The Ironic Corn Stalk in Parque Mexico

I am fortunate enough to live adjacent to Parque Mexico, one of the prettiest parks in Mexico City. I’ve sung its praises many times here, from the big fat banana flowers to the shabby beauty of the fountains to the cute signs posted on tree trunks.

The park is maintained by a giant fleet of workers who sweep the sidewalks and keep the plants/trees healthy. On the weekends, it’s insanely crowded with families and dog owners.

A few months ago, though, I spotted a strange sight: A gangly little stalk of corn. I thought that it was funny — was it a silly joke, to see if it would survive? Or something more meaningful, a historical statement on what was likely growing in the park’s area 300 years ago? Or a political statement that anyone who can live near the park can afford corn during a time of severe (and panic-inducing) drought when so many can’t?

I thought someone would uproot the corn stalk by now, or that it would wither away. But no, it’s gotten huge — all by its lonesome — and is now sprouting a little ear of corn.

I’d love to know who planted it, and why:

A Vacation of My Favorite Things: Friends, Family, Food, Lakes, Laughs and Dora Nearly Drowning

We just got back from a week-long trip to Massachusetts. In true Joy/Brendan style, we crammed in as much visiting with friends and family as we could muster, and so this week, we’re barely alive. For now, though, a few fantastic highlights:

- Catching up with a few of our nearest-and-dearest NYC amigos — Dora & Gene, Adam & John, and Connie — at our lakeside cabin rental in The Berkshires of Western Massachusetts.

Lake Ashmere, Berkshires, Massachusetts

Our pretty little cabin, plus a few enhancers we brought.

Everyone expected me to fall off the float, I did not!

- Dining at the tucked-away Dreamaway Lodge, a former brothel.

Dora, John and Adam in front of the lodge. The food: scrumptious!

- Visiting Lake Onota, and renting a pontoon boat, just like we did back in ‘07 on Lake George. Fabulous way to spend an afternoon, and the water temperature was magical — I could have swam for hours in the slightly chilly waters. Oh wait, I did swim for hours (and I love how New England sun doesn’t burn me! I can apply sunscreen just once and then forget all about it).

- Laughing so hard it hurt when Dora fell out of an inflated float, letting out a shriek, but refusing to let go of her beer. Classic Dora: Nearly drowning, laughing, while doggy paddling one handed.

- Tieing for first with Adam for in our First-Ever Cannonball Contest. I fully expect a rematch next summer. We’ll take photos next time for a photo finish.

Brendan has now driven pontoon boats in Wisconsin, New York and Massachusetts.

Post-swimming bliss. I'm truly happiest while floating/swimming.

It rained like crazy that day, but we had enough sun to enjoy a few hours on the boat.

- Being towed around the lake on a float by Adam and John in their kayaks, a la Cleopatra down the Nile. A man passing by in a boat told me “You got the life, don’t you?”

- Watching Oscar and a duck endlessly flirt.

A dog and a duck: A love story.

- Gorging self on fantastic Italian food at Salvatore’s in Lawrence, Mass.  The meat lasagna. The pizza margarita. The calamari. The fresh Italian bread and herbed olive oil. The Peroni beer.  Lordy oh lordy, I miss good Italian food.

- Watching Brendan’s cousin and her hubby celebrate their vows, and meeting lots of Brendan’s family that after 8 years I still hadn’t met!

The newlyweds.

– Stumbling upon good food before our return flight home in the Ironbound District of Newark, known for its Portuguese and now Brazilian immigrants. Using the Blackberry, we looked up Portugese restaurants, found one called Nossa Casa, and decided to have lunch there (gracias a el GPS).

When we walked in, it soon became apparent that the restaurant had been expropriated by the local Latin American community, evidence by the Mexican Norteno songs blasting from the juke box and a menu that was in Spanish, not Portuguese. (Though our waitress was Brazilian and happy to speak to us in either Portuguese or Spanish.) In any case, the food was wonderful and Brendan was served a 1/2 order of paella so huge it easily could have fed an apartment full of day laborers.

Mexico City’s Rainy Season Is My Optimal Living State

There is a reason millions and millions of people live in Mexico City, it’s very hospitable to human life. Everyday is basically perfect — I can’t remember a single day in the last two years where the weather was truly bad. It just varies a teensy bit in temperature, humidity, wind and sun levels throughout the year, thanks to its high elevation in the tropics (it’s the best of both worlds).

