Paradise

Evan and I arrived in Puerto Angel on Monday. To get here we had to spend six hours in a 15 passenger van. We left at 5:00 AM and the sun was just starting to rise as we began our climb into the mountains. The views were spectacularly breath taking - we saw coffee plants growing wild and other amazingly lush vegetation. To say that we feared for our lives on this trip, would be, in a word, true. The roads reminded us of the back roads through the Blue Ridge mountains between North Carolina and Tennessee, but at a much higher altitude, without guard rails and a perpetual cliff edge to one side of us. Simply put, we were scared. I tried to remind myself that the driver probably had no desire to go tumbling off a mountain and that he probably makes this drive at least twice a day. But every time I saw him cross himself, my heart rate rose. ¨Don´t ask God for help; God wants you to drive slower, buddy!¨ I felt like shouting. In the end, we arrived safely. Although, at one part during our trip, as we were getting close to Puerto Angel, we had to get out of our van, and cross a bridge by foot to meet another van on the opposite side. We didn´t understand why until we were out in the middle of it. Local villagers had shut down the bridge by placing tree trunks and cement blocks in the road in order to protest the lack of education available to their children. I know this because the girl sitting next to me on the bus was friendly and eager to practice her English on me. The protesters weren´t alone - there were Mexican soldiers, heavily armed, standing in front of them. Realizing what was happening I paused to reach for my camera in my backpack. Evan turned around, just as I was bent over it and in one movement, he put my pack back on my shoulders, then pushed me in front of him and said, ¨we´re moving!¨ rather sternly. I stuck my tongue out at him. You can all blame Evan for ruining my chances at becoming a photo journalist. (And seriously - if any of you lived in a place where your children couldn't attend school, wouldn't you be out there shutting down bridges too?) As I write this, Evan is at the computer next to me buying airline tickets so we don´t have to sit on a six-hour roller coaster back to our original departure site.

Puerto Angel is a working fishing village and a Mexican Naval base. It is tiny and quaint and the fish is really fresh. The ocean is a deep, deep blue and the waves crash loud enough to hear from our room. So far, we've visited a couple of beaches and a local lagoon that acts as a wildlife sanctuary, predominantly turtles and crocodiles. Tomorrow we´re going snorkeling and if we're lucky, we'll meet dolphins and whales.

Our hotel has a summer-camp feel to it. Our room is made from concrete and we share a bath room with other guests. There is no hot water and no air conditioning. At night, we sleep without sheets, naked under a mosquito net. We have a fan, but the net stops most of the airflow. We wake up hot and sticky and a little irritated until we stumble outside and see the ocean. It feels like paradise. We might cry when we finally have to leave.

More later.

Monte Alban

The rain ended yesterday evening and although today was cloudy and cool it was warm enough to head off to Monte Alban. To get there we had to buy tickets from a bus company downtown. We were supposed to leave at 10:30, but the bus was forty minutes late. When it arrived we piled into it and covered our mouths as it belched diesel exhaust up the mountain switchbacks. The site is huge; the part available to tourists is at least one square kilometer and as we learned later, less than 10% of the ruins have been excavated. We walked around, slack-jawed with amazement for three hours.

Monte Alban was the economic, politcal and religious capitol of the Zapotec culture. In its golden age (300 - 700 AD), the population was about 40,000. It's situated on top of a mountain, surrounded by a valley which is surrounded by more mountains. Obviously, this made the city easier to defend and the choice of location was not an accident. Evan and I hired an English-speaking guide which was expensive but worth every peso because we learned an incredible amount of information in a very short time. I don't have time to write it all right now, so here are the coolest tidbits.

- The Zapotec were one of three early cultures to successfully perform brain surgery. The Mayans and the ancient Egyptians were the other two.
- Unlike most other impressive early cultures the Zapotec didn't own slaves, which means that all of their grand structures were built willingly by people who were compensated, which means that the society must have been incredibly wealthy.
- Due to their level of intellectual advancement many have theorized that they had some sort of public education system.
- There's an awful lot about them that we don't know; their written and mathematical languages remain undeciphered. There is no Rosetta Stone for Meso-America.
-The Zapotec didn't die out - their descendants are around today, although they did abandon their capitol at some point and no one knows why. There is a Zapotec language.
- We saw a tarantula! This has nothing to do with the Zapotec people, but we saw it in its natural habitat and we took pictures... with the zoom lens...

