturbide know how eager he really was for this meeting. It would be a mistake to show his hand so early. As Mexico turned, he had to put conscious thought into hiding his own reaction.

Iturbide was standing not ten feet away from him with the morning sun filtering in around him. The mortal was dressed very modestly and it seemed strange, until Mexico considered the reason. It would be too risky to travel deep into insurgent territory wearing the uniform of the loyalist army. The man was no fool. As soon as he met Mexico's eyes, the country felt a jolt of the familiar energy shoot down his back. It was difficult to keep himself completely neutral with all the nerves in his body singing for this moment.

The mortal gave him a slight smile and then inclined his head in a gesture that seemed to be a bow. He said, "My country." Mexico couldn't help but feel flattered. Here was a man who was well known for his pride bowing to him. He could not take this action on complete faith, even if he wanted to. He waited, letting the mortal continue to dictate the conversation. He could better gauge Iturbide's position if he listened rather than voicing his own ambitions. He was not disappointed. Iturbide said, "I must admit that I was not certain you would be here. I am very glad that you are."

Mexico feigned surprise even though he knew the reason. He said, "Your letter was so intriguing. How could I resist?" Mexico could see a slight shift in the light as he met Iturbide's eyes again. He wondered if he was betraying the excitement he felt. It was fascinating to finally put a voice to the face he had seen so many times. Iturbide's words had the polished edge of an expensive education and experience. There was something in his tone that reminded Mexico of Madrid, of the high culture of the court. Mexico expected nothing less, considering what he knew of the man's background.

The response was careful with the same smooth intonation, "I thought you may think it was a trap. There was no way to make my intentions completely clear in the letter."

Mexico felt a coy smile curl across his face as he took a step closer to the man. He had his answer prepared and he was certain the other was not expecting it. He said, "Well, I certainly hope it is not for your sake." He fixed his gaze directly on the man's eyes and added, "It would go very badly for you." He did not need to elaborate on the threat. The point was not to intimidate Iturbide anyway. Mexico meant to make it clear that he was neither naive nor trusting.

He saw the realization dawn on the other's face. The expression passed from shock to a look of bemusement. He replied, matching Mexico's step toward him, "Then you are not a fool. I should have expected as much." There was a tension in the stillness of the air, but there was a clear solution. Mexico spoke again, "We have much to discuss. Come, walk with me."

He didn't wait for a response, he simply took a few steps towards the door of the church. He knew that if Iturbide was in earnest, which he seemed to be, he would follow. Sure enough, he heard the sound of footsteps falling in step with his own right beside him. Iturbide would not let this chance escape him, even if it meant humbling himself. He did, however, seize the chance to speak again, "Am I right in assuming that your general knows of our rendezvous?" There was no trepidation in his voice. Mexico made note of it. The man didn't balk at the idea that his enemy could know his exact location.

Mexico glanced over at the man and attempted to gauge his expression. But, there was little there to read. For now, Mexico would have to go off of instinct. He knew what he wanted and had a good idea what he needed to say to get it. He answered the direct question, "Of course he does. If you expect me to lie to my general, you are mistaken."

They reached the door and stepped out into the bright sunlight. Mexico could feel the soft warmth on his skin. It seemed to be reassuring him that he was on the right track. Only once they were outside did Iturbide finally respond, "Perhaps that is better. I do not fear him half as much as I fear some of the ambitious in the capital who would gladly tear me down. They want nothing more than their own promotion."

Mexico could hear the deliberate pauses that were meant to make the words more persuasive. It was a rhetorical strategy that he was well aware of. There was also a bitterness beneath it. Mexico had to put a conscious effort to not smirk. He knew where this was coming from. For a proud man, a dismissal was the ultimate insult. He had his own parry for this, "I have been told that you are no different."

This statement he expected to get a reaction to. This would serve as a test to see how Iturbide dealt with the rumors about him. A slight contortion of discomfort passed over the mortal's face. But, there was little of that pain in his voice when he said, "Success breeds envy. Envy breeds lies. I am a patriot, and only those Spaniards who covet my position." He paused for only a moment before continuing, the bitterness he was trying to hide broke through, "And Spain seems more than willing to give it to them, regardless of what I have achieved."

There was activity all around them as the people of the town started their days, but it was all background to Mexico. His mind was fixed firmly on the conversation at hand. He had just gained a very important point of leverage and he intended to use it. He said, "Don't judge Antonio too harshly for that. It is in our natures to favor and reward our own. He'll never let you rise too high because you weren't born on Spanish soil."

