Before we start, we just heard the news about the bombings in Istanbul and Marmaris. We are not there, and are fine.
We are currently in the middle of a weeklong stay at the most isolated place we've been so far, a 10 acre eco-tourism site in a valley (vadi) off the Mediterranean Coast. It is the brainchild of an architect who has been envisioning the project for 25 years, bought land 7 years ago, and this summer opened for business for the first time. On entering the Pastoral from a rutted, rock-strewn dirt path of a road, we were greeted by a grove of orange trees, a greenhouse, pomegranate and pear trees, a sheep shed, and a mule. There are several buildings near the entrance made of traditional mud brick, and more underway of stone. Rounding the grove, we reached the kitchen, the center of the Pastoral; here, Feride and Nurgun cook Mediterranean flavored food (mostly vegetarian) in anchor-weight iron pots over an open wood flame, scented with sage leaves. Two pools, one for swimming, are fed by mountain water which, from the pools, continues to the sea, and which flows in through a trough carved from a tree trunk and wedged into the Y of another tree. Eating tables overlook the pool. Near the kitchen are several pavilions lined with cushions where one can sit, shoeless, and drink tea. Our house is one of 8 wooden cabins further along from the kitchen, with adobe tile floors, a chapel ceiling, and a large porch overlooking a duck pond.
We are here through the Turkish organic farming program 'Tatuta' as volunteers, staying for free in exchange for work. There turns out to be basically nothing to do in the outdoors, but we have become expert dishwashers (and Erik is probably the first man to hold that position in the whole village!) So when it's not dish time, we do a lot of reading, strolling, and tea drinking. The highlight of our very relaxing time here, though, was our first walk, when we were followed by an insistent, persistent, teeny tiny, nearly starving baby kitty. She followed us into every building we were being shown, forcing us to (willingly) to carry her and our host, a little less willingly, to introduce her to the architect's elderly mother; the cat-loving older woman fed her some milk and said she should be taken to the restaurant; and so, the kitty we lovingly call Scruffy made it out of the woods and into a well-fed home. (Unfortunately for us, Scruffy was not to stay at the restaurant, where we could pet her all day, but instead to go home to live with Feride, the cook; but we're consoled by knowing that she's happy).
Monday, August 28, 2006
Gallipoli
After Istanbul we toured Gallipoli, the World War I battlefield located on the Dardenelles/Hellespont Strait near Troy. The conflict pitted the Allied forces against the Ottoman Turks, but most of the allies were ANZACs (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps).
We brushed up on our history by watching at the hotel Peter Weir's (early 80s?) drama Gallipoli featurıing a young Mel Gibson (not a bad film except for the horrendous synthesizer soundtrack), and a dry documentary with interviews with Australian war vets.
Apparently it's unusual to have any foreigners who aren't from Australia or N.Z. tour the battlefields. We had an excellent tour guıde: a retired Turkish naval captain, university lecturer and military historian whose grandfather had been killed in Gallipoli. Although the battles caused an absurd number of casualties and highlighted the stupidity and carnage of WWI-style trench warfare, our guide said that both sides won some victory: for the Anzacs, their victory was the 'Anzac Spirit,' which led to Australia and N.Z. feeling less like British colonies and more like independent nations; and for the Turks their victory was Ataturk.
Ataturk (Mustafa Kemal) was a commander at Gallipoli who correctly guessed where the Anzacs would attack, and disobeyed the orders of his German superior to be in the right place at the right time. In one battle, a piece of shrapnel hit his pocketwatch which would have otherwise pierced his heart.
One example of the type of fighting and casualties is the battle of Lone Pine, where 2,200 Anzacs and 4,000 Turks died for a piece of ground (as our guide repeated incessantly) 'not bigger than 2 tennis courts.' But our guide also said that it was a 'gentleman's war,' that both sides came to respect each other, with some firing into the air instead of at the enemy, and both sides lobbing gifts instead of grenades into the enemy trenches. Despite estimates that as many as half of the 120,000 allied troops would be killed when they finally decided to evacuate, not a single allied troop was killed during the evacuatıon, which our guide said was the Turks keeping their tradition of not firing on a retreating enemy.
We brushed up on our history by watching at the hotel Peter Weir's (early 80s?) drama Gallipoli featurıing a young Mel Gibson (not a bad film except for the horrendous synthesizer soundtrack), and a dry documentary with interviews with Australian war vets.
