Travel – Page 42 – On the road with Jim

Vanilla and Voladores

Buenos Dias, mi nombre es Diane Rockerhousen. My husband, John and I live in Xico (hee’ ko), a town of 30k nestled in the subtropical mountains of the state of Veracruz, Mexico. We retired here from Silverton, Oregon, and I’d like to share that story and a bit about our pueblo.

There are three little words that strike terror in the hearts of strong men, “I was thinking. . .” Usually, John slaps a pillow over his head to filter out my next sentence. Eleven years ago with retirement looming on the horizon it was time to write next chapter in our lives; a chapter that didn’t include a large home on an acre of land in rural Oregon, but something smaller, while still having a manageable landscape. First step was selling the house, so we put it on the market in 2007 and didn’t see results until five years later.

We had friends in Oregon that were from the state of Veracruz, and I asked if they had family in the capital city of Xalapa. Silly us, of course they had family there, so I got a one way ticket, and made an exploratory visit. I loved the family, the environs, the climate, and the economy (in our favor), which resulted in us renting a house and beginning the process of moving nearly 3,000 miles south.

Why Mexico? Since John and I had traveled the US and Canada to our satisfaction, we decided to complete the North American trifecta, and head south for a new adventure. Not a day goes by that we aren’t thoroughly confused, entertained or ask ourselves, “Why in hell did we bring that?” After several years of settling in, we’re still happy with our decision. It more than meets our wants and needs

Xico, Veracruz, Mexico — The pueblo of Xico in Veracruz, Mexico

Our pueblo is at the altitude of 4300 feet with an average temperature of 73°F and 66 inches of annual rainfall. It sits nearly midway between Mexico City and the port of Heroica Veracruz on the Gulf Coast.

This area of Veracruz produces a large crop of Arabica coffee that is shipped worldwide. Along with a variety of fruits and vegetables, our pueblo is known for its famous mole sauce (chilies, nuts, fruits and chocolate). If you shop Costco there is a brand named Xiqueno Mole in a jar that our town produces. Allow me to give you a brief tour around the state of Veracruz.

Papantla, Veracruz, Mexico (Latitude: 20.4465500 Longitude: -97.3249500)

Back in the early 1500’s when Moctesuma (A Spanish spelling variation of Montezuma-ed.) invited Hernan Cortez for a chat, the host served up a chocolate drink with a new flavor that the Spaniard had never tasted. Wanting to impress his guest and possibly keep his head, the Chief shared his secret ingredient . . . vanilla. To anyone’s knowledge then, it only grew in one place, Papantla, and was cultivated by the indigenous community of Totonacas. After years of pillaging and conquering, the Spaniards included some beans and vanilla orchid vines (vanilla panifolia) on their return voyage to Spain. The globe-trotting Spaniards were so enamored with the flavor they tried unsuccessfully to grow it in Asia and then Africa. Many expeditions later they discovered that a small indigenous bee (melipona) was the pollinator and only existed in Papantla. There are stories of entrepreneurs (priests) that built green houses with perfect growing conditions so when the orchids bloomed for only one morning per year, young nubile virgins with feather dusters would go from plant to plant pollinating.

Vanilla Guide — Our guide was a native Totonaca and he reveled the vanilla bean process. (Photo by Laura Henchman)

This man is a native Totonaca who was our guide through the natural orchid forest where you feel a part of the process of providing a product that gives pleasure to so many. The long green beans are the vanilla pods that take 9 months to mature. After harvesting they’re placed in the sun to reduce moisture until they are a mahogany brown and aromatic. At the end of the tour he touches your shoulder to give a Totonac blessing; it is truly a magical place to visit.

El Tajin Pyramid Site

El Tajin (600 to 1200 C.E.) is a World Heritage site since 1992, due to its cultural importance and its architecture. This architecture includes the use of decorative niches and cement in forms unknown in the rest of Mesoamerica. The pyramid of the niches has 365 “caves” representing the solar year with a direct connection to the underworld. Similar to post office boxes where you drop off your requests, then wait for the results, good or bad. As a side note, above one of the niches is a sculpture of a ceremony with a cacao tree included, leading historians to believe that the Totonacas created the chocolate/vanilla beverage that the Aztecs prized. The pyramids show evidence that many floors were of poured cement, up to a meter thick and perfectly flat.