Right now is the rainy season, which is my favorite. The humidity is a bit higher than normal, making it easier on the skin and the lungs. The temperature never gets higher than 75, nor lower than 55. The sun shines all day, while clouds slowly build in the late afternoon; it sometimes rains at night. The air is clean, crisp and comforting. You can wear a sweater or a tank top and be comfortable either way. Meaning, it’s an absolute paradise (while lowland Mexico is a steam room this time of year).

Plus, stuff blooms. Like crazy.

The center of a very very large bloom, spotted in the park today.

Not as close up. Any guesses?

It's the giant bloom on a 20-foot banana tree!

Beach After Beach After Beach…and Still Going

In one of my favorite books, “In Search of Captain Zero,” author Allan Weisbecker explains how, for some people, there is nothing quite like being in the exact inexact spot (thanks to tides) where land meets sea. There’s the land, and there’s the sea, but where the two meet…well…what else is more haunting?

“Yeah,” I remember thinking as I read the passage. “Right on, man.”

If not already obvious, it’s a book that appeals to surfers, those who appreciate the surfer lifestyle (<– me), oceanographers/marine biologists or wannabes (yep, me)…and those who grew up on the beach, moved away from the beach, but try to get back often (<– si, si, yo)..

I’ve got lots purty beach photos — hundreds? — from my travels. And I’ve never met a beach I didn’t like, but I’ve grown to love the Pacific Coast the best. It’s the one I now dream about at night, in other words.

Let’s work our way up from the Southern coast of Mexico, all the way up to California, shall we?

Bahia de la Luna, Oaxaca

Mazunte, Oaxaca

Acapulco vista by day (photo by Betty)

Acapulco, later (photo by Dora).

Somewhere in Michoacan

Manzanillo, Colima (and a closed beach umbrella)

Puerto Vallarta, Mexico

La Jolla, California, and its harbor seals (also beach lovers)

The long staircase to the lighthouse, Point Reyes, Calif.

Your host, happy to be here, roots and all, Point Reyes seashore

Way Off the Beaten Path: The Coast of Michoacan, Mexico

House rental in Caleta de Campos, Michoacan

After our trip to Patzcuaro last weekend, we headed southwest to the Pacific Ocean. Sandwiched between the resort areas of Puerto Vallarta and Acapulco, the long, craggy coast of Michoacan is largely undeveloped. It was, so far, one of the most sparsely populated areas I’ve visited in Mexico, especially along the coastline. It is one of the many stretches of Highway 200.

There are a few really good surf spots here,  such as Nexpa, but otherwise the area gets few tourists passing through. Most guidebooks don’t even mention it — even though it consists of more than a hundred miles of beaches. Of course, this piqued my interest – what would it be like?

Turns out, when traveling with a Shih-tzu in a small rental car, this meant good things and bad things.

The beach at Nexpa, a popular "left" point break.

We were able to find a great surfer’s house to rent for a couple of nights in Caleta de Campos, a town big enough to have roasted chicken and cold beer, but not much else (the town, in all honesty, was horridly ugly but had incredible views of the ocean).

If there was one person I wished I could have traded places with during my trip, it was this girl.

Who needs whales when you have a rock with a blowhole? (OK, OK, I need whales...they arrive in the winter, so I always seem to miss them.)

The sun rises behind the lighthouse, Caleta de Campos.

Charlie and I try to cool off, but it was difficult.

The drive was espectactular (but often stomach-churning) and about as remote as it gets. Suddenly a pristine beach would come into view, and you’re several hundred feet above it, watching the waves roll in, and not sure if there’s any real path to the beach from the tiny, two-lane highway that has so little traffic. In the back of your mind, you’re thinking: my car could be robbed while I’m frolicking in the Pacific, unknowingly becoming the lead actress in an American Express Traveler’s Checks commercial. The area is still quite well-known as a drug smuggler’s paradise, mostly due to its remoteness, which is why this paranoid thought kept popping up: Would the smugglers turn Charlie into a mule?

We didn't really see a clear path down to this beach; there may not have been one.

Just a typical view from the road as you drive along Highway 200.