Apparently it's unusual to have any foreigners who aren't from Australia or N.Z. tour the battlefields. We had an excellent tour guıde: a retired Turkish naval captain, university lecturer and military historian whose grandfather had been killed in Gallipoli. Although the battles caused an absurd number of casualties and highlighted the stupidity and carnage of WWI-style trench warfare, our guide said that both sides won some victory: for the Anzacs, their victory was the 'Anzac Spirit,' which led to Australia and N.Z. feeling less like British colonies and more like independent nations; and for the Turks their victory was Ataturk.
Ataturk (Mustafa Kemal) was a commander at Gallipoli who correctly guessed where the Anzacs would attack, and disobeyed the orders of his German superior to be in the right place at the right time. In one battle, a piece of shrapnel hit his pocketwatch which would have otherwise pierced his heart.
One example of the type of fighting and casualties is the battle of Lone Pine, where 2,200 Anzacs and 4,000 Turks died for a piece of ground (as our guide repeated incessantly) 'not bigger than 2 tennis courts.' But our guide also said that it was a 'gentleman's war,' that both sides came to respect each other, with some firing into the air instead of at the enemy, and both sides lobbing gifts instead of grenades into the enemy trenches. Despite estimates that as many as half of the 120,000 allied troops would be killed when they finally decided to evacuate, not a single allied troop was killed during the evacuatıon, which our guide said was the Turks keeping their tradition of not firing on a retreating enemy.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Shopping
Ignoring the thousands of tourist shops that line the streets of Sultanahmet (the biggest touristy neighborhood of Istanbul), we've experienced three distinctive shopping arenas in the city. (Mom and Dad, don't worry, these experiences have been pretty much spending-free...). The first was the Grand Bazaar, which is basically a hive of teeny streets that some years ago were put under a huge roof-- probably for the purpose of guaranteeing no lost selling days during tourist season. Roughly speaking, there are different sections of the bazaar-- leather jacket streets, gold necklace streets-- but in reality brightly colored glass lamps and polyester 'pashminas' and faux-Abercrombie and Lacoste polo shirts have infiltrated almost everywhere. Probably the thing that pleased me most in the bazaar was the number of shopkeepers who spoke to us in French or Spanish or Italian instead of English-- I took this as a compliment on my outfit, but most likely it's just that there aren't that many Americans or Brits around. But I also enjoyed trying to call them out on some of their tricks-- which, when one person is selling a scarf for 6 lira and another is selling the same scarf for 20 lira, really isn't that hard. We did spend awhile in a closet-sized store selling Uzbek, Turkmen, and Kazakh jewelry and felt goods (including a felt bird we bought from Aid to Artisans in Hartford two years ago!), and there we had tea with the owner, who had bee in Turkey from Turkmenistan for a few years, and came away with a turqoise neckace for $6. Feeling rather victorious, we headed for home.
At the Spice Bazaar, a day later, our spending was not quite so controlled. This is the ultimate location for those ubiquitous childhood fantasies of being locked in a candy shop. Table after table is brimming with gooey, sugar-dusted Turkish Delight, baklava, dates, figs, dried kiwi, nuts, and spices. (I remember looking for saffron at Whole Foods and finding a square inch packet for about $20... here the saffron was mounded in a deep basket). We stocked up on snacks-- you need food, right?-- and kept ourselves going as we wandered the stalls by keeping globs of Turkish Delight in our mouths.
But I think my favorite market experience in Istabul was just perusing the wares set up every night on the ground at the ferry dock near the Galata Bridge. Here, tourists are not the target audience (a welcome change)-- rather, Turkish women, many of them in full coverings, toss around shoes and scarves and shirts, haggling with the vendors and creating massive bottlenecks for anyone just trying to walk through. Meanwhile, men walk around with boxes of 'designer' perfume, razor blades, lottery tickets, and anything else you might need for a night out on the town. Several sets of goods are sold by people who do not appear to be Turkish-- Kurdish, Azerbaijani, Kazakh, or Uzbek would be my guess-- and their wares often consist of fur-lined leather vests and coats and hats with ear flaps and pom-poms: not the first thing that comes to mind on a warm summer evening, but maybe people plan ahead. We made the walk through this crowd several evenings in a row, enjoying the frenetic energy of it all and, usually, letting the slow pace take us over for a little while.