He allowed his eyes to linger on Iturbide's face as he let the implied promise sink in. The other's eyes widened as he realized what Mexico was really saying. The sun played across the glint of ambition in them. Before he could inquire for more details, Mexico shifted the topic of conversation. He meant to pique the man's interest without promising anything concrete. Promises could be broken, but temptation was left to the imagination.

Mexico urged the conversation in a different direction by saying, "But I'm sure you do not want to revisit your dismissal. You said in your letter that you had a proposition for independence and I am curious as to what it is."

The question of what Mexico was really promising was on the tip of the mortal's tongue, but he was forced to swallow it. Mexico was amused. The man wanted to ask what he could gain by backing a different side, but if he wanted to not appear to be an opportunist then he would have to keep it to himself. Mexico knew this game well. It had been a while since he had gotten to watch someone squirm like this. There was a slight smile on his lips that he did not need to hide. Iturbide would interpret it only as a reaction to the idea of independence. He knew full well how long Mexico had been fighting to be free.

There was, only for a moment, a very pregnant silence while Iturbide seemed to measure his words. His face betrayed little of what he was thinking, but Mexico could see it beneath the surface. The man was ambitious, but that was not off-putting. On some level, it was necessary to have ambition to rise in the ranks of the elite. But, the mortal was restraining himself so that he could maintain his claim of patriotism. To withhold his plan now would be an exceedingly poor idea. That had been the draw to this meeting.

As they continued to walk, keeping step with each other, Iturbide spoke, adding emphatic gestures where necessary to make his point, "You must know that your current strategy will only prolong the insurgency. I believe that I have the key to your independence. Make me your general and I will bring the support of the creole class. I am not the only one throughly disillusioned with Spanish duplicity." For the first time in the conversation, there was confidence ringing through every word he spoke. Mexico could feel it resonate in his chest like the ringing of a bell.

But, he also heard the words and understood the implication. He said, allowing his voice to sound sharper, "I will not throw away Vicente for you. He is my general and that is not negotiable." He could see the shock that momentarily passed over the man's face. Had he really expected no resistance? If so, he was mistaken. Iturbide stopped walked, which forced Mexico to stop as well and face him directly. Only once they were stopped again and their eyes met, he said, the sound of a sneer slipping into his voice, "You know that he can't win on his own. He is a brave man and a cunning warrior, I admit it. But, even if you succeed, he will never command the respect of my class. You're clever enough to know that."

Mexico held his ground, letting no hint of his reservations find their way into his words, "I value loyalty. He has protected me; you have hunted me. If you want my esteem, you will have to earn it with more than flattery." He pushed away all thoughts that this treatment was too harsh. On this he had to remain firm. He met Iturbide's eyes and expected the man to either balk or argue back.

Instead, he smiled, breaking his stoic composure, "You are even better than I expected. Spain speaks of you as though you were easily manipulated. I see that's not the case." Mexico drew in a sharp breath. He had thought little of what Spain said about him to his own people. He shouldn't be surprised considering Spain had blamed everyone else for his rebellion. It was so delusional that it could only be an invention of Spain's own distressed imagination.

He couldn't completely suppress the urge to laugh. A snicker escaped from his mouth before he could stop himself. The other tilted his head with a look of amusement. As he took a step away from Iturbide, Mexico gave an explanation, "I could write a book on what Antonio doesn't know about me." He took another step and turned again to continue walking.

The sun had risen higher in the sky, and now Mexico could feel it hot on his shoulders. But, he felt curiously in control. Iturbide had to follow him or choose to compromise his own position. As Mexico expected, the man couldn't resist the temptation to follow after him. There was also no need for him to speak again. Iturbide's eyes were fixed on him, and there was a sense of growing fascination in his expression.

Mexico waited for the words he knew were coming. Like clockwork, Iturbide said, "I admit I am impressed. But, my resolve is strong. I know I am destined to end this war. I thought that I would do it by ending the insurgency. Now I know I will not fight for Spain." Mexico smiled to himself. There was a strain in the carefully controlled tone that indicated that there was truth in these words. Emotions were breaking through again. Mexico also knew the feeling that the man was failing to articulate it, he had it in his own chest. Destiny exerted itself in the most inexplicable draws.

Mexico asked the next question out of curiosity, not as a test, "What will you do if Spain offers to reinstate you?" There was the distinct possibility of exactly that happening. Despite his jealousy, Spain was no fool. He would soon realize that he had not won the war and he would remember Iturbide's victories. He would offer no real apology, but he would give the man back command in hopes of ending the war.