But, as with everywhere in Michoacan, the people were generally friendly. We’re also eternally grateful to two of the state’s residents, who got us out of a really bad scrape. Yep, turistas’ nightmare: We managed to get our car stuck in the shimmering white sand (we were aiming to park in a tiny spot of shade for just a few minutes so we could leave Charlie in the car, if needed, while we walked on a beach). We had a few initial moments of panic when we realized we had driven about 4km from the Highway 200, and hadn’t seen anyone in mucho tiempo.

After assessing that yes, we were indeed f’ing stuck in the sand, we grabbed some metal roofing sheets left on the beach and stuck them under the tires. Then watched them sink under the spinning tires. All while Charlie sat, head tilted, inside, perplexed.

Once this failed to work, my panic manifested as such: I threw all our valuables in the trunk, put Charlie in the front seat so he could be shaded, and forced us to spray down with sunscreen, in case we had to walk miles and miles to civilization. Of course, that was all incredibly unnecessary (whew, whew, sweat-wiping-away wheeeeeeew), as there were a few small houses off the tiny beach road, and two men chatting in the street — one was sitting in a truck, hallelujah!

As we walked up, he waved good-bye to his amigo and started to drive off, causing us to start running, screaming “Senor! senor!”  Once we reached the two men — looking I’m sure like the two goofiest gueros to ever drive through Michoacan — we mustered our best “please, for the love of Maria, help us!…” en espanol as we panted.

Problem solved. They unstuck us, and I even chatted up one of the men about how beautiful the beach was, how badly I had wanted to see it, how Chilangos suck compare to Michoacanos, etc. Of course, once unstuck, we were in no mood to sightsee and we immediately got in the car and hauled ass north to the highway, and to the lovely beach city of Manzanillo, where we stayed two nights before heading home.

Best irony of the moment? It was Playa La Llorona — crying woman’s beach. What we missed. (And you may wonder: Why is it called this? Well, as it turns out, not because of some scary ghost story involving a dead crying woman rising out of the espuma, or a  pale turista lamenting her sand-sunk Dodge Attitude and sunburnt skin, but the cute noise the sand makes.)

Had we not had Charlie in tow with us, (and had we rented a 4×4) we perhaps would have stayed at least one night in one of the uber-rustic cabanas between Caleta de Campos and Manzanillo (perhaps here in Maruata, which I’m now kicking myself for not stopping and visiting), where I imagine we would have felt like the only souls on the planet, under very bright stars. But it would have been incredibly humid, mosquito-prone and we’d pine for cold beer — so we’d only stay for one night.

Manzanillo, where there are hotels, and air conditioning.

Overall, do I recommed this drive? Yes, but be prepared to fill up at every Pemex station you see — there aren’t many. Be prepared to stay in “one-star” lodging. Be prepared to see an extraordinary amount of poverty (wooden shacks, at best, for most people here).  Bring food and snacks for spontanous beach stops, especially if you’re traveling in the off-season when most places are closed. And  for the love of Maria, stay out of the loose sand.

(More on the hidden beaches of Michoacan, en espanol.)

Delightful Isla Mujeres Mexico Rocked My Socks

So before my amiga Sue-Lyn moved back to Chicago this week, we took a quick trip to Isla Mujeres, in the Yucatan. I love spur-of-the-moment trips, especially when they involve perfect turquoise-water-and-white-sand beaches, swimming with whale sharks, and half-off the price of an incredibly fun bed-and-breakfast, Casa Sirena!

I’ve already blabbed about the awesomeness of whale sharks, now it’s time to blab about Isla Mujeres. The little island — only about 7km long — is located off the coast of Cancun, but has somehow escaped the predictable and aggressive tourism found on the mainland. Sure, there are overpriced trinkets and bad food for sale along the island’s most popular beach, Playa Norte, but there’s also a refreshing hippie vibe to the place. (This may have been helped by the fact that many tourists have been scared away from Mexico because of the swine flu, leaving behind people like me, who don’t give a damn. Also, a new pet peeve of mine: Locals who won’t talk in Spanish with me when I visit touristy areas.)

A few Isla Mujeres must-do’s:

1. Eat lunch (I recommend the sopa de lima and shrimp cocktail, with a limonada) and then soak in the pools at zen-inducing Zama Beach Club.