At the Spice Bazaar, a day later, our spending was not quite so controlled. This is the ultimate location for those ubiquitous childhood fantasies of being locked in a candy shop. Table after table is brimming with gooey, sugar-dusted Turkish Delight, baklava, dates, figs, dried kiwi, nuts, and spices. (I remember looking for saffron at Whole Foods and finding a square inch packet for about $20... here the saffron was mounded in a deep basket). We stocked up on snacks-- you need food, right?-- and kept ourselves going as we wandered the stalls by keeping globs of Turkish Delight in our mouths.
But I think my favorite market experience in Istabul was just perusing the wares set up every night on the ground at the ferry dock near the Galata Bridge. Here, tourists are not the target audience (a welcome change)-- rather, Turkish women, many of them in full coverings, toss around shoes and scarves and shirts, haggling with the vendors and creating massive bottlenecks for anyone just trying to walk through. Meanwhile, men walk around with boxes of 'designer' perfume, razor blades, lottery tickets, and anything else you might need for a night out on the town. Several sets of goods are sold by people who do not appear to be Turkish-- Kurdish, Azerbaijani, Kazakh, or Uzbek would be my guess-- and their wares often consist of fur-lined leather vests and coats and hats with ear flaps and pom-poms: not the first thing that comes to mind on a warm summer evening, but maybe people plan ahead. We made the walk through this crowd several evenings in a row, enjoying the frenetic energy of it all and, usually, letting the slow pace take us over for a little while.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Aya Sofya and Blue Mosque
Located next to Topkapi Palace, the Aya Sofya is the most famous sacred space in Istanbul. It's huge (larger than the Vatican) and really old: built by the Roman Emperor Justinian in the 500s as a Christian church, it was destroyed during the Crusades (we think by the Christians, but are unclear why the Christians would attack an already Christian city...). At any rate, when Istanbul was conquered by the Ottomans in 1453 the Aya Sofya became a mosque, so the mosaics of Mary and Jesus and the Archangel Gabriel now look down upon the mimbar (the Islamic equivalent of the pulpit). There are many beautiful mosaics, although not as stunning as the Kariye mosaics we saw later. The exterior of the building is not as interesting- the four minarets do look a little out of place with the rest of the structure.
The Aya Sofya and the Blue Mosque are the two structures that dominate the landscape of Sultanahmet, the tourist neighborhood where we stayed. Our hotel's rooftop terrace had an especially great view of the Aya Sofya, which looks even more impressive lit up at night. We would also hear the muezzin call to prayer from the Mosque. Last Sunday, Muslims celebrated Mohammed's Ascension. We heard songs and speeches from the mosque until at least midnight, and people in our hotel said that some people stayed all night to pray. To enter the Blue Mosque, we had to go through a separate non-Muslim entrance and remove our shoes. They had cloth wraps at the door; Rachel had to take one to cover her shoulders, but despite the sign saying shorts weren't allowed they didn't seem to care about my wearing shorts. Inside, the mosque is beautifully decorated with tiles and painted designs, all in blue and red. There are small rectangles in the carpet for prayer rugs--not sure what the capacity is, but it was huge!
The Aya Sofya and the Blue Mosque are the two structures that dominate the landscape of Sultanahmet, the tourist neighborhood where we stayed. Our hotel's rooftop terrace had an especially great view of the Aya Sofya, which looks even more impressive lit up at night. We would also hear the muezzin call to prayer from the Mosque. Last Sunday, Muslims celebrated Mohammed's Ascension. We heard songs and speeches from the mosque until at least midnight, and people in our hotel said that some people stayed all night to pray. To enter the Blue Mosque, we had to go through a separate non-Muslim entrance and remove our shoes. They had cloth wraps at the door; Rachel had to take one to cover her shoulders, but despite the sign saying shorts weren't allowed they didn't seem to care about my wearing shorts. Inside, the mosque is beautifully decorated with tiles and painted designs, all in blue and red. There are small rectangles in the carpet for prayer rugs--not sure what the capacity is, but it was huge!