The Voladores

The Totonacs created a dance team called The Voladores (flyers or bird-men) as a plea for rain during a particular extended drought. The pole is 150 ft high with a square platform top where a flutist stands tooting while the dancers attach themselves by the ankles to ropes intertwined to the platform. Once the team commits to fall off the platform backwards the slow descent begins, unwinding the ropes while twirling through space with outstretched arms to a successful landing in front of an always appreciative audience that releases a collective sigh of relief that all is back to normal.

In March there is a festival celebrating the Spring Equinox (Cumbre Tajin) that is famous for its spiritual environment, bringing together a broad collection of artists and musicians. It’s the perfect place for finding life-balance for the New Year. Here is a Web Site that tells more about the festival: https://www.cumbretajin.com/

I hope you enjoyed my tour of our little corner of the world as much as I enjoyed writing it. Perhaps I can add to the story as I discover more secrets of Veracruz.

Diane

Summer Updates

Stagghorn Monsoon — Monsoon clouds form over the Weaver Range behind a staghorn cactus. Near Congress, Arizona.

It’s mid-summer in the Sonoran Desert and the winds have begun to shift bringing moist air up from Mexico and monsoon season. All of the smart people have escaped the desert floor, while we and a handful of other trailer park residents try to cope with the stifling humidity (25%). With most of the neighbors gone for the summer, it’s really boring in the neighborhood. So boring in fact, that last week a service showed up to remove a dying saguaro, and the neighborhood lined up lawn chairs to watch the show.

Since the themes of this blog are photography and travel, I feel that I need to add some posts about the latter. Unfortunately, the queen and I are stuck at home this year, so I need to come up with content somehow, and I got an idea. I reached out to our circle of friends that are or have been on the road and asked them to write about their trips. I’m pleased that they agreed to contribute.

It’s been a couple of weeks now and some material has started to come in and in the next few days I’ll be able to post our first guest article. I’m looking forward to traveling vicariously with our friends; seeing new places, tasting new foods from beyond the horizon. And, let me add this. If you’ve been on the road lately and like to share your story and photos, let me know and there may be room on the stage for you.

Till then . . . jw

Laughlin, Nevada

Every once in a great while, I’m allowed out of the house on my own. I know that’s a surprise to you, but there are times when the Queen has friends over and she wants a presentable house. That means I have to go away while her company is here. Since I’m doing Anne a ‘favor’, I can usually parlay it into an overnight trip that I call a photo shoot. One of these freedom nights was last Tuesday, but at the last-minute, her friends had to postpone, and she was already in the truck before I could get out of the driveway . . . Doh!

My friend Deb asked if this was an anniversary trip to which I replied, “What? When is our anniversary? Yeah, that’s it! It’s for our anniversary.” So, it was something I had planned all along.

Whenever I have a chance to get away, my first thought is to head for a body of water. After all, that is what we miss in the desert. I’d hop on the first plane to New Zealand if I could afford it, but that’s out of our budget. What we can afford is a cot at the YMCA . . . or something close to that. With those constraints, there’s always Laughlin, Nevada.

Colorado River Valley from the Black Mountains. — On a rare rainy day, the lower Colorado River Valley holds the communities of Bullhead City in Arizona, and Laughlin on the Nevada side of the river.

My parents were the ones that introduced me to Laughlin. In the late ‘70s, they had a second home in Bullhead City, the town on the Arizona side of the Colorado River. My dad kept his boat there for a while, and we would manage to ‘drop in’ while they were in town. We’d spend days fishing and water skiing on Lake Mohave, and in the evenings, we would take the water taxi across the river to one of the three casinos on the Nevada side. I have fond memories of those times. Good times never last however, and my parents eventually got rid of the house and boat.

