But you hear it everywhere, that cover of “Over the Rainbow.” Case in point: I heard it at around 5pm on Friday night, laying on the beach in Cancún, watching the staff of our resort set up for a sunset wedding. I listened to the song, remembering what I had read earlier in the week, on the same beach, and thought to myself: I’ve been to Hawaii. I’ve heard this song a million times there. I’ve been to places beyond Hawaii’s shores that are incredibly beautiful and are experiencing the fight for culture that Hawaii is in ‘Hawaii ‘78’ and have heard the cover a million times there. I’ve heard the cover used in TV commercials. I hadn’t heard the cover in Cancún, though.

And Cancún was where I liked it best.

When I say Cancún, a lot of people think back to their own days down there, stuffed eight to a room and getting sick on the beach at night, having wild spring breaks where probably  too much was lost and not enough was learned.

The Cancún that IP and I go to is different. Very different.

It’s about going home, in a sense. It’s about appreciating the vast knowledge and beauty that was once the purview of the Mayans.  It’s about recognizing that there’s a deeper story to Cancún than what the tourists bring; it’s about learning and wanting to know more about the history behind this relatively young tourist destination. It’s about spending a week with wonderful people who are funny as hell and great to talk to—and I’m not talking about my fellow tourists. It’s about spending a week reconnecting with each other and with the inner peace that seems to fly away so easily in Washington, D.C.

It’s about serenity, and the quiet little resort that we’ve grown to love, tucked away from the general chaos of the hotel zone, offers us peace in spades. We’re apart from the world, yes, but sometimes it’s needed.

We needed it this year. Badly. And we’ll need it again.

At least now we know how to find what’s over the rainbow.

See you in about a year, Cancún.

©2012 Sonnet 87. All Rights Reserved. Originally published by WordNerd for Sonnet87.com. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

And I answer: Caaaaaancúúúúúúúúún!

Cancún!

IP and I are going back to Cancún!

I don’t think we can overemphasize how excited we are for this trip. It’s been nearly a year since our last long vacation (our honeymoon to Cancún) and it is overdue and sorely needed. IP works like crazy and needs a break; I have thoroughly documented how annoyed I am at work and need a break. The getaway is coming just in time.

Hells to the yeah!

We had anticipated going back to our all-inclusive resort of choice because we loved our experience so much the first time—when we selected it for our honeymoon, IP and I were a little ill at ease. Not only was it an expensive vacation (remember: we are used to cheaper hotels, a lot of driving and not-so expensive national parks), but what if we hated the lack of activity? Even though the resort is adults-only, what if it was loud and obnoxious and totally insufferable? Were we dropping a ton of money down the drain to only say “Meh?” when it came to our honeymoon?

Happily enough, we were proven wrong. As documented here, we had a blast. And we had planned on returning first at Christmas but, when that proved to be too expensive, we regrouped and figured we’d be there in April.

But the April dates were expensive to begin with (about $400 to $600 more than last year), and they kept on climbing until it would’ve been foolhardy to go during that time frame (basically the same week we went last year). We did expect to pay more for this year, but not so much more. We were disappointed; while we explored other Cancún resorts, resorts on the Pacific side of Mexico, and the possibility of doing another hiking trip, I think we both desperately wanted to go back to our honeymoon resort. Well, I know I did. I did say to IP that I didn’t find the idea of a hiking trip appealing, so we killed that. I’d be up for it in the late summer/early fall, but for the spring, I had wanted something relaxing.

As prices continued to stay steady and outrageous, IP floated the idea of moving our trip to May. While the rainy season has indeed started by May, nothing in the research we did indicated that we’d completely rained out; customer testimonial after customer testimonial assured us that May indeed was a good time to go. So, we decided: a week in May to the adults-only all-inclusive that we know and love!

However, there was the problem of IP’s passport. Had we booked a trip to Cancún in April, IP would barely be missing that six-month cutoff date; in other words, it wouldn’t have been a problem. However, May brought us to that six-month point, so an expedited passport request it was thanks to the possibility of a government shutdown. We waited with bated breath for IP to show up in the State Department’s system after he sent it in on Friday, March 18. After a week, nothing. He wasn’t in their system.

Eep!

Nervousness ensues until I get home on Friday, March 25. And what’s waiting in the mail for us? IP’s new passport. Yay! Thank you, Secretary Clinton and Friends!

This trip made possible in part by the excellent, quick work of the State Department

So we then say it’s time to book. Ain’t nothing gonna break our strides! Ain’t nothing gonna slow us down! Oh no! We’ve got to get to Cancún!

And on Sunday, we finally made the purchase a reality. (And it was only $16 more than last year!) We will be in Cancún this May, enjoying the Caribbean Sea, drinks on the beach, excellent food, sun, sand and surf. After buying the ticket, we were both giddy, cracking open beers to toast our upcoming vacation. My mood, which had been dampened by repeated cooking failures that day, immediately lifted. We then reminisced for a while about our honeymoon, making some plans for our upcoming trip. We were (and are!) geeeeeeeked.

Geeeeeeeked, I tells ya.

©2012 Sonnet 87. All Rights Reserved. Originally published by WordNerd for Sonnet87.com. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

Damn you, D.C., for making me come back. One day we will leave and stay at our destination. When we visit, we will be tourists, but we’ll be knowledgeable tourists, who know not to drag whiny six-year-olds on Smithsonian tours and know how to stand to the right. You’ll appreciate us then, D.C., because we’ll blend in so perfectly you won’t even know we’re visitors. The only clue we’re not D.C.ers anymore will be our lack of government agency IDs.