Iturbide scoffed, "He will not. He made it perfectly clear that he will not let me command an army again." Mexico stopped walking, the heel of his boot throwing up a small cloud of dust. He said, "He will. In a few months, he will regret your dismissal because you are talented and he is desperate." The mortal's eyebrow arched slightly higher. He responded, "I do not forgive slights against my honor."

Mexico caught a flash of something in Iturbide's eyes. It was the pain of truly wounded pride. He could certainly use that to his advantage. But, for now, it was not of use. So, he said, "I take comfort in that." He looked directly into the other's eyes yet again, letting the feeling of shared destiny wash over him again. There was a plan growing in his mind, one that would bring independence with relatively little pain. But, it required Iturbide to play his part, even if he was not completely aware of it. The wind blowing through the streets, which were getting progressively more crowded, and played across the back of his neck. This was completely right, he could feel it. He said, "You should write to my general. I will not replace him, but if you can convince him, then you can both have command. But, if you choose to take your old position back, I will consider you my enemy again."

As he spoke, he saw Iturbide's mind mulling over the idea. No doubt, he was weighing what he he could gain from each option. Mexico allowed it. He felt with an unshakable certainty that the eventual answer would be in his favor. It wouldn't hurt to prod the man in the right direction. Mexico added, "Remember, it is in the nature of a country to love and reward their own."

With that, he extended his hand in a gesture that was meant to show that this conversation was over, but it was also meant to signal the fraternity between them. The mortal reached out and took the extended hand. Neither of them were wearing gloves and the contact of skin against skin sent a feeling of pure energy up Mexico's arm. As he looked directly at the man, the light seemed to distort for only a moment and he swore he could see the man's head crowned with gold. But, as quickly as the vision came, it was gone. But, Mexico felt like the air had been knocked out of him. Iturbide said only, "I will write to you again soon." Then he released Mexico's hand and walked away. Mexico was left standing in the glowing sun of midday, his entire body singing with the feeling that he had just set himself on the right path. His destiny was laid out at his feet and he was ready to take whatever steps he must.

[spectrogramblog]

The Id of L.A.

“There’s a feeling I get when I look to the West”…those are the first lyrics of Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven. When the band would come into town, they would take over two entire floors of the Hyatt Sunset. It was coined, appropriately enough, the “riot house”. Its hallways and suites adorned by groupies and cocaine, sex and parties. What else is new in a town infamous for excess? Was this heaven? Not exactly a celestial kingdom, but, Los Angeles, the City of Angels, has had its share of both luminaries and would be stars among its population.

A continuous renewal and recycle of street corner prophets, backroom political dealmakers, and rock star poets. The city of Jim Morrison, Charles Bukowski, Biddy Thompson, Kenneth Hahn, and even George Lopez. Shamans, poets, politicians, jokers. Their talent and fortitude have created legends. Heroes to some, nuisances to others, these Angelenos personify the City of Los Angeles. Bicultural before the term even existed. These Angelenos have had their feet in the sand, their heads in the clouds, their faces to the wind, their hands in the “masa”. Their hearts are the center of Los Angeles. That center being Hollywood Boulevard, Barney’s Beanery, Olvera Street, or Tommy’s Hamburgers stand all at once. It is both Olvera Street and Pershing Square, and the new Cathedral and L.A. Live. The heart of Los Angeles beats everywhere, it continues to mystify, and remains one of the great cities of the world.

Los Angeles excites the spirit, delights the palate, and bridges the worlds of imagination, illusion, and reality. This wondrous town both fixates and creates. Angelenos, be they real or fiction, have the unique ability of living in three worlds: the dream, the reality, and the in-between. Since the official founding in 1781, Los Angeles, like many great cities of the world: New York, Mexico City, or Tokyo, has, along with its citizens-Angelenos, forged itself this unique identity…the “sad flower in the sand”.

Identity and Los Angeles. The terms and subject matter complement each other so well. Carey McWilliams wrote of Los Angeles as an ethnic and cultural “archipelago”. A city where identity tends to vary from neighborhood to neighborhood. Contrary to places like Mexico City or New York, which seem be virtually identical in their descriptions: subways and metros, overcrowded and rambunctious; Los Angeles and its enclaves do not have such easy identifiers. East L.A can be identified not just by the Chicano/Mexican immigrant culture of tamaleras, lowriders, and homeboys. What comes to mind are second and third generation Eastsiders that are college grads with real estate careers and ties to city politics. The Westside isn’t only falafel stands, liberals and money. We have Venice, Inglewood and Little Osaka on Sawtelle. Even Hollywood’s Walk of Fame doesn’t just tell the story of stardom and tourism. Walk a mile east in any Angeleno’s shoes. You’ll be either in Little Armenia or the Thai/Filipino district. Just a few steps away from any common city artery, the Sunset Boulevards and the Olympics; the real Los Angeles comes to life. One or two block away from these primary arteries of life, we find the blood and the sand.