2. After watching a rainstorm roll by, walk to the end of the pier at Zama, and dive in.

3. Rent a golf cart — hands-down the best way to get around the island. The top speed of 20 mph means you’re forced to “take it slow” and take in the sights. Definitely do a loop across the entire island. The windward Caribbean side — with its higher cliffs and land stripped of trees, thanks to all those hurricanes — has a stark beauty all its own. And it’s just sorta absurd to cruise around in a golf cart.

4. If you don’t go visit the whale sharkies (which will probably include a coral reef visit after the swim), then schedule a snorkel trip. There are several options on the island, like the overpriced Garrafon park or the next-door and much cheaper Garrafon de Castilla beach club. It’s a little downtrodden, but for $50 pesos, the price can’t be beat. The reef is pretty beat up in this area, but I did see elk coral, a grouper, barracuda and a huge queen parrotfish.

5. Or, pay a little bit more and take a boat trip to the reef north of the island near Isla Contoy, which is protected and in much better shape.

6. Eat traditional Yucatecan food at El Charco’s, located in the neighborhood where most Isla residents live.

7. Or, if you’d rather just drink beers, swim in calm shallow water (that seems to stretch across all the way to Cancun) and take in a little sun, then head to Playa Norte and rent a couple of beach chairs and an umbrella for 80 pesos or so. You may have to fight off some annoying beach vendors, and the food will be mediocre, but one can’t deny how pretty it is.

(Yet Another) Fracking Earthquake in Mexico City

You know you live in a seismically psychotic area when this page from the U.S. Geological Survey is one of your more-visited bookmarks. Note the URL of the link — quakes_big.php.

So yeah, another month, another earthquake. Today’s was a 5.7 in the eastern state of Puebla, about two hours from here. (The temblor in April was to the west, and of a similar strength). It was deep down in the earth, which somehow lessens the damage potential of quakes, although things still sway like a drunkard at last call.

During today’s quake, it went something like this:

1. Me sitting at computer, editing an article on bipolar disorder. My 5th-floor apartment seemed to be moving — more than it usually does when heavy trucks go by. (Yes, they cause a vibrational swaying in my apartment, fun fun fun). I’m thinking: Quake, or truck? Quake, or truck? …..QUAKE.

2. I then hear a banging sound and I suddenly feel very dizzy — the world is moving. I yell “Pati?” — our housekeeper — and find her in the hallway. She takes off her headphones, stops walking, feels the more-than-usual swaying and hears the banging, and we look at each other. Sismo! our faces say. I immediately do a series of retarded things, since standing there feels useless:

• I get my dog, who is conveniently already ready for transport in his carrier (he goes there when Pati visits).
• I grab my purse. I put on shoes (so I can go outside, and also really bad earthquakes can cause a lot of broken glass).
• I open our front door (I have fears of quakes causing the earth to move and all the doors/windows in house jamming shut).

3. Pati — who admittedly, as a local, is beyond acquainted with earthquakes — doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. I ask her what we should do. She says it’s safer to stay in here than go downstairs. We have this conversation while the building keeps moving. I realize she’s right, although many people go outside after a quake, for fear of buildings collapsing.

4. The quake stops and that’s when my adrenaline comes rushing. I can barely speak b/c I’m now really feeling scared, but I tell her to call her kids using our phone (cell phones weren’t working). They’re OK.

5. Assessing that we’re OK, her kids are OK, and the world basically seems OK, I get back online, and precede to freak out, shaking with adrenaline. About 10 minutes later, the USGS posts the data on the quake, and Pati and I discuss how “fuerte” the quake felt.

What I still don’t understand, after experiencing approximately 5 earthquakes in under two years in Mexico is: How is it that an earthquake can feel so vividly powerful, yet not cause one thing to fall in the entire apartment? This goes without saying, but I simply can’t imagine the cataclysmic earthquake of 1985. As my friend Jonathan reminded me today, if my building, which was built in 1960, withstood that quake, it’s pretty damn strong. All the sway means it’s actually well-built — it (probably) won’t snap during the whiplashing.

I wish that were more comforting.