There are several reasons for me to make a quick trip to Laughlin. As a fisherman, both Lake Mohave and the river below Davis Dam offer good angling. However, I never remember to pack my gear for a one night trip. Although I like the craps table, I am averse to wasting money. It used to take twenty bets to lose my bankroll, but now that the tables have a five buck minimum bet, I’m done in four rolls. So, I don’t spend much time in the casinos. There are the buffets with rows and rows of various foods, with people who make you look skinny by comparison. However I favor quality over quantity, so we avoid them. I guess the best reason for Laughlin is that now that the Queen and I retired, we can take advantage of the twenty-five buck midweek hotel rooms. You can’t stay at the YMCA for that price.

The cheap rooms have a downside too. As we strolled along The River-walk connecting the casinos, we noticed that most of the patrons were at least our age; silver-haired seniors and an abundance of canes, walkers and wheelchairs. All of the casino floors were empty with many of the tables covered. The prime restaurants only open on the weekends. The hustle, bustle and excitement you would expect from a gambling hall was missing. Then, it dawned on me that the only people who had time for a casino on Tuesday were retirees; everyone else had to go to work . . . duh!

In the Black Mountains above Bullhead City, Thumb Butte looks like the universal indignant gesture of ill-will.

There’s one last thing that fascinates me about the area; it’s the geography. That section of the Colorado River Valley runs between the Black Mountains in Arizona and Nevada’s Eldorado Mountains. Neither range I consider tall, but they’re at the north-eastern reach of the Mojave Desert and get very little rainfall. That means they are subject to wind and temperature erosion. They are rocky, jagged and very rugged. Almost impenetrable. As a matter of fact, Interstate 40 makes a 20 mile detour along the Santa Fé railroad tracks, around the Black Mountains between Needles and Kingman. The next upstream river crossing is 60 miles north at Hoover Dam and then its 180 miles more to the bridge at Marble Canyon. At the turn of the 20^th Century travel was even worse. There were no bridges between Needles, California and Moab, Utah. Everything in between is hostile, desolate and in my opinion, the most beautiful terrain on earth.

Black Mountain MIne — An old mining claim near Union Pass in the Black Mountains.

As a photographer, I see the Black Mountains as a choice place to shoot pictures. It has ragged peaks, soaring spires and interesting shapes. They’re passed by in favor of the more famous canyons the Colorado cuts through. Because of its relative closeness, I’m intrigued at its beauty and if I can figure out how to best capture that ruggedness, I may have to take it on as a future project. Hey, it’s an excuse to get out of the house.

Till next time . . . jw

Yuma Again

Queen and I did our quarterly dentist run early this week. I’ve already talked about Algodones, so I don’t want to discuss the border town again, except to say that the weather has grown much warmer and the snowbirds that flock to the western Arizona counties have grown thin. The lines at the Customs Station are nil. We were able to get on the road home by 2:30 yesterday.

Today I want to talk about a couple of Yuma bright spots. There aren’t many, so when I find one, it’s a pleasant surprise. Yuma has a Marine base and in winter when the snowbirds arrive, its population triples . Other than that, most people only get off the interstate to top off the gas tank on their way to San Diego (or back).

If our dental visits call for lab work, we’ll book a room in a chain motel. Most of them include a (so-called) breakfast. Generally the fare consists of packaged microwave rubber omelets, assorted cold cereal, fruit, waffles (if you’re lucky) and/or toast and bagels. At best, it’s airline food, but it saves having to walk across the street to Mickey D’s. That’s what we did until our last trip when I convinced Anne to forgo the buffet for Brownie’s Café.

Browies Cafe — The place ain’t swank, but the place is always crowed and the food is old-fashioned good. Locate on South 4th Avenue off Interstate 8.