Welcome to Istanbul
If ın some number of years I decıde to move to Istanbul (whıch I most lıkely won´t), or at least return here as often as possıble (whıch I lıkely wıll), one reason wıll be the sweet kıttıes that are everywhere and love beıng scrıtched, and another reason wıll be the baklava, and another wıll be all the ferry boats. But that´s not what thıs entry ıs about. Thıs entry ıs about Topkapı Palace.
Home of Ottoman sultans for hundreds of years, and located half a block from our hotel, Topkapı ıs composed of buıldıngs set wıthın four concentrıc courtyards, whıch ın the tıme of the court grew ıncreasıngly exclusıve as they went. The whole thıng ıs very beautıful, wıth bıg old trees provıdıng lots of shade and beautıful vıews of the Bosphorous, full of boats, and of the Blue Mosque. The most glıttery sectıon ıs the Treasury, whıch contaıns such ıtems as Suleyman`s jewel-encrusted dagger, countless wrıtıng boxes and flasks and other everyday ıtems covered wıth emeralds and rubıes as ıf they were no more than rhınestones, and an 86-karat dıamond, purportedly found ın a trash heap by a peddlar who purchased ıt for three spoons. But my favorıte sectıon was the harem. Fallıng ın between the thırd and fourth courtyards, one sıde of the harem was lıned wıth rooms for the eunuchs, maınly Afrıcans, who held a posıtıon of hıgh ımportance ın the court, and were of course the only men permıtted to be near the sultan´s multıtudınous women. Further along are the sultan´s bath, massage, and dressıng rooms, whıch come equıpped wıth gold faucets and marble walls. There are many rooms for the concubınes and the "favorıtes", who held wıfely status; the walls of all of these are fully covered wıth the blue and turquoıse tıles typıcal of the Ottomans. (I love these tıles, as you can see ıf we fıgure out how to get our pıctures up). There´s also a huge swımmıng pool for the exclusıve use of the women. Swarmıng wıth tourısts as ıt was, the ımpressıveness of Topkapı was stıll strongly evıdent.
Home of Ottoman sultans for hundreds of years, and located half a block from our hotel, Topkapı ıs composed of buıldıngs set wıthın four concentrıc courtyards, whıch ın the tıme of the court grew ıncreasıngly exclusıve as they went. The whole thıng ıs very beautıful, wıth bıg old trees provıdıng lots of shade and beautıful vıews of the Bosphorous, full of boats, and of the Blue Mosque. The most glıttery sectıon ıs the Treasury, whıch contaıns such ıtems as Suleyman`s jewel-encrusted dagger, countless wrıtıng boxes and flasks and other everyday ıtems covered wıth emeralds and rubıes as ıf they were no more than rhınestones, and an 86-karat dıamond, purportedly found ın a trash heap by a peddlar who purchased ıt for three spoons. But my favorıte sectıon was the harem. Fallıng ın between the thırd and fourth courtyards, one sıde of the harem was lıned wıth rooms for the eunuchs, maınly Afrıcans, who held a posıtıon of hıgh ımportance ın the court, and were of course the only men permıtted to be near the sultan´s multıtudınous women. Further along are the sultan´s bath, massage, and dressıng rooms, whıch come equıpped wıth gold faucets and marble walls. There are many rooms for the concubınes and the "favorıtes", who held wıfely status; the walls of all of these are fully covered wıth the blue and turquoıse tıles typıcal of the Ottomans. (I love these tıles, as you can see ıf we fıgure out how to get our pıctures up). There´s also a huge swımmıng pool for the exclusıve use of the women. Swarmıng wıth tourısts as ıt was, the ımpressıveness of Topkapı was stıll strongly evıdent.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Getting Cultured
In the last few days, we have taken in (or at least been exposed to) as many manifestations of "culture" as any time since we visited 8 museums in 3 days in Paris 4 years ago. The first of the series was during our day-long stopover in Villahermosa, the capital of Tabasco, in between overnight bus rides on our way from Isla Mujeres to Mexico City. Although Villahermosa as a whole was a strikingly unlovely city, it was home to a unique and interesting site, Parque-Museo La Venta. Part of the park is a zoo containing only animals native to Tabasco, and peppered with reminders about the human responsibility to prevent extinction. The other half is a jungly walk that incorporates 30 or so Olmec sculptures, found earlier in the century at La Venta, and indicating that it was actually the central Olmec city during the time of their civilization, many years before the Maya. These were the oldest artifacts we have seen in Mexico, and are all that physically remain of the Olmec, whose language has still not been interpreted by modern scholars. Arriving in Mexico City, we followed up on La Venta by visiting the Templo Mayor, located in what is now the center of the country`s capital, and in what was at the time of the Mexica (Aztecs) the center of Tenochtitlan, their city in the middle of Lake Texcoco. The museum is very well set up, with a walkabout first to see all of the excavated temple, and then an indoor museum with extensive explanations of Mexica society. Unlike Rome, where large sections of the city feel to me to be permeated by ancient history, most of Mexico City feels quite removed from the Mexica past; the Templo Mayor is a moving exception.
