The big sister

Eva is wearing her new dress from Oaxaca while finishing her latest painting. (reminds me of a Georgia O'Keefe) She learned yesterday that she will become the older sibling of a little sister in March. I asked her what the the baby's name would be and she looked at me rather incredulously and said, "Baby". It is a very joyful time for all of us here in the Baxter/Dinsmore household. We also learned Ivan, Joanna and Eva will be coming to Minneapolis for Christmas. It has been a few years since we were together at Christmas, so it will be special time indeed.

Harry and I plan to leave St. Louis and head home Saturday morning, the last 500 miles will seem like nothing after the 3,500 driven so far. It is turning a bit cold here and we know what is coming next, although we have not experienced it for two years. I plan to go back to subbing a bit and Harry has developed a long to-do list: nobody is better than Harry at making a big to-do about things. So we will keep busy as we adjust to the cold. (Did I forget to mention exercise?)

Santa Fe!

Santa Fe is a city of architecture, food, fashion, art, and shopping. The lovely old city is celebrating its 400th anniversary this year. The mix of Spanish, Indian, and Mexican culture makes it unique. Santa Fe is only about 72,000 people, but thousands of tourists crawl the streets every day while shopping: even Harry got into the swing of it.

There are many, many museums in the little city: Indian art, folk art, modern art. We went to the Georgia O'Keeffe museum and I was a little disappointed. It was smaller than I expected and at the present time, they are not showing any of her famous flower paintings that I love so much. I became a fan of Georgia many years ago when Alexis and I went to an exhibition of her flower paintings at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts. I didn't know anything about her, but as I stood in front of one of her flower paintings, I found myself crying. Alexis came over to me and said, "Mom what's wrong?" I said, "It's just so beautiful."

If you come with a few thousand dollars to buy art you could have a marvelous time here. The world-famous art district, Canyon Road, is within walking distance of the town square and cathedral. Adobe houses on this road, dating back to the 1740s, are now art galleries. All new construction in the central city of Santa Fe has to be in the adobe style. Original adobe construction of even a small building took thousands of hand-made bricks. Today, they make the new buildings look like adobe construction while using easier methods.

We did not buy any art, as we were out of our league, but we did eat like royalty. The restaurants are amazing in Santa Fe. We picked two after reading the restaurant guides (plus a little Vietnamese in a shopping mall) and hit it right. We ate antelope burger and tamales for my birthday lunch, and the following evening went to a tapas restaurant. It was like being back in Madrid! The food was excellent in this small New York-style restaurant with all the people crammed in like sardines. Sitting next to us were a very interesting couple from Austin who were doing an encore evening at the restaurant. They had made reservations elsewhere for that evening, but after eating one night at La Boca, had to come back. We chatted with them about Mexico, Texas, and food. I think Santa Fe is a great tourist destination.

We are now in St Louis after another 1,000-mile drive. We had perfect driving weather, although the winds were up in the 50 mile an hour range for much of the way. We stopped in northern New Mexico for gas and felt like the doors could have been blown off the car as we got out. I found I enjoyed driving across Oklahoma and Missouri with the country music radio station blaring and my coke and chocolate candy bar nearby. Harry had to keep reminding me I was well over the speed limit.

Eva fit into her Oaxaca dress perfectly and the whole family is off this morning to the OB/GYN to find out if Eva will have a new brother or sister come March! Stay tuned ....

All Aboard!!!!

Thank God! Harry finally got a day when someone else did the driving. We rode by train from Durango, Colorado, altitude 7,000 feet, to Silverton, altitude 10,000 feet in about 3 and one half hours yesterday. This amazing steam engine chugs it's way up into the mountains on a narrow gauge track that seems like it is about to send you plunging into the canyon 1,000 feet below, where a raging river cascades over boulders. Lots of fun!