What So Much of Mexico Really Looks Like

For all its natural beauty and amazing culture, Mexico is still a deeply impoverished country. People do the best they can, scraping together what work they can find. But there is no “American Dream” here — for a variety of complicated reasons, it is quite difficult to become a self-made man or woman in this country. If you’re born rich or poor, you’ll likely die that way — unless you immigrate to countries where people are given more freedoms to fight their way out of poverty.

When you leave Mexico City (or any of Mexico’s major cities) you quickly see a different reality. The countryside — once gorgeous — has been burned to clear land for crops, and many people live in simple cinderblock hovels, some with electricity and water, some without. The infrastructure has not been maintained, the roads are littered with deep potholes. People are standing on the side of the road, selling what they can.

My father-in-law — always an observant photographer — took these photos from our minivan as we left one giant oasis, Mexico City, for the small oasis of Malinalco. The two hour drive between the two locales is less idyllic, but beautiful in its own difficult way.

Churches are always the nicest buildings in the poor towns:

Many people still make their living off the earth:

Iguanas Everywhere, Just the Way I Like It

In spite of the presence of billions of Canadian tourists, the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico still has lots of live lizards. (Let’s not mention the iguana roadkill I kept spotting last week, nor the several times we had to stop in the middle of the road to let an iguana pass, much to the annoyance of other drivers…)

"Does my butt look big?" This iguana was crawling over the Mayan ruins in Tulum. He could easily eat my dog as an appetizer.

This one has obviously been to Handsome Iguana Modeling School.

This spry little one spent a lot of time trying to scare my sister-in-law. He frequently appeared out of nowhere, claws at the ready.

Another lizard species we spotted often was the gecko. This 6-incher hung around while we drank beers on the patio. Brendan still likes to tell the story of when he first moved to Corpus Christi, Texas. Being a native Minnesotan, he didn't know what these creatures were, and when spotting one in his apartment, smashed it to bits. Since geckos eat mosquites and are otherwise harmless, we South Texans revere our geckos. Although he now admits they are "benevolent creatures," his story is still horrifying.

Fat butt iguana and gecko photos courtesy of Suz Walsh.

Photo Tour: Beautiful Malinalco, Mexico

We spent the long weekend (it was a holiday here on Monday) in Malinalco, Mexico. We rented a house for two nights, and when not reading on the patio, we spent time exploring the local pyramid — picturesquely situated on a hill above town — and buying fresh produce at the market. We also explored an avenue south of town flanked with dozens of trout restaurants — they keep the fish in cages in the stream that runs by the street, and cook them up fresh for you.

A couple enjoys the view from one of the ancient pyramids perched above town.

A tree with pink blossoms stands over the town.

I take in the view (I have to force Brendan to take photos of me, otherwise I am absent from all trip photos.)

Brendan on the many-stepped climb uphill to the pyramids.

The house we rented for the weekend. The dog was in love with it, of course.

Charlie enjoying the warm tile.

The garden is less than two years old. The owner told me there's a saying in lush Malinalco: If it doesn't grow, it's because you didn't plant it.

Our purchases from the town market. You don't want to know how cheap and delicious this produce is.

I am really tempted to try this -- the view must be incredible.

To see more photos from our trip to Malinalco, go to Malinco, Mexico Flickr album.

If you’re interested in renting a house in Malinalco, here’s one.

6 Reasons to House-Sit Nancy and Jeremy’s House

1. The view from the lounge chair

2. The vitamin D (obtained while in the lounge chair)

3. Dog can vacation with you (while you’re in lounge chair)

4. The jacaranda trees

5. The grill

6. And last but not least. The butterflies:

Ahh…..Our Oaxacan Paradise Eco-Vacation

The first-half of our trip last week in Oaxaca was spent at the eco-resort Bahia de la Luna on Playa La Boquilla, near Puerto Angel, Mexico.

Again, because we like to do it our way, we purposely picked Bahia because of its remoteness and its individual cabana setting. I dislike large hotels, especially many of ‘em all lined up in a row on an otherwise lovely beach. They tend to destroy the ecosystem in many ways (beach erosion, broken reefs from too many people dumbly kicking them, sewage) and plus I am just not a giant people-lover, particularly if I’m trying to relax.

However, remote equals challenging to get to. The last three miles of the drive to Bahia are on a steep, rutted, sandy road. It made the previous stomach-churning 6 hours seem like fluffy cupcakes by comparison. Twice we got stuck in the sand, and Brendan had to perform 4×4 style driving in our compact rental car. Not fun. (Actually, he had a big grin, and I had my hand over my heart and my eyes closed.)