Immigrants, foreigners, bankers, actors, writers, students, homemakers. Every single one of them-dreamers. They come to Hollywood for the movies, perhaps at a chance to work in television or the film industry. Some come for schooling; others think they will do the educating. One thing is for sure, all we be taught a lesson.

Many also come from Asia or Latin America to reunite with relatives and family. They reestablish and reinvent themselves: get some work as nannies or busboys, and make just enough money to send home every month. Some may even work two full time jobs to make ends meet. Aspiring to save, forging their nest eggs with sweat equity. Households brimming with tias and sobrinos, abuelos y primos. One day, they will have enough to buy a little plot back in their homeland. But then, reality hits. They ARE home now. This is it.

“Life is what happens when you’re busy making plans” (John Lennon). But when did this all occur? Did the smog in the L.A. Skyline dull their senses? If the afternoon sunlight on a recent December day has anything to do with it, time has now moved ahead. It waits for no one. Everyone’s kitchen overlooks a road now. Not many Angelenos yearn for the wondrous, blissful California days of Helen Hunt Jackson’s character, Senora Moreno. Since the earliest migrations of indigenous settlers, from the Tongva settlers near the L.A River, to the Spanish/Mexican missionaries establishing El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora de Los Angeles y Porciuncula, up to the modern day, the modern day Angeleno, if not careful, looks out their kitchen window and can only hope to be cognizant of watching time, school, work, and many dreams come and go. Los Angeles, and its denizens, are not as suspended in time as they are captive to the city’s imagination.

Absorbed into the cries of the Santa Ana winds are the tears of Ruben Salazar, the prolific L.A. Times writer, killed by an LAPD tear gas container. Into the night sky, like the gaseous night’s view from Griffith Observatory go the frustrations of Armenian immigrants. They wait to commemorate their homeland’s tragic genocide on the streets of Hollywood, Burbank, and Glendale. And what of the people dying to get here? Where else in the world to customs and port officials, on various occasions, deal with international human trafficking on such a distinct level? From coyotes to cargo bins, from San Pedro to safe houses in El Monte, people feel the need to get here.

Los Angeles, what is the song you cry out? You are a siren dressed in coastal sage. Your phoenix chaparral burns bright among your anointed ones. The faithful, the faithless, the dreamers and the realists. The Tod Hacketts, Arturo Bandinis, Nathanael Wests, and the John Fantes: whose yearnings have been engulfed by the lachrymal Pacific; you sing the echoes of the millions that have cried their way home, to you. Your song is the Santa Ana wind, the foehn winds- howling through the canyons and passes. The Santa Monica Mountains and the Cahuenga corridor abound with the energy of your music. Echoing your own identity, you sing the song of your citizens’ past, present, and future. Los Angeles, the City of Quartz, is the anthropomorphic manifestation of its citizens. Citizens whose goals, wishes, and dreams attained or unattained, come in the form of a Bunker Hill view, a Santa Monica sunset, a carbon monoxide-stained palm tree, or an unfinished oil painting.

Fante’s Arturo Bandini had his dreams. Whether he envisioned himself a great author, the romancing playboy, or the keen observer, Bandini dreamt of his success and merit. Hopeful, not of the accomplishments, but of achieving them in Los Angeles. The reader doesn’t seem to doubt his talent. But his dreams of success, of merit, seem captive to his routine. A routine intrinsically raveled in the DNA of Los Angeles. A double helix of illusion and failure. “I went to the restaurant where I always went to the restaurant…I walked out of the restaurant, stood before an imaginary pitcher, and swatted a home run over the fence.” In this state, Bandini, the somnambulist, was captive to his imagination. The delirium of a child nestled in the bosom of Our Lady of the Angels. The city cradles and nurses its own. Each Angeleno feeds from the trough, suckles on the teat of the mother.”