The man who took our tickets told us that the track was constructed in 1889 by a crew of 1000 workers and it took them 9 months. Lots of dynamite required for the job. The train initially carried silver mined in Silverton to Durango, but the towns got together to preserve the train even after the silver was gone. The ride is so amazingly beautiful. The fall colors were intense. Each day, the train makes one trip up the mountain and back carrying tourists and elk hunters. In our car were 40 French tourists, an English couple and a couple from Finland. We have seen many Europeans and Japanese at the Grand Canyon, Mesa Verde and again today on this very special train. Our lunch in Silverton was in one of the town's many bordellos, now converted to a restaurant.

We arrived back in the posh little city of Durango about six p.m. and found a small French restaurant with a real French chef. We ate a shrimp and lobster bisque, and shared a vol au vent and a plate of coq au vin. We ordered a glass of red and a glass of white wine to share. Harry said he was not about to have a repeat performance of a few nights back. I was stuffed but still managed to stuff down a cream puff.

We chatted with the the chef and his wife after dinner. Their long-legged Jack Russell jumped up on his own high bar stool to sit at their dinner table with them. No, he was not eating coq au vin, he just sat there and watched as they ate theirs. The couple were our age and told us that a beautiful and very inexpensive place to retire was Quito, Ecuador. The climate is perfect year round, if you can get along at 10,000 feet, and they said a friend of theirs lives very well on a few hundred dollars a month. We, especially me, have experienced a little altitude sickness today. We are off to Santa Fe today for a couple days, not Ecuador (although that would be a nice place to visit after you adjusted to the altitude), and then on to St Louis to see our kids. We expect to be home by Halloween.

*I am now driving, whimpiness phase is over! (as long as it is not raining and I am on a four lane)

Mesa Verde

The Ancestral Puebloans began constructing their homes in the cliff alcoves at Mesa Verde, Colorado in about 500 A.D. What remains is what they built during their golden age between A.D. 1100 and 1300. They left this site over a 25 to 50 year period in the 13th century for unknown reasons. I took this picture of the settlement called Cliff Palace. It is the largest and most intricate of the 6oo settlements found in the park. Archaeologists found jars of corn seed at the site, which meant the Puebloans had probably hoped to one day return to this beautiful site but they never did. A group of cowboys looking for lost cattle stumbled upon Cliff Palace in 1888 and the world began to learn of this amazing place. The Puebloan descendants are now mingled with the Navajo, Ute, Hopi, and Pueblo native American tribes of the southwest.

It was a beautiful 20 mile drive into Mesa Verde National Park and once again when you arrive at the cliff dwellings, you cannot quite believe what you are seeing. The park ranger, Adrianne, explained to the group of about 40 that the descent to Cliff Palace would include many steps and ladders to climb so if you were not in the best of shape it was a good idea to re-think your decision to view the site up close. Looks of panic swept over the faces of the mostly older crowd, but no one held back. It was well well worth all the huffing and puffing it took to get to the site and back out.

Adrianne, also gave us an excellent history lesson halfway down the trail as we rested up for the remainder of our journey down. There is also an excellent museum of man-made artifacts which archaeologists have discovered in the park dating back 10,000 years, back to the earliest arrivals. The Pebloans were farmers with domesticated dogs and turkeys, and they made beautiful baskets, rugs and pottery.

Tchatchkis queen that I am, I found the traditional Puebloan black and white pottery particularly beautiful, and of course found a shop where I could buy pieces that are still made today by descendants of these people. Where to display these lovely pieces in my tchatchkis-filled home will be my challenge, but of course this did not stop me.

We are next on our way to Durango to ride the Durango-Silverton narrow gauge steam train.

Very Grand indeed!

I had never been to the Grand Canyon and it is one of those places that has to be experienced to be believed. I have seen the wonderful photographs and watched the NatGeo specials about this place which makes the list of geographic miracles along with Mount Everest and Victoria Falls, but they do not do it justice. I probably never will see either Everest or the African falls, but I have now been fortunate enough to visit at least one of the Seven Wonders of the Natural World.