The next day, we turned to art, spending the morning at the Palacio de Bellas Artes and the afternoon at the National Museum of Art (Munal). As the name suggests, the Palacio is a soaring Beaux-Artes building where every part is at least as much form as function. It houses several famous murals by Diego Rivera, as well as Siquieros and other artists. The temporary exhibit we saw was of contemporary Latin American art, which I am ashamed to say did no more for me than contemporary art ever does. The art at Munal, though, spoke to me strongly. That museum is arranged chronologically, from colonial religious art of the 16th century through Mexican art of 1950ish. While a dedicated post-modernist wouldn`t have liked the museums historical, contextual presentation of artisitc movements and works in Mexico, I certainly did. The development of a sense of nationalism in Mexican art, the continuing struggle over the last 200 years with the meaning of religion in Mexico, and the search for a definitive sense of Mexican identity were themes that particularly stood out.
Still on our feet, the following day we spent the morning at the incredibly expansive National Museum of Anthropology, which was quite as impressive as its reputation had promised. Each room of the museum is dedicated to the indigenous people of a certain area of Mexico. On the ground floor, the archeological record of the group is presented, with an incredible collection of artifacts complemented by some stunning larger pieces, both originals and reproductions-- murals, altars, carved walls, and the like. The top floor rooms take more of a modern-day anthropological perspective on each group, considering current traditions and economies, the effects of larger sociopolitical movements, and the like. Although by the end we were doing no more than walking through each exhibit, too worn out to read any more descriptions, the museum made quite an imprint. We followed that, rather discordantly, with an excellent tour of the Trotsky house, where he lived after being exiled from the USSR by Stalin, survived one massive machine gun attack, and was finally murdered with an ice axe in his study. The extent of Stalin`s global network, as described in the exhibit, was shocking to learn, and the unanswered questions that remain about Trotsky and his family were also intriguing. Also, our guide invited my sister Karen to give a lecture there when she finishes her research in the gulag this summer, which was tickling! We followed that up with an evening show of the Ballet Folklorico. It had a pretty Disney-ish feel, particularly after having spent even a little time in indigenous communities in the south, but nonetheless, it was a fun show.
We were prepared in our planning for all the museums to be closed on Monday, but did not expect that to include the large central park, Bosque Chapultepec. So we contented ourselves with watching "Miami Vice" and sitting around at Starbucks all afternoon.
Finally, on our last full day, we resumed our cultural endeavors with a flourish, taking the commuter rail out to the gorgeous Dolores Olmeda Museum. Like the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, the museum is composed of Olmeda`s private collection and is located on the grounds of her estate, which includes peacock-filled lawns and a stone hacienda with flowers climbing the walls. The permanent collection consists of room after room of Diego Rivera works, which exhibited a range of styles that I had never before associated with him; many indigenous artifacts, obtained who-knows-how; a fun collection of popular art, such as Dia de los Muertos skeletons and painted vases; and a room of Frida Kahlo paintings, which were unfortunately out on loan when we were there. There are also three of Olmeda`s "private" rooms open for touring, which were filled with probably 25 elephants' worth of carved ivory, and literally 100 photos or painted portraits of the ever-humble Dolores Olmeda herself. We followed that up with a walk through the now-open Bosque Chapultepec and around the zoo, where most of the animals seemed to be in hiding. And on our last evening in Mexico, we capped off our cultural experience the only way that seemed fitting: at the Coliseo, for a lucha libre. For the uninitiated, the lucha libre is a sporting event in which muscly men with waxed chests and backs, wearing colorful or skeleton-covered lycra pants and matching masks, pretend to fight with each other in a highly choreographed series of moves, while the crowd jeers and chants and blows noisemakers. The acting was pretty damn unconvincing, and after three fights that were all pretty much the same we cut out, but even so, it was definitely worth seeing. And now, with these many visions of Mexico floating in our heads, we prepare to fly out.