My first meal at Brownie’s was on a solo trip to Yuma. While exploring south 4^th Avenue one morning, I spotted the large Café sign and thought that it would be really good or really bad, so I stopped to find out. The packed parking lot is usually a good sign. I stopped again with Jeff on our photo trip to the Salton Sea a couple of years later. After two more meals with Anne, I’m convinced it’s a gem right out of The Twilight Zone.

It’s a counter diner from the 1950s. The back dining area, crowed with tables and booths, is always filled with patrons, but on weekdays, you can usually find an open table. As you look around the room, you’re assured that this isn’t a campy place nostalgically decorated; this is the real thing and has probably been this way for thirty years. The building and the decor have been there for a while and they show wear. To put it bluntly; this is not a shiny new place. If that’s a key point of yours, go somewhere else.

In the table’s center are four beige half-inch thick industrial ceramic coffee cups. When you turn one right-side-up, the wait-staff instantly fills it without asking as they deliver the menus. The menu nothing fancy on it; instead there are all the items you’d expect. The plates are not large, but the food is properly cooked, just as you ordered.

My favorite is the Walt Kammann Sausage and eggs. The sausage is from a local butcher that has made it for over fifty years. It’s similar to a brat but spicier with flavors like linguica (Portuguese sausage) and lots of fennel like you find in Italian sausage. The sausage is a point of pride in Yuma.

Yuma Mural — Anne checks her cell phone by one of the murals at Yuma Landing.

North of Brownie’s on 4^th Avenue is a place called Yuma Landing with a Restaurant of the same name. I had always assumed that the name came from nautical origins, probably from Colorado Steamboats or something of that sort. I was mistaken. When we stopped to look at a monument, I found out the name comes from early aviation. In 1911, pilot Robert Fowler landed the first airplane ever in Arizona on that site. He was on a cross country trip flying a Wright Model B biplane which he completed in Florida forty-nine days later. The place has a plaque, a statue of Mr. Fowler and a couple of cool murals. It’s a big deal for Yumans . . . probably because nothing else interesting has happened in Yuma since.

Till then . . . jw

Los Algodones, Baja California

The Queen and I took time out of our busy schedule to make our quarterly dentist visit this week. Usually, you’d think that would take maybe an hour or two. For us, it’s more of a commitment than that. As seniors, our dental insurance is nil to none, so upon the recommendation of a couple of friends, we found a good dentist in Algodones, Mexico—which means an overnight journey to Yuma. We got an add-a-tooth-to-me, so the first appointment was for a root canal and an impression to send to the lab overnight. The next day, the crown was fitted.

It’s been an abnormally wet year for us here in the desert, so when we left Monday at daybreak under a cloudless blue sky, we felt like we were wasting a good work day. The rains kept us cooped up all weekend while we had outside projects we’d put off for dry weather. Instead, we were on the road for three hours for an 11:00 am appointment.

As the sun rose, we saw fog patches, something we rarely get. The evening breeze pushed the ground fog to the base of the low ranges like door-stops. The dark hills popped out of the strands of white. South of Quartzsite, I couldn’t take it anymore and pulled off the road to snap a shot as we passed through the KOFA (King of Arizona) Wildlife Refuge. Even so, we made it with time for breakfast before our appointments.

Ground Fog and KOFA Range — Ground fog is a rare sight in the desert, but after a cold rain, it collects at the feet of the low ranges. Here, ocotillo is the foreground of the fog at the KOFA Range.

Los Algodones is a retirees’ equivalent of Disneyland. The downtown commerce area is an eight-block square along the east bank of the Colorado River. It’s a tiny border town compared to Juarez, Nogales, Tijuana, or even Mexicali; it’s sixty miles to the west, yet it’s still a Class A border crossing. That’s because of the large amount of foot traffic. There is some vehicular traffic crossing there, but most people pay six dollars to the Quechan tribe to park in their vast parking lot and walk across.