Once we arrived, it was all waves gently crashing, palm trees swaying and geckos squeaking. Yes! We were far from civilization (or, far enough). First day, after the long drive, in spite of the beauty around me, I kept wondering when I would shake off the accumulated stress from the past day and many months (it’s been a long time since we had a long vacation). Second day I could feel it slowly melting away, especially after I put on my snorkel and mask and discovered the beach was utterly spectacular for snorkeling (Puffer fish! Blennies!  And this was the first time in my snorkeling adventures that I was surrounded by schools of fish. Large schools — we’re talking hundreds of plate-sized yellow-and-black angelfish who didn’t care about me and just swam all around me, slowly. I spent a fun-but-futile 15 minutes diving down to point out a zebra eel to Brendan, who still maintains he never saw it in its lair.)

By the third day, I had no stress, except for all the de-tangling required after I went snorkeling and had to pull my long hair out of the mask’s plastic straps. Ouch. While not swimming or kayaking, we read under a little palm palapa, shaded from the sun, never too hot or too cold. (Sometimes my life feels like an eternal search for temperature happiness).

This was all aided by amazing food. Breakfast and lunch were pretty typical, but dinner was as healthy and tasty as healthy and tasty can be. They serve the catch of the day, freshly prepared, and so we ate octopus, red snapper, shark, and mahi-mahi. With salads like “strawberry and cucumber” or “spinach and orange slices.”

Fourth day? I didn’t expect this, but I was too relaxed?! I found myself doing something highly unusual: Pining for TV. Please, let me explain before you stop being my friend: Our cabana had two beds with mosquito netting, two lamps, a ceiling fan and a basic bathroom — no phone, no TV, no computer, no air conditioning, no cell phone service and no hot water. With no bar down at the beach (there’s alcoholic beverages for sale, but no people to sell them to you after a certain hour) and total darkness by 7 p.m, we spent enormous amounts of time reading under our insect-proof nets.

Even I, avid reader, needed something else to do after ingesting The Poisonwood Bible, People and US Weekly (last two are required beach reading, didn’t you know?)

In spite of my random attack of boredom, we do plan to go back, of course (even beach-hater Brendan had to admit “that was a fun beach vacation!”)

So, paradise: I’ll be back one day, hopefully soon, maybe with friends or relatives (Suzanne? Dana? Dora? Adam? Connie? Victory clan? Near-Frozen Minnesotans? Facebook friends?) We can bring our dominoes set, a deck of cards, maybe even Pictionary, and everyone: Bring your laptop loaded with movies ready for watching, under the netting, in total solitude.

Here’s the Winter Home of Millions of Butterflies

After a one-hour cab ride, a three-hour car ride, a one-hour horseback ride and a long steep walk down the side of a mountain, we finally convened yesterday with the Monarch butterflies, who fly by the bazillions every winter to a small patch of forest in the Mexican state of Michoacan. This is one of the world’s greatest (and most mysterious) migrations. And it’s only four hours from where I live.

Stunning. HOWEVER, this was probably the biggest photographic challenge I ever faced. There were butterflies everywhere, yet, they don’t really show up in the photos too well…

Those trees are literally dripping with large bunches of butterflies, who are crammed in all together. When the sun would come out, they’d fly out en masse. When a cloud appeared, back they’d go to the trees.

We were around 10,000 feet elevation. It was cold and windy, even when the sun would come out. This particular migration area is accessible only by horseback.

According to Monarch Watch, this is how it works:

“The sites the Monarchs use during the winter have particular characteristics that enable their survival. These characteristics are important because they provide the Monarch with the right overwintering conditions. Trees on which to cluster are one of the most important elements of the sites. The climate and the whole surrounding area are also important. Nearby trees, streams, underbrush, and fog or clouds all form an intricate natural ecosystem that is the monarchs’ winter habitat. These conditions are found in oyamel fir forests, which occur in a very small area of mountain tops in central Mexico. Overwintering sites are about 3000 meters (nearly 10,000 feet) above sea level, and are on steep, southwest-facing slopes.