We arrived late in the afternoon at the canyon village and headed straight for the edge. I will never forget that moment. My first thought was that what my eyes were seeing was not possible. How could something like this happen? Oh, this took 6 million years, now I get it! We walked along the rim until darkness took over. The canyon looks different every few steps you take and you find yourself just standing in awe. People are talking all around you, but somehow the silence is what you hear. The light keeps changing as the day moves along, making the colors of the rocks change. A photographers' paradise. We started the next day walking the rim in the opposite direction for several hours, and by then felt too tired to attempt a short trek on Bright Angel Trail which leads to the canyon floor. Those who begin such a walk take the entire day to go all the way down.

It has unexpectedly turned out to be a good time of year to travel, in that the grey hairs and home-schooled children make for small and tame crowds and the temps are perfect. We had planned to take this trip in July after finishing up teaching in Mexico, but we now know July would not be the best time to be in the Grand Canyon because of large crowds and heat. Our next stop is Mesa Verde, Colorado.

Once is enough

I have now experienced driving the Baja Peninsula once and once has turned out to be all I will ever need. Harry drove the entire 1,000 miles while I whined and cried. We encountered two major road construction projects. One of them meant we had to drive the 2-lane Baja in the dark, which is a no-no, but we had no choice. There were two military inspection stops that turned out to be major wait-in-liners, so as darkness fell, there was no stopping or going back. We arrived in Ensenada in the dark, with the rain falling after a 12-hour drive. The other major construction zone was near the border and it seemed like it went on for days.

Major road work in Mexico does not mean you are provided with a little well-constructed detour route. No, it means you are driving on a horrible, dark, dirt road that is one major rut and bump after another. It is frightening and exhausting, but you just have to keep going. And yes, even under these road conditions from hell, drivers continue to pass. Harry is an extremely skilled driver, thank god, and I was counting my blessings the entire way. The road up the Baja is 95% two lane and sometimes it becomes more like 1 and a half lanes. Guard rails on the high mountain "curva peligrosa" roads are the exception, not the norm. Following a big slow truck is a comfort because if someone does pass in a no-passing zone, or if a cow happens to be on the road as you take a major blind curve, you figure the truck will take the major impact, not you.

We had a couple near misses with cows and reckless drivers, but got lucky. There was much beauty to behold on the drive for sure, but I don't need to do it again even with all the road construction completed. I am a wimp who flies down the Baja. The passenger wimp who didn't want to drive the Baja for one single, solitary mile.

And just in case this sounds like a Jeremiad, I'll add that driving the Baja is 95% heaven and only 5% hell.

Jennifer!

As those of you who saw Harry recently know, his hair was reaching shoulder length. He had had one haircut since we returned to Minnesota in late March. That haircut was a "cost-cutters" sort of haircut and it was pretty horrible. He resorted to trimming his own hair and even got me involved with trimming the parts he could not reach. He insisted he would just wait for a proper cut in Cabo from Jennifer. He hates to have his hair cut, claiming he was traumatized as a child by some brutal English barber, called Sweeney Todd (that's why he hated the movie so much). Some may have trouble buying this one: I know I do.

Our friend Jennifer, hair stylist extraordinaire here in Cabo, cut Harry's hair last week. (You can now perhaps see why it was worth the wait.) I met Jennifer our first year here through one of my students and she became our "hair person" and our friend. She even made house calls to our condo to cut our hair when we lived here. The first time she cut and colored my hair she would not let me see what she had done to me until she was completely finished. I remember the moment when she spun me around in the chair so I could see myself in the mirror. My hair was darker than it had ever been in my life! I looked positively Mexican. Talk about trauma! After my initial shock, I decided it was very fun to do something so different and I liked not being immediately taken for a gringo in Mexico. A few weeks back, I let my new Minneapolis hairdresser have her way with me too, and I went blonde. Jennifer taught me sometimes it can be fun to just let go and have some fun. I have tried to apply this philosophy to other aspects of my life with less success.