The mother feeds her children. Hopes and prayers, the jungle leads to “la Calle de la Eternidad”…with thirty foot arms and hands stretched out to the heavens, reaching for the stars, muralist Johanna Poethig and her collaborators strove for the city to reach its people. The dreams of all its migrants, stretching out to their respective places of origin. The mural, on Broadway, not only reaches out sixty feet above, but stretches to the other “streets of eternity” across the globe, transcending time and space. It evokes the observer’s memory that, to be a citizen of Los Angeles-doesn’t imply having to give up one’s original roots. As any transplant or “native” Angeleno. “Where are you from? Oh, I’m from here, but, originally…”

“She had to leave Los Angeles. She found it hard to say goodbye to her own best friend. She bought a clock on Hollywood Boulevard the day she left. It felt sad.” (X-Los Angeles). These lyrics, taken from the title track of the seminal L.A. punk rock band X’s eponymous album, Los Angeles, tells the story of mid-western girl who just can’t handle her life in Los Angeles anymore. “All her toys wore out in black and her boys had too. She started to hate every nigger and Jew. Every Mexican that gave her a lot of shit. Every homosexual and the idle rich.” Can any other song tie together both the love/hate relationship with this city any better? Written more than thirty years ago, the band was young, nihilistic. Now, well into middle age, they perform the song to newer generations of fans. New and old fans alike, the listener can be a native Angeleno, a punk rock fan in Belgium, or anywhere across the globe. The track, Los Angeles, resonates pungently of urgency and regret. Stay or go. Love it or leave it. Regardless of where one stands, living in Los Angeles, the resident becomes a part of the city. You end up loving it. Even when one has to part ways with it.

Why do so many come here? An often asked question. “Why? Because if he or she can make it here, then I can definitely handle this place. I mean, it’s not New York!” Better to just say “the weather” or the “California Blonde” than to open a can of worms. The new transplant under estimates the ego and heart of this city. Travelers come to envy those that are “fortunate” enough to reside in L.A. Yes the smog and sun can get to you. Everything collides and contracts here. Illusion and disillusion meet where Broadway and Calle de la Eternidad become one.

A commercial airplane lands at LAX, upon arrival, the traveler gets in their car, begins their trek into Los Angeles. Once at their destination, the majority always tend to ask the same question…”Am I here yet? Is this L.A?” Almost as if a double take is necessary to confirm one’s bearings? Where is the Hollywood sign? What about Compton, In-N-Out, or Pinks? Where do the movie stars live? All commonplace questions. Run of the mill superficial questions for, what they believe to be, a superficial town. It is never, “When and where was the city founded?” or “take me to Olvera Street”.

In stark contrast, upon departure, the business traveler or vacationer seems to always be in a hurry to leave the city. Not knowing if what they just experienced was truly a visit to Los Angeles or just a tour of the Universal Studios backlot. One thing is certain of the visitor to Los Angeles, be their visit short term or tenured, everyone wants to come back. The question is if the City’s enchantments are what beckon the visitor of if it is the illusion and fabrication of many a celluloid dream, superseding even the imagination of a child, that call one back to Paradise City.

The Angeleno also never fully appreciates the solitude of the Hollywood Hills or the mountains that roll down to the ocean. It is, simply put, a given. Angelenos nod their heads in boisterous confidence that “it is what it is”.

On the contrary, one of the Hollywood Hills’ most creatively accomplished residents was an Angeleno by transplant. Aldous Huxley-the famed British author of “Brave New World” and “The Doors of Perception”, loved Los Angeles. Admiring such idiosyncrasies as its drive-in donut shaped diners, the winding desert roads near Palm Springs, or simply, Los Angeles’ Mediterranean climate-he came to call the City of Angels his home. Once in Los Angeles, much of his creativity flourished, be it due to his new surroundings, experiments with psychotropic hallucinogens, or reading Hindu texts such as the Veda. The Veda’s primary subject mature and theme are, appropriately enough, the belief that the physical world is but an illusion. Welcome to the identity of Los Angeles.

[mexico-et-al]

Not touristy but certainly worth visiting.  Following the Agustin monks from Mexico City to Metztitlan part 1.

Traveling by car in México can be daunting, and a trip to the Huasteca region in the State of Hidalgo is tiring and not particularly well known among tourists.  However, let me assure you that even though it is a two-lane highway with a considerable amount of traffic,  it is worth the effort.  If you ae doing the entire route from Mexico City to Huejutla, plan at least a week so that you have time to appreciate all that this itinerary offers.

