Unpacked -- Puerto Escondido, Mexico

I'm starting this post from the top bunk in the far corner of "The Ascension Room" in my new Puerto Escondido home. A fan whirs to my right, another rumbles below and both windows are open. I thought the heat in Puebla was unreasonable for Christmas time.

But this?

Welcome to life without seasons, Bourget. 

So much of me wanted to escape winter this year. Cold weather exacerbates my arthritic psoriasis into something nigh unbearable and frozen ground isn't conducive to picnics. Snow is romantic and snowmen are diverting, but biking to work in -10 degrees fahrenheit during an inversion is not my cup of tea.

Or agua fresca. Mexicans don't drink tea. They prefer Jamaica flower and guava water.

But even though so much of me wanted to escape winter, it's more than a little unsettling to sweat bullets in the middle of December. Bullets were never meant to be sweated in December (according to my Colorado upbringing). My winter wardrobe is (and always has been) comprised of jackets and gloves and scarves and smartwool socks and slouchy hats my grandma made. Many of which can be (and often are) layered on top of one another to prevent the cold from seeping through skin and muscle and... ah!

When it gets to the "ah!" stage, I just sit down with a gigantic mug of steaming hot chocolate. Preferably with a shot of rum and in a hot tub.

How is it that absolutely NONE of that sounds good right now? Well... chocolate always sounds good. But hot chocolate... oof. No gracias. 

"I think it's important to visit a country during its cold season. I love seeing how people deal with cold. All the port wine in Ireland. All the gluhwein in Germany. Earmuffs. Funny doggy sweaters for all the French chihuahuas joining their owners in the French alps."

But Puerto Escondido doesn't appear to have any of that. Cold weather, that is. In this part of the world, wearing long yoga pants in December is a move I begin to regret about five minutes after donning said pants. A long-sleeved shirt? I can't imagine anyone crazy enough to wear a long-sleeved shirt. Even my chacos look inordinately large and clunky hanging out in the entryway next to all the slim, sleek havaianas.

It's very easy to guess which shoes belong to the mountain girl. 

I've spent the last two days settling into my new home. Pete had recommended I take a taxi from the ADO station in Puerto Escondido to The Sanctuary in La Punta... but as I still don't speak the language and I'd just spent sixteen hours on a bus, I decided to walk the three miles to his place.

I stepped out of the bus (gratefully, blearily, groggily) and was greeted with a wave of heat.

Do I really want to lug my bag three miles? 

No. No, that actually doesn't sound nice at all. 

During the 16 hour bus ride,  I'd halfway managed to make a friend with the stocky Mexican boy behind me.

"Hey! Hey, are you the white girl?"

"Umm... yeah?"

"Where you from?"

"Colorado."

"Oh. I lived in Kentucky."

"That's nice," I could have been nicer, but this "white girl" was too tired to be bothered. White girl just wanted to tune out the world (as well as the intense pain evenly distributed across the entire surface area of her ass).

"I come to Puerto to see my mom. First time in 16 years."

"In 16 years? Wow! That's nice," I tried. I really did. But when one is sleep deprived and seat destroyed, one can't think of anything nicer to say than "that's nice."

After we'd leaped from the bus, my Mexican/Kentuckian friend approached and asked where I was going.

"I'm just gonna walk a few miles."

"Walk?"

"Yes."

"With that bag?" he pointed at Ellie in disbelief.

*sigh*

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't want to take a taxi."

"My cousin is coming. He can take you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah!"

"That. Would be wonderful. Gracias."

Aimee... your life is just so strange. What would most mothers say? Take an all-night bus across a foreign country and then accept a ride from a fellow with whom you've only shared a few words, some of them being, "Hey! Are you the white girl?" 

Most mothers would have quite a few words of their own to say. Perhaps not, "Are you the white girl?" but, "are you the girl making ALL MY HAIR GO GREY PREMATURELY?!?!?!" 

(Sorry, mom. Maybe that's why I like your grey hair so much. I feel like it's my doing. And it makes me sad when you cover it up with dye because it seems like all my hard work making it grey in the first place was for naught. So stop it. I earned that grey hair by hitchhiking across Eastern Europe. And you can't curse me with, "I hope you have a child just like you!" 'cos you know full well that I don't want one of those things.)