Tomorrow we begin our long journey home. We have been stuffing the car and getting on each's others nerves over the last couple of days. I am feeling very sad at leaving the friends who have become our Cabo family. It seemed like we just picked up where we left off ... wonderful dinners, tea times, and parties as we caught up with their lives. We even stopped into the Blue Med Clinic where Liz took Harry immediately after his accident and our lovely doctor, Omara, was on duty. There were the hugs and kisses, of course, and even a bit of a tear in her eye when she saw how well Harry had recovered. I will never forget how, when she began to examine my blood-soaked husband, she gently asked if his nose had always been bent so much to one side. She took such good care of him, too, when his blood pressure went out of control.

I am going to try applying that spirit of fun Jennifer taught me about hair to the 3,500 mile trip home. It is going to be hard at times, but heck, I'm the gringo who tried looking more Mexican for a bit and then went blonde. I can do it!

Monte Alban

Today we took a thirty minute bus trip up into the mountains outside Oaxaca to the ruins of the ancient Zapotec city, Monte Alban. This world heritage site was built around 500 BC, and it became the first urban complex in Mesoamerica. In its time it was about the size of Oaxaca today.

Monte Alban wielded enormous political, religious, and economic power over the inhabitants of the Great Valley of Oaxaca from 500 BC to 850 AD, when it was abandoned for reasons unknown. I was relieved to learn that in the city's ball courts which we saw, the game played by the ancient Zapotecs used rubber balls, not human skulls such as their neighbors the Aztecs and Mayans used in their ball court games. The Zapotecs, however, did, according to their stone art depictions, completely emasculate the leaders of the tribes they conquered in the Great Valley of Oaxaca. Some aspects of history one would sometimes rather just not know about. Like the Bush years.

On our way to and from the bus station we saw parts of Oaxaca much less beautiful than the part of the city where we are staying. I knew there had to be more to the city than we had seen so far. The bus ride up to the 5,000 feet Monte Alban was a thrill a minute. A new city of tar-paper shacks has grown up along the hillsides from Oaxaca over the past decades and the road is one sharp turn after another. Guard rails have not been invented here yet. We rode the bus back down chatting with two women passengers who told us interesting stories of their world travels. They showed us the way to the city zocalo after we left the bus. In the zocalo, free bags of rice were being distributed to the victims of the recent flooding in the valley surrounding the city. I, of course, did what I do best when it comes to aiding the local economy: shop.

Tonight we had dinner in Lonely Planet's favorite restaurant in Oaxaca. There are those of you who know me well who will laugh at this, knowing my great enthusiasms, but, it turned out to be the most architectually beautiful restaurant I have ever eaten in in my life! Alas, yes, I forgot my camera, so I have no photos and any description I tried to give would not do it justice, so I will not even attempt it.

At the beautiful restaurant, Harry ordered canneloni with huitlacoche, a fungus that grows on corn, which he loves but I refuse to eat. I had mushroom linguine. (Yes, I know mushrooms are a fungus! Just shut up about it!) We ordered and drank an entire bottle of wine from the Baja wine country. After dinner we asked our waiter about mescal, a liquor made from the maguey cactus, which tastes like scotch. It is sold in shops all over town but,we have not tried it. Our waiter brought us each two shots of two different varieties of mescal made in the state of Oaxaca. I loved the way it was served to us with a "special" tasting salt and orange slices. I asked the waiter about the special salt which I had been consuming wholeheartedly and he told me it was salt blended with ground-up worms. I refrained from screaming. (Actually, after late-night web research, I learned what he called worms are actually moth larvae that live on the cactus plant) What a relief that was! Proving once again, sometimes it is best not to know everything. Oaxacans are well-known for encorporating insects into their cuisine. I had seen grasshoppers on the menu the night before last.

I, being an adult-child with alchoholic roots, had no trouble guiding my tea-totaler husband home along the smooth cobblestone streets after dinner. He was bombed and I was feeling no ill effects. Nothing like genetics to see you through when needed. He gently slumbers now as I write this blog into the wee hours of the night.