The next day, we turned to art, spending the morning at the Palacio de Bellas Artes and the afternoon at the National Museum of Art (Munal). As the name suggests, the Palacio is a soaring Beaux-Artes building where every part is at least as much form as function. It houses several famous murals by Diego Rivera, as well as Siquieros and other artists. The temporary exhibit we saw was of contemporary Latin American art, which I am ashamed to say did no more for me than contemporary art ever does. The art at Munal, though, spoke to me strongly. That museum is arranged chronologically, from colonial religious art of the 16th century through Mexican art of 1950ish. While a dedicated post-modernist wouldn`t have liked the museums historical, contextual presentation of artisitc movements and works in Mexico, I certainly did. The development of a sense of nationalism in Mexican art, the continuing struggle over the last 200 years with the meaning of religion in Mexico, and the search for a definitive sense of Mexican identity were themes that particularly stood out.
Still on our feet, the following day we spent the morning at the incredibly expansive National Museum of Anthropology, which was quite as impressive as its reputation had promised. Each room of the museum is dedicated to the indigenous people of a certain area of Mexico. On the ground floor, the archeological record of the group is presented, with an incredible collection of artifacts complemented by some stunning larger pieces, both originals and reproductions-- murals, altars, carved walls, and the like. The top floor rooms take more of a modern-day anthropological perspective on each group, considering current traditions and economies, the effects of larger sociopolitical movements, and the like. Although by the end we were doing no more than walking through each exhibit, too worn out to read any more descriptions, the museum made quite an imprint. We followed that, rather discordantly, with an excellent tour of the Trotsky house, where he lived after being exiled from the USSR by Stalin, survived one massive machine gun attack, and was finally murdered with an ice axe in his study. The extent of Stalin`s global network, as described in the exhibit, was shocking to learn, and the unanswered questions that remain about Trotsky and his family were also intriguing. Also, our guide invited my sister Karen to give a lecture there when she finishes her research in the gulag this summer, which was tickling! We followed that up with an evening show of the Ballet Folklorico. It had a pretty Disney-ish feel, particularly after having spent even a little time in indigenous communities in the south, but nonetheless, it was a fun show.
We were prepared in our planning for all the museums to be closed on Monday, but did not expect that to include the large central park, Bosque Chapultepec. So we contented ourselves with watching "Miami Vice" and sitting around at Starbucks all afternoon.
Finally, on our last full day, we resumed our cultural endeavors with a flourish, taking the commuter rail out to the gorgeous Dolores Olmeda Museum. Like the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, the museum is composed of Olmeda`s private collection and is located on the grounds of her estate, which includes peacock-filled lawns and a stone hacienda with flowers climbing the walls. The permanent collection consists of room after room of Diego Rivera works, which exhibited a range of styles that I had never before associated with him; many indigenous artifacts, obtained who-knows-how; a fun collection of popular art, such as Dia de los Muertos skeletons and painted vases; and a room of Frida Kahlo paintings, which were unfortunately out on loan when we were there. There are also three of Olmeda`s "private" rooms open for touring, which were filled with probably 25 elephants' worth of carved ivory, and literally 100 photos or painted portraits of the ever-humble Dolores Olmeda herself. We followed that up with a walk through the now-open Bosque Chapultepec and around the zoo, where most of the animals seemed to be in hiding. And on our last evening in Mexico, we capped off our cultural experience the only way that seemed fitting: at the Coliseo, for a lucha libre. For the uninitiated, the lucha libre is a sporting event in which muscly men with waxed chests and backs, wearing colorful or skeleton-covered lycra pants and matching masks, pretend to fight with each other in a highly choreographed series of moves, while the crowd jeers and chants and blows noisemakers. The acting was pretty damn unconvincing, and after three fights that were all pretty much the same we cut out, but even so, it was definitely worth seeing. And now, with these many visions of Mexico floating in our heads, we prepare to fly out.