If you only have a weekend, the first part of this adventure is an excellent option for people living in Mexico City.  We start off by heading to Pachuca.  Most people bypass the capital of the state, and we will do so now, but for those who are interested in mining and photography, a couple of hours in “windy Pachuca” is time well spent.  However, the English cemetery of Mineral del Monte awaits and nothing can beat visiting it on a chilly foggy morning.  (Nota Bene: the pictures related to this article can be found in the Spanish versions Please follow the links for more information on the places mentioned.)  If the cemetery is shrouded by the fog you will feel that you have become a character in a gothic novel. If you are more into VIPS then rest assured, you will be visiting a place recently visited by Prince Charles and his wife Camila.

In Mineral del Monte, also known as “little Cornwall” you would not be too surprised if a Cornish miner suddenly appeared and said, as he passed by you,  “buenos días”.  After all, they were here during the XIXth century; the houses still have their red tin roofs,  and “pastes”, nothing other than Cornish Pasties, are still eaten practically every day. Grant you, perhaps not with their afternoon tea. Anita Desai the Indian author writes about this area in her book The Zigzag Way.  Talking about minors why not visit La Dificultad now transformed into a museum?  

Both Mineral del Chico and  The National Park of El Chico.  are ideal weekend getaways.   There is something for everyone: history and nature.  But if you have more time, drive on, fantastic convents and nature at its best await you.

We are following the route of Agustin monks.  Even though you have not traveled many kilometers, you have already gotten a feel for the highway. Now imagine that you are a monk in the XVIth century starting off from Mexico City with a dream, but there you are, the vastness of Hidalgo, and just you and your burro! Daunting to say the least.  But they had faith!.   Even though I will skip speaking about the monastery, they are an obligatory stop. How can you drive by and not admire Atotonilco el Grande, San Pedro Tlaltemalco, the grandeur of Metztitlan, or the magnificent paintings found at Santa María Xoxoteco. 

So you decided to drive on, our next stop will, therefore, be Atotonilco el Grande.  Look in any guidebook, and you will read that this XVIth century monastery should be visited and I will not argue with that statement.  However, for those of us who are privy to the real Mexico,  we would not dream of not making a "pit stop” at the Panificadora Rocio where the smell of freshly baked bread will tingle our taste buds. Your dilemma here will be which delicious art form should you chose: the wooly lamb? The turtle?  So many mouthwatering possibilities.  Now all you need is a nice cup of foamy hot chocolate, and you can dunk to your heart's content.    Our human hunger satisfied, we can now feed our soul.  Let´s visit the convent, afterward take a seat on one of the benches.  Don´t be surprised if someone comes along and overcome with curiosity starts a conversation.    Aren´t you glad you took those Spanish classes?

But there is still so much ahead, that we should continue our journey.  Shortly after leaving Atotonilco there will be a dramatic change in the landscape.  We are entering the biosphere reserve of Metztitlan.  This is truly a paradise for nature lovers. There is an incredible variety of cacti, but learn more by following the link above. Continuing on the highway, you will soon see a deviation on your left that will take you to the town of Metztitlán.  This road follows the riverbed so you must not be surprised if it is flooded.  On the left side of the road there will be fertile fields with many nut trees and on your right, San Pedro Tlaltemalco that has sunk so much that the windows are practically touching the ground. 

Metztitlan is a small peaceful town that can serve as a base for many hikes, mountain biking, bird watching, etc.  The San Cristobal is Mexico’s largest lagoon and a haven for many birds. emigrating from Canada.  If you love cacti be sure to visit the Cactus Museu, you will walk in their natural environment so take good walking shoes and perhaps a walking stick.  Please note that it is illegal to pick or transport cacti if it does not have the necessary traveling papers.  There are a few small, clean hotels, nothing luxurious in Metztitlan but a great restaurant with a very friendly owner.  Rincón del Jardín and Juan Antonio Mora, the owner, will guarantee that your stay will be delicious and highly enjoyable.  Ask him for information on renting bikes and finding a guide.  Obviously, you must spend a couple of hours visiting the very imposing monastery probably the most magnificent in this entire route. 

The monastery is simply fantastic and its altarpiece of the Three Magi, a work of art finished by Salvador de Ocampo in 1698 is breathtaking.  However, I must mention that the lighting is very poor and that it is absolutely prohibited to use a flash.  From the few stops that we have made, you will, without a doubt, agree with me that there is much to see and remember that our trip is just starting and that we are not that far from Mexico City.   Remember fotos are posted in the Spanish version.