The dominant feature is a multi-story steel beam structure like an unfinished building. It’s been unfinished since we first visited some twenty-five years ago and will likely not be different in the next twenty-five years. Then there are the hustlers. Unlike Tijuana, they’re not trying to get you into one of the girly clubs (of which there are none); they’re working for dentists, eye doctors, pharmacies, or liquor stores. That’s right; the doctors got pimps. After you wander the town a bit, you realize the city is a medical amusement park. Within a block, you can get glasses, a tooth implant, new hearing aids, and a sombrero, and you can have a margarita for lunch while you’re waiting for the lab.

As a younger man, I never would have gone to a doctor in Mexico. I had heard the horror stories of shoddy work and surgery disasters, so why the change of heart now? It’s a combination of economics, referral, and desperation. We need dental work but couldn’t pay what the local dentists were charging . . . even with insurance. So, if I had a problem with a tooth, out it came. After retiring and hanging out with other like-minded geezers, we heard some good stories and got some strong referrals.

On our summer trip, I broke two crowns, so when we got back, we scheduled an appointment to investigate. Sitting in the tiny waiting room, people our age surrounded us, claiming our dentist was the best. The first exam was simple, consisting of digital X-rays, little cameras, and some poking and prodding. Within fifteen minutes, they printed out a chart of my mouth showing the work I needed, including the cost by tooth. Then, they went over the X-rays and photos so I could see what they were talking about. After that, they cleaned my teeth, and then I was done . . . $25.00. When we left the office, we both had our charts, and it was our decision about which teeth to work on and when. All of the prices were less than what our co-pay would be in the States.

As always, the devil must have his due. What you save in money, you pay with time. I have already pointed out that the waiting room is crowded with loyal patients. It is to a fault. Your 11:00 am appointment only means you’ll be seen sometime after that. If you need to see a specialist, they call an escort to take you there, where you can sit in another waiting room that always has one less chair than people. If you’re lucky, the TV has a Discovery Channel in Spanish. Otherwise, it will be CNN. If your visit requires replacement parts, the lab will always have them ready tomorrow. Give it up if you count on returning to the road at a decent hour. You will only have enough time to grab a Big Mac at the Yuma Mickey D’s before the three-hour drive home in the dark.

Western Arizona is one of the weirdest places on earth. It’s all low-lying Sonoran Desert dominated by creosote bushes, Palo Verde trees, and an odd saguaro here and there. It also gently slopes downhill towards Yuma, the lowest place in the state. It’s also the warmest and driest part of the state, both winter and summer. No one lives there.

Yuma Crossing — All the historical travel routes crossed the Colorado River within 300 yards of this spot. That includes the ferry, railroad, the first Ocean to Ocean Highway (US 80), and the current freeway (Interstate 8).

While driving to Yuma in September, we counted twenty-five empty RV parks along the road. Quartzsite, the halfway point of the trip, was a ghost town with most stores closed. On Monday’s trip, they were packed with people from Montana, Alberta, Idaho, Saskatchewan, Washington, and British Columbia. They all come down to the warm desert and camp under the stars. Except for an occasional Costco run, they never go into Phoenix, and the Phoenicians aren’t aware that these people are out there. After all, who goes to Quartzsite? The campers also go to Algodones for doctors, prescriptions, and booze.

On the Immigration Service Website, it says that the Algodones Customs Station averages over two thousand pedestrians a day. I’ve been there on days when you could walk right into the customs house and be on your way two minutes later. Over four thousand people were waiting in line this week to cross the border. The line curled back from the custom house and several blocks down the street. For over an hour, we marched a step or two at a time while chatting with our neighbors and carrying one bag of prescriptions and another containing one bottle of Kahlua or tequila.

Towards day’s end, the street vendors grab an armload of goods, abandon their stalls, and make their way to the line waiting at customs. They form a gauntlet imploring you to buy a poncho, sombrero, or a giant carved wooden turtle. On your other side, older women dressed in black hold a swaddled infant and offer Chiclets for spare change. They move on if you smile and softly say, “No. Thank you.” If you dare feel the lace or try on a hat, you’re dead meat until you agree on a price. Being a Baby Boomer, I can tell you that they’d make a fortune selling street tacos and Margaritas to-go along that exit line.

Till then . . .