Early, (very early), tomorrow morning Evan and I are heading to Puerto Angel, which is a teeny-tiny fishing village without a single ATM, (probably not a single McDonalds, either!)

Rain and Lady Gaga

Today is cold, damp and dreary. Evan and I woke up this morning, threw open the shutters and saw our ruined plans in the puddles. We were supposed to visit some ruins this afternoon but the rain made us hesitant to spend thirty minutes in the back of a pickup to get to the site. So we had breakfast, then walked to a huge outdoor market that sells a myriad of items, including ball gowns, spices, livestock, lumber, and DVDs. The only thing we couldn't find were umbrellas. Every country we've been to has had these expansive markets but Mexico is the first country where people didn't try incessantly to pull us into their shops in order to show us items in which we had no interest. As we entered the markets we both made a subconcious effort to keep our heads down and avoid eye contact but as we wandered we noticed that everyone was laid back. Eventually we started to smile at people and stop to smell the spices. People smiled back. No one tried to give us the "hard sell." Occasionally someone would try to talk to us in Spanish and all we could do was smile and shrug our shoulders. The response is always a reciprocating smile and a nod. No one repeats the same sentence with added volume. We've been here a handful of days and have encountered only polite, hospitable, beautiful people. Every time we travel Evan looks at me and says "we should become expats here! Lets just cash in our savings, get an apartment and some jobs." I always say something sarcastic like, "sure, where's the closest ATM?" But this time when Evan made the expat comment I looked him in the eyes and said "Yes. We Should."

Our hotel is across the street from an elementary school and at the moment there's some sort of fiesta taking place. We can see the pinatas from our window and we can hear the music loud and clear. Our windows thump with the bass - it seems to be a dance party of sorts. Evan is drinking coffee and reading his book next to me and we're both bouncing to the beat a bit. I love it here. We'll go to the ruins tomorrow. We can see some more museums today.

Yay For Clean Panties!

Our first two days in Mexico have been pretty rough. Our flight out of Houston was delayed and we got into Veracruz close to midnight. We were tired, but we perked up a bit as soon as we stepped off the plane and breathed the balmy, salty air. We were quickly admitted through customs and then stood waiting next to the luggage carousel. The wall between us and the baggage handlers was thin and we could hear the truck pull up and the men talking as they unloaded it. Passangers grabbed their bags and one by one, started filtering out of baggage claim. After about ten minutes, the conveyor door slammed shut and we heard the baggage truck start up and drive away. Evan and I looked at each other, by now the only two people remaining next to the carousel. "That's fuckin' brutal," he said. We snagged a passing airport employee and because neither of us speaks any Spanish, Evan looked at the man, held up his arms in the universal sign of confusion, then pointed at the carousel and said "Perdido," which means "lost." The guy (who's name was Juan, we found out later), squinted at Evan and in perfect English said "Are you trying to tell me that your bags didn't make it?" We nodded. Juan whistled, "It might be a while,"he said, "we only get one flight a night."

Our Mexico trip thus began rather inauspiciously. Luckily, Juan was incredibly helpful and since we weren't planning to stay in Veracruz, he was able to rereoute our bags to Oaxaca and we picked them up from the airport this morning. Wearing the same clothes for three days was unpleasant, hence the title. But now I am sitting in our hotel's courtyard, with a rented lap top on my lap while Evan drinks local coffee (which he says is amazing) on the roof-top terrace.