#agustinmonks, #hidalgo #metztitlaninsearchofalostparadise #atotonilcoelgrande #cacti, #monasteries, #englishcemetery #mineraldelmonte, #englishminors

[abqtowing505]

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Oaxaca Itinerary: The Perfect Week

Day 1 in Oaxaca: Eat Your Heart Out

Mezcal in Oaxaca/Oyster

Your Oaxacan restaurant bucket list is endless, but it does come with a few requisites. And that’s how you’ll frame the first day in Oaxaca, after settling into your hotel. But first, take it easy as you walk around the grid-like center, familiarizing yourself with the central Zocolo around which all activity seems to buzz. You can pop into art galleries like Centro de las Arte de San Agustin (CASA) or Centro Fotográfico Álvarez Bravo, or grab a coffee and croissant at Boulenc.

Among the restaurants that serve the best Oaxacan fare, make Los Danzantes or Restaurante Casa Oaxaca your first big meal. The former makes its own mezcal, and both serve colorful, flavorful dishes centered around Oaxacan ingredients like molé, huitlacoche, or even chapulines (yep, grasshoppers—but don’t be deterred!) Other notable restaurants that you should visit this week include Pitiona, La Biznaga, Origen, Criollo, and Zandunga Sabor Istmeño Centro. You can also make a lunch out of a visit to either of the center’s big markets, though that’s central to tomorrow’s itinerary.

Kick off your Oaxaca visit — or schedule a nightcap — with a mezcal tasting at La Mezcaloteca (one of many excellent mezcalerias in town). Book ahead and sample your way through their collection of aged liquors, while learning about the agave-smoking and -fermenting process that’s central to Mexican drinking.

Day 2 in Oaxaca: Markets and Artisan Goods

Tlacolula Market/Oyster

Oaxaca’s influence on Mexican gastronomy is immeasurable. Some of the country’s most prominent dishes come from the state, like the chocolatey molé negro and the crunchy, open-faced tlayuda. The agaves that are used to create mezcal are largely grown in Oaxaca (just as those used to make tequila are mostly from the state of Jalisco). We digress: It’s because of Oaxaca’s gastronomic influence that its main marketplace, the Abasto, is so fun to visit. Chefs come as far as Mexico City to shop for fresh ingredients. You can spend hours wandering through this marketplace, which also houses shops for clothing, furniture, textiles, home goods, and more. You’ll be humbled by its size and orderly chaos. For late lunch, head back to the city center and grab a table inside Mercado Benito Juárez or Mercado 20 de Noviembre, where you can grub on fresh tlayudas or tacos.

As for souvenirs, take note of what you find at Mercado Benito Juárez; after lunch, compare it to the offerings at El Mercado de Artesanías and La Casa de las Artesanías. These places have anything you might want to take home, like black pottery, regional clothing, hand-carved and -painted alebrijes, and even Oaxacan rugs. Sure, it’s only day two in Oaxaca, but consider this your audit of the offerings before buying something at the end of your trip. It’ll consume the end of your day just to see it all.

Day 3 in Oaxaca: Monte Albán + Temazcal

Monte Alban/Oyster

Today, escape the city for the first time, and point towards the Monte Albán archeological ruins, some 30 minutes southwest of Oaxaca. This is the one-time capital of the Zapotec people, one of the first cities in Mesoamerica, founded as early as 500 B.C. The ruins paint a picture of life at the time, with ball courts, public plazas, residential zones, and more. A visit to the on-site museum tells its history, and showcases stone carvings and other artifacts recovered from the site. Plan half a day or more for the excursion, especially since it’s to your benefit to take a historical tour, lest the significance of the place be lost.

Ask ahead what time your tour concludes — or better yet, get an early start to beat the hot sun, and make sure it ends by lunchtime. Grab a bite back in Oaxaca and freshen up — only to undo it all at your afternoon sweat session of Temazcal. This Mesoamerican healing ritual was practiced by the Mayans, Zapotecs, Toltecs, and Aztecs, and involves sitting in a low-heat sweat lodge made of volcanic stone, clay, mud, or anything of the likes. In short, your guide will walk you through various states of focus and healing, as you rub herbs, juices, and even mezcal on your nearly-naked body. You release all your toxins and negative energy as you cleanse your body and mind. It’s a private experience, though, so you can shorten it if you feel too claustrophobic or overheated, though most people get through the ritual just fine. One of the best picks is Ceviarem Temazcal Oaxaca, a family-run business that hosts intimate and personable rituals. Call or email well ahead to book your spot, and give yourself another half-hour to get there by car, as it’s east of the city.