Adventures in the Kitchen
Just in case any of you are worried that while we´re cavorting around the world we´re not giving enough thought to our future, you can rest easy: Erik and I are ready to begin work on the prospectus for our new Food Network reality show, "insert your name suggestion here." The focus of the show will be on the travails and creative victories of cooking in hostel kitchens, with whatever culinary, equipment, and personnel challenges that may involve. The trailer for the show may zoom in on the kitchen at Vallodolid, where Rachel and Erik, rosy-cheeked and optimistic after a successful trip to the supermarket, return to the hostel to find the kitchen overrun by French teenagers, who are not only overwhelmingly energetic but are also monopolizing all four burners as they concoct what appears to be a perfect French stew, including a bottle of white wine for braising the chicken. This shot will be followed by a visual of the same kitchen an hour later, when the water for the city has been shut off and all hostel residents are crouched over buckets, using up the hostel´s tanked water supply in the attempt to both wash and rinse their dishes. The full-length pilot for the show, though, will no doubt take place in the kitchen in Mexico City. An internet search conducted before arrival prompts our heroes to choose this hostel because of the central location and the kitchen advertised on the website. Soon after arrival, Rachel and Erik again venture off to the market, filling their bag with fruits, vegetables, cheese, and tortillas. That evening they head with abandon into the kitchen, preparedto cook up a feast, only to find that the "kitchen" does not contain any cooking equipment-- no knives, no plates, no pots, nothing. Upon going to the front desk to complain, Rachel is told by the manager on duty that of course there is nothing in the kitchen, you have to bring your own. Rachel accuses the hostel of false advertising, a claim that seems to hold no weight with the manager, but her tantrum does gain them the use of two plates and cutlery sets from the hostel restaurant. Somewhat satisfied, they head upstairs for cold tortillas with avocado and cheese, and mango for dessert. The next evening, now knowing what to expect, Rachel and Erik return to the kitchen prepared to enjoy another of the same meal. They sit down at the table and open the shopping bags they´d left, labeled with their names, in the fridge... to find that someone has stolen their cheese and taken a large slice off their remaining mango! Oh, the flying sparks! Rachel curses the thief, who probably also has her Red Sox hat, and hopes the cheese makes him sick, while Erik laughs and calmly eats his tortilla and avocado sandwich. And then, on kitchen attempt 3, our viewers bear witness, at last, to a kitchen victory. Having learned from another resident that there is, indeed, one communal pot, Erik borrows some matches from the surly manager to light the stove and cleans a bunch of spinach, and Rachel, armed only with your average eating knife, determinedly and jaggedly slices two onions; half an hour later, a fragrant and colorful vegetable dish is bubbling away, making for tortillas that taste gourmet to the dogged cooks. The pilot closes with a shot of Rachel and Erik toasting each other with their (borrowed) glasses of shockingly ripe Mexican wine. Producers, anyone?
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
The Cool and the Uncool
A few days ago, before we came to Isla Mujeres, we took two buses to a small town a couple hours north of Valladolid called Rio Lagartos. Upon arriving, we were rather dismayed to find that the advice of the woman in the tourist office in Valladolid was quite wrong, in that we could not simply take a walk through the wildlife refuge in Rio, as she had said, but instead needed to hire a rather expensive boat to see any of the birds. We had barely enough cash to do that, almost forced to take another 50 minute bus ride to the nearest ATM, but squeaking by we made it onto a boat, and there forgot our annoyance at the bad advice-- nearly as soon as we pulled away from the dock, we came upon our first flock of wild flamingoes, standing in the water searching for shrimp to further pinken their feathers, or walking about in that knees-bending-backward way that never fails to look as if it should not be physically possible. A little bit farther out in the water, we came across two more groups of the birds; while one flock was not bothered by our presence and continued standing in the water, the other took flight, graceful feet running on top of the water to get going, the wings opening to reveal stunning black edging to the multi-hued pink of the rest. It was an exhilirating moment-- but also served, unfortunately, to render more gut-socking the theft of our camera that had occurred two nights before, on the overnight bus from Palenque to Valladolid. The sense of violation caused by this event was great, and was heightened by the fact that the thief took not only the camera-- the most expensive thing I´d ever bought, or was ever planning to buy before a house-- but also my Red Sox hat, and, just to be really annoying, our alarm clock. I was luckier than the young German man on the bus, who lost not only his camera but also all his credit cards, but it still put a damper on our travels here. I am happy to report, though, that the boat ride was a cathartic experience, the flamingoes supplemented by great snowy egrets and brown pelicans and myriad cormorants, and though we have nothing physical to show for it, the visions of those birds remain imprinted in our minds.