We spent most of yesterday on a bus. The bus itself was very clean and comfortable and if you have more time than money in Mexico, it's an excellent way to travel. We drove over mountains that started green and lush then changed to rocky and cactus-covered, then they changed to mountains that looked like rocks stacked on top of each other with very little growing on them. I closed my eyes as our bus driver crossed the double yellow line to pass slow moving trucks on blind curves. Oaxaca is beautiful. The buildings are all brightly colored and the people are amazingly patient with our lack of Spanish. Breakfast this morning was unbelievable - I ate tortilla chips drowned in red sauce then garnished with fresh onion, farmers cheese and crema. Evan had a traditional Oaxacan dish, basically a giant tamale wrapped in a banana leaf instead of a corn husk with masa (corn dough), chicken and a dark mole sauce inside. Our lives are ruined -- we will never again be satisfied with Tex-Mex restaurants in the US.

I'll write more later - we have exploring to do.

Off We Go!

I'm writing this fromt he Houston airport USO. Evan and I will be taking off to Veracruz, Mexico in a couple of hours. The original plan was to spend several days in and around Xalapa and the Emerald Coast on the Atlantic side of the country. However lousy weather has encouraged us to change our plans and tomorrow morning we'll be boarding a bus to Oaxaca, which is in the mountains near the Pacific. From there, we'll be able to see several ruins including Monte Alban, the oldest tree in the world, and maybe the adorable beach town of Puerto Angel. There should be plenty of stuff to keep us busy. For the foodies out there, Oaxacan is famous for it's mole sauces. Our tummies are rumbling already.

Evan and I packed extremely light for this trip. I brought my camera, a couple changes of clothes, sandals, toiletries, enough yarn to make a pair of socks, and nothing else. Neither of us brought our computers. I am going to make a committed effort to do a bit of blogging from internet cafes, though. Look to hear from me in a few days!

Deployment Tips

I have survived three deployments and I've learned a few things along the way. A dear friend of mine is now facing a deployment of her own and I put this together partly for her, and partly for anyone else who may stumble across this blog. There is no panacea for deployments. They suck; you just have to muddle through them, but here's my advice.


1. Everyone is happier when everyone is happier. Try to present the happiest part of your days when you talk to your deployed loved one. I am not suggesting that you lie or sugar coat things. But seriously, everyone is comforted when everyone is alright.

2. Take a multi-vitamin. Depression is equal parts physical and mental. You have to take good care of yourself. If you don't - no one else will. I cannot tell you how many times I felt unhappy until I got up, went for a walk and made myself a sandwich. Doing small, simple, boring things can really make you feel better.

3. Make yourself comfortable, and I mean that in every possible sense of the word. Eat the food you like, do the activities you like, sleep in when you can, buy nice soaps and high quality chocolate. A serious source of happiness has left, you have to try and fill the void with other sources of happiness.

4. Devote more time to perfecting your hobby. If you don't have a hobby, you need one.

5. Be patient with yourself, especially in the beginning. The emotions that accompany deployment stress are very similar to grieving.* You are not going to function at full capacity. Don't be angry with yourself - that will only make it worse. You need to be on your own team. Be nice to yourself. There might be a little voice inside yourself that tells you not to be so indulgent - tell that voice to fuck itself.

6. The first six to eight weeks are brutal. You will not feel like yourself, you'll get frustrated over small, stupid things and you will nearly wreck your car at least twice. Be especially careful while driving. The same goes for the first three weeks after R&R.

7. Let people help you. If someone offers to help, take them up on it. You're going to encounter people who couldn't care less and people who want to take care of you. Avoid the people who do not care and educate them if you cannot. Reach out to the people who want to help you. You can not do this alone.

8. My grandmother had a son who fought in the Vietnam war. When she got lonely and afraid for him she played some of those big, military marches on her record player. This did not work for me, I am too cynical, but it might work for you.

9. Ban sad or depressing movies/books/poems/wallpaper. Do not watch war-movies either. Just don't. I am embarrassed to admit this, but during deployments I typically become a fan of the Die Hard movies, the Lord of the Ring trilogy and Harry Potter.

10. If you live alone, adopt a pet if you don't already have one. Coming home to another living creature is very wonderful. Knowing there is someone at home who needs you can be life-altering.

11. I strongly recommend keeping a journal. Write down how you feel. It just helps.

12. Alcohol is trouble. My problem is that it's very hard to know my limits when I'm not talking to anyone or getting up and moving around. Sometimes I would consume half a bottle of wine before knowing that I was wasted. Ergo, I don't recommend drinking by oneself. While Evan was deployed I allowed myself to drink whenever I went out with other people, unless it's just really necessary. Sometimes it's just necessary. Sometimes the best thing to do is to have several glasses of [your drink here] and go to bed early. Just don't do it every night.