In particular, the butterflies need a cool place. When they are cool, they don’t metabolize, or use up, their energy reserves as fast. They also need to be protected from snow and winds. The surrounding trees serve as a buffer to the winds and snow. Because they also need water for moisture, the fog and clouds in this mountainous region provide another important element for their survival.

The butterflies choose spots that are close to but not quite freezing. They cluster together, covering whole tree trunks and branches, and cling to fir and pine needles. The forest floor in the overwintering sites is covered with young trees, shrubs, lichens and moss. When Monarchs fall out of the trees and are too cold to fly back up, they can sometimes crawl to the lower bushes to avoid predators. The tall trees make a thick canopy over their heads. Protective trees and bushes soften the wind and shield the butterflies from the occasional snow, rain, or hail. Fog and clouds settle on the Monarch groves. On sunny days, they often warm up enough to fly to nearby water where they will drink. They must fly back to the roost before getting too cold, and one can sometimes see them take off in flight, heading back to the roosts as soon as a cloud passes over.

Each of the above elements is important to the butterflies, and makes up the Monarch habitat – trees in which to roost, other trees and shrubs to protect them, the cool air, and the presence of water.”

It’s So True: Sin Agua, No Hay Vida

Last night we finally got around to watching the first two episodes of Planet Earth, the mind-blowingly well-done series of nature films by the BBC, all filmed in high definition and with the most incredibly complex camerawork I have ever seen. (The snow leopard scenes brought tears to my eyes, and once it started snowing, I was a mess.)

We watched it en espanol, which turned out to be a great idea: It has slow, simple narration in verb tenses we know pretty well (present and simple past), so we never felt miserably lost as we do when we watch most TV in Spanish. And many animals have very similar names in both idiomas: caribou, impala, leopardo,…

A few key vocabulary words that I really enjoyed learning (or re-remembering, as is so often the case for me) while watching La Planeta Tierra:

Arctic stuff:
las focas — seals
los polos — the poles (as in north pole and south pole)
las hojas — leaves
baja tierra — underground
cachorros — pups, for many species
reservas de grasa — fat reserves

Forest stuff:
las girasoles – daisies
las ardillas — squirrels
rayos del sol — sunlight, rays of sunshine
la energia del sol — sun’s energy
los monos — monkeys
los insectos — insects

Watery stuff:
los tiburones — sharks
grande blanco tiburones — great white sharks
las nubladas — clouds

Desert stuff:
huracanes de harina — dust storm (harina is more like flour, but you get the idea)
peligrosos tormentos de polvo — dust storm (polvo is dust and any fine substance)

Stuff that struck me as funny:
unico huevo – one unique egg, as in the penguin’s single egg each year
un banquete por todos los animales – a banquet for all the animals
un epoca de abundancia – an era of adundance
padres dedicados – dedicated dads (about a type of fish)
los monos no le gustan el agua — the monkey’s don’t like the water, said as a group of monkeys hesitantly, if not prissily, waded through water
empieza el ataque — the attack begins, said each time a predator pounced on some prey

Not so funny:
no dura mucho — won’t last long, in reference to ever-shrinking ice caps
el futuro de la especie -- future of the species. In many cases, bleak.

Photos: Into the Valley of Fire, Nevada

Brendan crosses the endless waves of sandstone.

During our brief trip to Las Vegas, we decided to go hiking at the nearby Valley of Fire State Park. The place is gorgeous, in the way that the moon is gorgeous: eerie, sparse, oozing and hostile. I loved it, but even in late October, the heat was a bit like walking into an oven with the broil setting on.

The thing I like best about the Western U.S. is the geology. Millions of years ago, were these fantastic shapes created in only a few days’ time? The globular simplicity of the land against the sky is also disorienting: Some of these photos below are of giant rock structures, but without a human or other recognizable object, it’s hard to assess the scale of them. What looks like a mile may be only a few feet, and vice versa.

Layers of shades of orange.

It is easy to anthropomorphize the rock. Do you see a side view of a skull in here? I do.

It's similar to the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs, but with far less vegetation and a lot more grilling heat.

Strange dual-vertical lines crisscross with the more typical horizontal lines in the sandstone.

While hot, standing out in the desert is cooler than standing out in a parking lot in Las Vegas, where the asphalt radiates heat. Note the small state park road in the middle of this photo.