Cenote Dzitnup and Isla Mujeres
Cenote Dzitnup
while in valladolid, we went to the cenote dzitnup. cenotes are underground caves with water in them where you can swim- supposedly these specific formations exist only in the yucatan and nowhere else in the world. the yucatan has no above-ground rivers because of the rock and soil composition: we did see some swamp-like areas, but i guess otherwise the water goes underground.
to enter cenote dzitnup we had to practically crawl through the opening to get to a huge cavern, with a hole at the top and sunlight streaming in. we could see a few bats, and there were long tree roots hanging down to the water that you could swing on. the swimming was nice! we couldn´t fail to notice yet another humorous mistranslation: "careful rocks are slepering," so we were very quiet in order not to wake the slepering rocks.
Isla Mujeres
we´ve been in isla mujeres, a small island off cancun, since fri., and have been enjoying the laid-back lifestyle of the beach. we were able to rent an apartment for the time we´re here, so have been very comfortable and able to cook for ourselves.
the beach here is totally different from the beach in oaxaca: here there are almost no waves, the water is really shallow, there´s a lot of white sand and little variation in the water level from the tides. the water can be all different colors, from clear to turquoise to a darker blue. the light also seems brighter, but the main similarity is that it´s really hot! we´ve done a good job avoiding sunburn so far.
other than going to the beach, our only activity has been taking a snorkeling boat trip. we snorkeled in two spots, one next to a coral reef (although the coral didn´t look very alive). saw lots of fish: tiny irridescent minows, medium-sized yellow fish that would be right on top of each other in a school, purple fish and rainbow fish and barracudas. we fed some of the fish with tortillas. the trip ended with a delicious grilled mackerel meal in a restaurant.
one of the spots we snorkeled at was next to one of several ships blown/wrecked by hurricane wilma last year, there´s also pretty extensive damage on one side of the island. not surprisingly, the mexican government´s first priority in rebuilding from the hurricane was areas like cancun, we´ve heard that parts of chiapas were also extensively damaged and that there´s been basically no rebuilding aid for them.
while in valladolid, we went to the cenote dzitnup. cenotes are underground caves with water in them where you can swim- supposedly these specific formations exist only in the yucatan and nowhere else in the world. the yucatan has no above-ground rivers because of the rock and soil composition: we did see some swamp-like areas, but i guess otherwise the water goes underground.
to enter cenote dzitnup we had to practically crawl through the opening to get to a huge cavern, with a hole at the top and sunlight streaming in. we could see a few bats, and there were long tree roots hanging down to the water that you could swing on. the swimming was nice! we couldn´t fail to notice yet another humorous mistranslation: "careful rocks are slepering," so we were very quiet in order not to wake the slepering rocks.
Isla Mujeres
we´ve been in isla mujeres, a small island off cancun, since fri., and have been enjoying the laid-back lifestyle of the beach. we were able to rent an apartment for the time we´re here, so have been very comfortable and able to cook for ourselves.
the beach here is totally different from the beach in oaxaca: here there are almost no waves, the water is really shallow, there´s a lot of white sand and little variation in the water level from the tides. the water can be all different colors, from clear to turquoise to a darker blue. the light also seems brighter, but the main similarity is that it´s really hot! we´ve done a good job avoiding sunburn so far.
other than going to the beach, our only activity has been taking a snorkeling boat trip. we snorkeled in two spots, one next to a coral reef (although the coral didn´t look very alive). saw lots of fish: tiny irridescent minows, medium-sized yellow fish that would be right on top of each other in a school, purple fish and rainbow fish and barracudas. we fed some of the fish with tortillas. the trip ended with a delicious grilled mackerel meal in a restaurant.
one of the spots we snorkeled at was next to one of several ships blown/wrecked by hurricane wilma last year, there´s also pretty extensive damage on one side of the island. not surprisingly, the mexican government´s first priority in rebuilding from the hurricane was areas like cancun, we´ve heard that parts of chiapas were also extensively damaged and that there´s been basically no rebuilding aid for them.
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