My friend Bill never fails to point out that I fall in love with every new place I visit. Oaxaca is no exception in that regard. It is magical, full of beautiful places, lovely smells, amazing art, and delicious foods. Perhaps I will return someday, like the vanished Zapotecs, and learn to eat more insects fearlessly .

oh! Oaxaca oh!

Oaxaca is not at all what I expected. We arrived at our hotel, Las Mariposas, the butterflies, early last evening and immediately set out for a walk around the city. I commented to Harry how unusual it was that the majority of the buildings are one story high. He astutely pointed out that it is earthquake country. I then remembered I had read in our guide book bible, Lonely Planet, that this 16th-century city has twice been destroyed by earthquakes, once in 1854 and once again in 1931. The 1931 quake destroyed 70% of the city, only buildings like the cathedral and the aqueduct, with their thick stone walls, remained standing. Thus the continuity of the 1930s architecture and the rich color adobe building facades give the city an elegant grace.

Oaxaca is exceptionally clean and the cobblestone streets and sidewalks are much easier to walk on than those in San Miguel, the beautiful city just north of Mexico City where we stayed last summer for a couple weeks. I took a bad fall on one of the hilly cobbled sidewalks in San Miguel the first day we were there. No trips or falls so far here. The streets and sidewalks are cobblestone here as well but not dangerously random in their construction like those in San Miguel.

There seem to be fewer expats here in Oaxaca than in San Miguel and few natives speak English. Harry's Spanish is back up to speed, which may be good when the cops pull us over for speeding on our drive up the peninsula next week. I have been speaking more bad Spanish and my comprehension is adequate, at least for shopping. It is good to be forced to speak. In Cabo, the minute you begin to stumble in Spanish, the waiters and store clerks speak to you in perfect English.

This city is surrounded by cloud-covered mountains which you can see from the city streets and the air smells so good. A sense of calm permeates here, except during rush hours: the crazy driving seems to set a record that even Los Cabos can't match. You feel very relaxed. It has been a relief to find a respite from the opressive heat and humidity in Cabo. When we left the plane here, it was about 70 degrees and no humidity. The evenings are cool and you can wear a light sweater or jacket and feel comfortable.

Oaxaca is known for its unique cousine, weaving, and textiles, the perfect -- or more accurately, dangerous -- place for a woman who loves nothing more than to eat and shop. We had dinner last night at a small, quaint, nine-table restaurant recommended by our hotel. We ordered tostadas with Oaxacan sausage and chicken fandango: chicken stuffed with plantains covered with a mole sauce. The food is like nothing I have ever tasted. I have temporarily given up drinking coffee, instead drinking hot chocolate like the natives. They steam the milk and add a bit of cinnamon to the chocolate. (Unfortunately, according to a Certain Person, they also add cinnamon to the coffee.) I watched at the restaurant where we had breakfast this morning, as a woman skillfully used one of those ancient wooden tools to mix the chocolate by hand into the milk. I felt like I had time-lapsed (sic!) back a few hundred years. I have no idea what we actually ate for breakfast, we just pointed to some beautiful looking food on the counter and they brought it on plates to our table.

We bought one of the famous Oaxacan rugs today in town after looking around to get an idea of quality and price. We found a lovely hand-woven one with a very intricate pattern. The shopkeeper said her son had woven the rug on the loom that was standing in the middle of the shop. When we paid her in cash, she did a silent prayer with ritual motions: we weren't sure whether she always does that or whether it was the first substantial cash she has seen in a while. A rug will be good because wall space for art, as forementioned in this blog, is scarce in our condo. We also found Harry a nice dress shirt and and the cutest little white woven jacket for Eva Juliet. Tonight we went out for dinner wearing tasteful T-shirts I bought us late this afternoon with the words Oaxaca, Mexico on the front with interesting Indian designs. I asked Harry if he thought people would take us for tourists. Of course, he spilled food on his new shirt.

Tomorrow we plan to take a bus to the ancient ruins of the Zapotec city, Monte Alban, just outside the city. Details to come....