But the cousin of "white girl" guy dropped me off at The Sanctuary with no problem at all, and after I'd spent a few minutes fiddling with the gate, Pete came to the door to welcome me into my new home.

The garden was gorgeous. White, pink, yellow flowers and vibrant green grass. Rows of soil tilled and shaped into a cute little garden. An outdoor covered eating area and a nearby house called the Love Casita.

"Each room has a different name," Pete informed me. "The Ascension Room. The Mandala Room. The Nirvana Room. The Peace Room."

We walked through the rest of the house, but most of its beauty was reduced to a blur of, "this is nice." 'Cos the only thing worse than a 16 hour bus ride is a 16 hour bus ride with no snacks.

So... hungry... what's he saying? 

*grumble, grumble, GRUMB--*

"It's Monday, so it's our fasting day. We've put you on the schedule for juice, but if you'd like to eat, you can have some leftovers from yesterday."

"Umm... I don't think I'm ready to fast yet. Can I have the salad?"

As it was my first day in The Sanctuary and all the chores had already been distributed (and Pete is a nice guy and could probably see that I was useless), he gave me the rest of the day off.

I took a nap.

Then I met with a fellow I'd contacted via Couchsurfing who happens to live two blocks away from Peter. Although my expectations for The Sanctuary were nothing but good, I'd wanted to make sure to have friends nearby. In my experience, it's always helpful to be able to leave your volunteer placement for at least a couple of hours every day and meet with other people.

'Cos think about it. A volunteer placement turns your job into your home and your coworkers into your roommates. No matter how fantastic the experience is, being able to move to a more neutral ground for even a short period of time is necessary to recharge and to operate within such an intense environment with more grace.

So I found Pepe. A pretty fabulous neighbor who owns a gorgeous, verdant, unique hostel.

Find it on airbnb: Casa Kei

And go there. Now. You'll find yourself in a sort of treehouse hostel in the middle of a mini jungle. With an outdoor kitchen and table and hammocks and...

... and it's good.

Pepe fed me bananas. And then took me to one of his favorite restaurants and we ate chicken tortillas. And drank guava water. And all the pain (nearly all, anyway) of the 16 hour bus ride vanished from my body as chicken tacos hit my stomach.

Tacos. Who knew you could be an entire food group? I believe I will love you forever. As well as anyone who feeds me tacos. I will love anyone who feeds me tacos FOREVER. 

I'm kind of an emotional harlot. 

Pepe walked me back to The Sanctuary, pointing out a couple other of his favorite restaurants on the way. Transitioning to a raw, vegan diet is not something that comes quickly or easily for this lady, so while I'll make sure to honor The Sanctuary's rules about living food within its bounds, during this transition period, I'm gonna feel free to eat a taco every now and then.

Or a tlayuda.

Chalupas are like Mexican lasagna.

 I hear that tlayudas are like Mexican pizza.

Girl's gonna make that happen. Shortly.

I didn't take pictures of Pepe's (I was a little delirious from the bus ride and overwhelmed by the jungleness of it all -- I'll take pictures soon, though), but here are a few snapshots of The Sanctuary.

The place where Ellie has finally been unpacked, stuffed into a closet and is currently enjoying her holiday.

Minerva cooking in The Sanctuary's kitchen

One of the first salads I've had in about three weeks...my body didn't quite know what to do with all that roughage. 

I wanted to eat all of this. As soon as I got off the bus. I could have swallowed the squash like a boa constrictor swallows a large land mammal. 

My schedule for the next few months. 

Tibetan singing bowls in the Sanctuary. I can't wait to hear Pete play them. 

Our first lunch. :)

My first walk into town.

Pepe took Jo (a hilarious volunteer from Australia (swear to god, everyone from Australia is hilarious)) and me to the beach to watch the sunset.

Pepe and Jo

 I hope to watch this sunset just about every night.

What a beautiful place to be. I'm going to spend the next few months watching sunsets, hanging out with yogis and eating mostly raw food (with the emergency taco or tlayuda every now and again). There will be cleaning and cooking and other mundane chores, but I'm going to be in a space that encourages me to practice the arts I love. Yoga and massage. Primarily. I suppose that even I can give up the ability to wake up to the smell of bacon for yoga, massage, and sunsets like these.