Christmas evening.
I sit on my bunk, propped against the small headboard and right leg trying its best to wriggle down between the wall and the mattress.
When I get lonely, I like to wriggle myself into crooks and crannies. I grab the nearest Barbara and lose myself in the cushions of the closest couch.
I haven't got a couch in my room, though. I've got a bunkbed and a wall. Which makes for interesting snuggling.
I hear the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore.
It's like breathing. But more violent. And salty. Or a heartbeat... but one that seems to always and forever be a) in love or b) running away from a very large, voracious mammal.
I hear the sound of dogs barking. The only time one does not hear the sound of dogs barking is during the heat of the day. During the heat of the day, dogs only glance up at you dolefully (when the sun isn't too strong). They whine pathetically (when the sun isn't too strong). And occasionally glare at each other (when the sun isn't too strong).
They only lift their haggard, skinny bodies when they need to flee the sun in search of new shade.
Only in Mexico.
Today was my third Christmas spent away from my family. It was harder than Copenhagen but easier than Istanbul.
It didn't feel like Christmas.
The familiar makes Christmas feel like Christmas. Spending Navidad in Mexico robbed me of just about every familiar Christmas feeling.
Cold?
Not even a little.
Snow?
See above.
Stockings?
I don't think I've seen a single person wear socks since I've been in Puerto Escondido. Sand and socks do not make good friends.
Christmas tree?
...mmm.... no... but there are all those trees bursting with coconuts. Coconuts... are Christmassy... yes?
No. No, girl. That would be chestnuts.
Oh man... I miss Istanbul's chestnuts. Turks may not celebrate Christmas, but GOD, they have divine roasted chestnuts.
My boy sent me a Skype video of his family's beautifully decorated Christmas tree.
I sent him a video of my sunrise.
"I don't have a Christmas tree, but I do have this."
I've spent the last few days obsessively practicing yoga on the beach with Minerva.
And anyone and everyone else whom I can coerce into playing with me. Including small Mexican munchkins.
I'm learning bits and pieces of Spanish through trying to communicate with the strangers on my feet.
"AH! No! Manos aquí! MANOS AQUÍ!"
I am so clearly professional. And so totally worthy of the trust those giggling Mexican mamas are placing in me right now...
The tamale lady (and her tamale family) hosted a community dinner on Tuesday. We met my acro munchkin from the beach and exchanged a very brief, "Hola! Feliz Navidad!"
Because I am incapable of anything else. Except for "manos aqui!" and "chido, wey".
Chido = cool
Wey = dude
Many of these events are hosted in the few days preceding Christmas. The whole community gathers for food and music and piñata busting.
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| This is our group from The Sanctuary. Juan, Lena, Maria, Kimmie, Cynthia, Clinton, Diane and a random creepy dude who crashed our Christmas dinner. But random creepy dude did help me tidy up after the meal (EPIC amount of dishes), so, I was somewhat grateful for his creepy presence. |
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| The tamale people! They branched out and made two cauldrons of pozole. They then told me that if I married their son, I could have access to pozole and tamales whenever I liked (although they did warn that I'd get a rather large belly). I told them that yoga would combat tamale belly -- so that wouldn't present a problem -- but that the boy I have in the states might present a problem. At this, they pointed to their smiling son and said, "No. No problem, he's not jealous." |
I'm doing more acro here than I've done anywhere else. In my life. This. Is good.
It was my last evening at the beach with Minerva, so although flying through poses with Bill and Malachi filled me with such joy, the thought of "last" pushed some of the joy out of my heart.
Minerva.
I've never met a woman with whom I've felt so deeply connected so quickly. She encouraged, inspired and loved all over me for the week and a half we spent together.
I'm the big sister of my family.
A big sister is something I've always wanted.
Minerva.
You might have just become my big sister (whether you like it or not. You don't get to choose family, right?).
I'm going to be thinking about you a lot in the weeks and months to come.
And I'll be happier to see you again (which is definitely going to happen) than I am to see a tlayuda on juicing day.
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| Bill. With swimsuit. Bill didn't wear his swimsuit for his swim the next day. I approved. I generally always approve when people don't wear clothes. |
A guitar was procured (along with a very nice fellow to play procured guitar) and hippy happened all over La Punta.
And hippy kind of got out of control when a professional hang drummer appeared.
And created a video of yoga, ocean and drumming.
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| Bill doing therapeutics with Cynthia |
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| Minerva and Kimmy |
Christmas Eve dinner was quite the event. Ayla and a few kitchen fairies had spent hours preparing sweet potatoes, raw cauliflower mash, some manner of raw nut balls, salad, mushrooms and a raw cheesecake.
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| Diane and Lena |
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| Pete and Noa |
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| Ayla, Juan and Clinton. |
Cleaning up after dinner was a beast, but a beast I had volunteered for (and as I mentioned previously, creepy dude did help me out for a few minutes... and then Juan helped. And Juan is a kitchen cleaning wizard. I believe that Juan is secretly a wizard of many things).
Desert and singing happened on the palapa.
A tlayuda with Bill.
A walk to the beach.
A Skype date or two.
It still doesn't feel like Christmas Eve. Nothing about this is familiar. No nostalgic chords were struck today to make me reminisce about my family and gifts and our exquisite lamb dinners.
But damn, it was a fine day.
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