13. When the military offers advice, they usually say, "find a routine." That's vague and useless. What they ought to say is that you need to have a reason to leave your home for a few hours a day, several days a week. Someone needs to expect something from you, whether it's an essay, or to read a new book, or to show up at a job or to buy a friggin' cup of coffee. You need regular, face-to-face contact with other human beings. It is crucial.

14. Sometimes you will need to cry for no real reason. Keep a package of tissues in your purse. One day, while leaving the grocery store I noticed that one of my tires was dangerously low. There were several gas stations very nearby and all I had to do was drive the car slowly, find one with an air machine and fill up the tire. It was not a big deal and if my husband had been with me at that moment nothing would have changed. But somehow, seeing and dealing with this teeny, tiny crisis on my own made me lose it. I got into my car, leaned my head against the steering wheel and sobbed. When I was done I wiped my face, then went about finding a gas station to fill up the tire and everything was fine.

15. Long absences give you a chance to examine your relationship. You will better understand all the reasons you are right for each other. This is why deployments make some relationships stronger - you know why you're in love and you understand what you need from each other and how to communicate exactly what that is. Sometimes, you can tell yourself that you are sad and lonely because you are in love, but that only works when you're in a Polyanna-sort of mood. Not all relationships survive deployments but the ones that are built on real love and acceptance and mutual respect do.

16. Some people, when they learn your spouse is deployed, will tilt their heads, nod, frown and then say "I know how you feel." If they have never been through a deployment tell them exactly where to stick that. I give you permission.

17. Sometimes the only thing to do is to get through the day and hope that tomorrow will be better. There is no tonic for these feelings. Deployments suck. Try not to take out your anger on strangers.

18. There will be times when you feel absolutely certain that your loved one will die. It will feel like a lightening bolt of intuition; it will be sharp and clear. You will just know that something terrible is going to happen. This isn't intuition. It's what happens when your mind doesn't have enough to do. Shake it off and get busy with something.

19. You may find yourself getting more worried and anxious the closer you get to the homecoming. You do not want to have come so far only to lose everything. You will have to work extra hard at staying calm. I recommend meditation or yoga.

20. This might be the most important tip -- don't get overwhelmed. Don't spend a lot of time imagining how hard all the coming months will be and try not to stare at the calendar. Live in the present - focus on today and tomorrow and remember to breathe.

*Here's the thing - deployments are essentially a grieving process that can't progress because you have to maintain an emotional space for your loved one. So instead of healing and moving past the loss, you have to keep dealing with it. It's like living with an open wound.

Exhale

I have exhaled after holding my breath for a year. Our days swim by in glorious normalcy, for the most part. Our living situation is at the same time, strange and unusual and completely expected. We’re living in a three-room cottage on a nature preserve north of Fort Hood. It has no cable, no internet, no insulation and a phone that's constantly monitored by the army. Our cottage sits a few scant miles from the artillery impact zone. There's currently a unit training in the field and every time a round lands, the whole house shakes. As we were getting ready for bed one night, the rounds started falling quickly, one after another. Evan suggested we drive out to the range and see if we could see any explosions. I pulled his coat on over my pajamas and ran, barefoot over the frosty grass to the car. We found the range then sat with the engine running, holding hands in the dark. We didn't see anything.

We live twelve miles from anything, and seventeen miles from anywhere where I can check my email. We go through gas faster than ever and we have to organize our days around how often we want to dive back and forth between civilization and our temporary home. Our drive takes us past multiple herds of cattle, birds of prey and deer depending on the time of day. I've been trying to take pictures.

and me, Dark Topo style :

Other than the wildlife and the heavy weaponry nearby, our days are pretty normal. Evan has rediscovered his old cookbooks and we try new recipes with abandon. I have lots of free time to work on various knitting projects. I’ve even been getting into Evan’s video games when my fingers are too sore for any more yarn.