Day 4 in Oaxaca: Hierve el Agua, Mitla, and Teotitlán del Valle

Mitla/Oyster

Today you’ll venture out once more, this time southeast of Oaxaca. You can do everything in one fell swoop, starting with the town and archeological ruins of Mitla — An hour by car. You can self navigate the ruins, which are more of an attraction than a destination like Monte Alban. The town itself offers visitors many hotels, restaurants, and shops, though its smart to get your colorful  textiles at the end of the day, in your final stop. After a bite to eat, drive a little further to the petrified waterfalls and springs of Hierve al Agua. These rock formations are one of the regions’ most visited attractions, as they resemble waterfalls that are frozen in time.

After your nature photoshoot and a quick dip in the springs, drive back towards Oaxaca, with your target on the small town of Teotitlan del Valle. (You can stop at the archeological site Dainzú en route if you want to see more ruins.) In this small town, you can walk the length of the main stretch and browse the regions’s famed rug-making shops, buying them at much lower prices than if you purchased in the city center. Learn about your options, and about the process behind each rug; some are woven by hand, others machine, and the complexity of these things, as well as the dyeing process, can impact the cost. Bring lots of cash, however — a thousand pesos if you want a couple rugs, and far more if you’re especially eager. to shop. You’ll leave town with a few colorful souvenirs, and very functional daily reminders of your visit to Oaxaca.

Day 5 in Oaxaca: Gardens, Gilded Cathedral, and Oaxacan History

Santo Domingo/Oyster

Your fifth day (and final morning in the capital), centers around the Santo Domingo Cathedral. Pop in for a quick ogle, marveling at the gilded, carved details that linger overhead. Next door is the Oaxacan Cultural Museum, highlighting history of Oaxaca and Mexico through pre-Columbian history til present day. You’ll see various artifacts that color in the lines of this storied past. You can also peek out over the city’s awesome Ethnobotanical Garden, which offers English tours throughout the week. Ideally this fifth day is one of those dates; it’s worth restructuring your schedule to get an up-close glimpse at these plants, as the 2.3-acre grounds house an incredible array of regional plant life. You can’t visit the grounds unless you’re part of a tour. That’s why it has the name “Ethnobotanical Gardens”, since “ethno-botanical” denotes the relationship between plants and people, as is outlined on the immersive tour.

Make your final souvenir spree at El Mercado de Artesanías and La Casa de las Artesanías, then head to the airport for your flight to the southern coast of the state, to Puerto Escondido.

Day 6-7 in Oaxaca: Puerto Escondido

Playa Zicatela/Oyster

It’s in this beach town that you’ll wrap your stay in Oaxaca (the state, that is), on some of the country’s best “virgin” beaches. They aren’t overdeveloped like Cancun, Playa del Carmen, Cabo San Lucas, and even Tulum. Plant yourself any day at city-lined beaches like Zicatela, Bacocho, or Carrizalillo, though you’ll hardly feel like you’re in a city. Here, you can enjoy the waterfront as it’s meant to be, rather than walled in with an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet. For genuine Mexican hospitality, stay with Posada Real Puerto Escondido or Villa María Puerto Escondido, both off the shore of Bacocho, and up the coast from the other two beaches on your to-do list.

As for flying home, you’ll connect back through Oaxaca City or Mexico City, once the sun sets on your perfect week in Oaxaca.

Where to Stay in Oaxaca: Our Oaxaca Hotel Picks

Surely you’re looking for top-tier hospitality, a central location, thoughtful and comfortable design, and incredible food. Good news, as your Oaxaca hotel options are plenty. However, we’d suggest Quinta Real Oaxaca, Casa Oaxaca, and Hotel CasAntica as your three best Oaxaca hotel bets. They check all of the aforementioned boxes.

The Pool at the Quinta Real Oaxaca/Oyster

Quinta Real Oaxaca is a real historic charmer. It was built as a convent in 1576, and many of the original details such as frescoes and tile floors, have been restored. Check out the gorgeous courtyard pool!

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The Pool at the Casa Oaxaca/Oyster

Casa Oaxaca is set in a calm cobblestone pocket of Oaxaca’s pretty historical center. The rooms are minimalist and modern, but the real highlight here is Casa Oaxaca, the in-house restaurant. It dishes up a visionary take on Oaxacan cuisine in a la carte and multi-course menus. Freebies include Bulgari toiletries, welcome cocktails, and a delicious daily breakfast.

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Atrium courtyard at the Hotel CasAntica/Oyster

CasAntica is a budget pick with oodles of charm and a walkable location. Strong coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a swim in the pool are the perfect way to start the day in Oaxaca.

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