However, D.C. bitterness aside, the honeymoon was fantastic. Not only did we do our tours, frolic in the sun, eat delicious food, and lazed about like there was no tomorrow, we also delighted in each others’ company and had a great time just being together. Our first full day there, IP and I ended up in our hotel room, chatting away as we drank rum and Cokes (Coke made with real sugar! Yay!) from our mini-bar, making each other laugh and having a touching, honest conversation that left me in tears (good, I swear!) and let me know that I am with someone unique and amazing. I got the feeling, during that conversation, that he feels the same about me, so that geeks me out quite a bit, I must say. I won’t discuss the details of the conversation (as always, that remains between us), but the thing I love about being with IP is that I’m constantly discovering new depths to his awesomeness.

And how much fun is beachcombing with IP? Even if we end up with sunburned heads and sensitive scalps, there’s nothing like finding a pretty shell, cool conch, or pieces of sand dollars with my guy. Our new collection is colorful and only needs a few mason jars to be displayed.

Visiting Mexico for our honeymoon was fantastic. Not only did I get to relax with my wonderful husband, but it was so nice to be back home, in a sense. Sure, I’d never been to Cancun before, and my state is actually way to the north and west, but just touching down in Mexico sent a thrill through me. I don’t think I realized how much I missed it until I returned.

I loved speaking Spanish for a week. I loved interacting with people, their delight that I could speak Spanish written across their faces, welcoming me to Quintana Roo or Yucatan as a fellow countrywoman from Zacatecas. I loved going to the ruins of Chichen Itza and Tulum, admiring the intelligence, discoveries, and architecture of the Mayans; I also mourned their loss, wondering what else was destroyed when Catholicism and Europeans invaded. I was once in a class where a white woman chided the TA and me for pondering what could have been in terms of scientific and humanist discoveries from the Mayans, telling me she wouldn’t mourn it had it happened to her culture—just the luck of the draw hers came out on top. The TA and I exchanged glances, then side-eyed the woman in tandem. Ah, privilege. So blind, so arrogant, so entitled.

While I loved going on the tours and falling into historical reveries, I have to say: I can’t stand big groups of strangers for long. We only did two tours, and by mid-morning on the day of the second tour I was ornery and annoyed, side-eyeing people making fun of Mayan art and rolling my eyes at the people who acted like they were the only ones on the tour. The best moments were when IP and I were able to get away from the group. It was great to be able to leave the driving to someone else, but tour groups are annoying. When we landed in D.C. and were greeted by a school group waiting to board a plane home, IP snickered and said to me, “Aren’t you glad we missed that?” In a sense, we did. In another sense, we didn’t.

At least people were more reserved at the actual resort we chose. People were polite, in good spirits, and not trying to impress either a tour guide or an entire group of people with their wit, (lack of) knowledge of history, or childish humor. We had had one more tour on the books, but canceled because 1) we wanted more time in the sun and surf and b) I told IP I’d had enough of tour groups.

I’m not much of a joiner, am I?

However, I’d go back to Cancun in a heartbeat. I would take only one tour, I think, to keep my eyerolls to a minimum. I would also be sure to make sure to keep tabs of my sunscreen application on the last day, since apparently IP and I were so busy soaking up the sun to the fullest that we ended up with burns on our last day. Oops!

Another thing: if you usually Metro home from the airport and have the means to take a taxi home instead, do so. I’ve found in the past that the trip on Metro often snaps me back into reality much too quickly, but taking the taxi home really preserved the sense of tranquility and ease that Cancun imparted on us.

And now, we’re back home, where tonight we’ll be having dinner with IP’s visiting brother and I am working on a new short story that came to me in a flash yesterday afternoon. It’s not beach and sun, but at least I can use my iPhone without being charged up the wazoo for data usage.

Wait, given how much I liked being disconnected, is that even a plus?

©2012 Sonnet 87. All Rights Reserved. Originally published by WordNerd for Sonnet87.com. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

As mentioned before, IP and I are going to Cancún for our honeymoon. It’s the first time we’ll be in Mexico together, and I find the idea of that pretty fun—after all, it is my home country, and I do love the culture and people and the time I spent there as a child. I really wish it was possible at this time to visit my actual place of birth and sometimes childhood home: Zacatecas.

See the town called “Apozol” in the southern part of the state? That’s where I went to school. I lived between Jalpa and Apozol; I’m a little surprised they don’t show Juchipila, which is a bigger town than Apozol and is, coincidentally, my birthplace. A little further south and you hit Moyahua, which has the best burritos ever—you stop there on your way to or from the airport for lunch or dinner. I have yet to find a match for those fantastic burritos, and I would love to take IP there one day.

A visit to my part of Mexico would go a little like this:

1) Land in Guadalajara, Jalisco. A pre-arranged taxi would pick IP and I up and drive us to San Isidro, the little village in between Apozol and Jalpa. The taxi ride takes up to three hours depending on how experienced the taxi driver is. To be honest, the ride between the airport and the village terrifies me a bit. Not only is it a drive, but it’s a mountainous drive. Like drivers everywhere, Mexican drivers can be careless. Like bus drivers everywhere, Mexican bus drivers can be super careless. There have been plenty of accidents, with people taking the curves too fast and plunging a few hundred feet down to death. Overturned buses are not unheard of, nor are collisions between cars trying to pass on a blind curve. I don’t mind mountain driving in general (who knows how many miles IP and I have logged out West?), but here my alarms are alert and flashing. I would like to fly into Aguascalientes, Aguascalientes one day because the drive is supposed to be less taxing. But for now, this is how it’d have to go. And if we did that, we’d miss out on burritos!

2) On the drive, stop at Moyahua for those excellent burritos that I mentioned. Maybe order a few to go for dinner later that night.

Burritos de Moyahua

3) Arrive in San Isidro. It’s not like it used to be—we probably wouldn’t stay in San Isidro for long because I’m guessing it would be super depressing for me. But I would show IP around the village, including Cuca’s little store where my cousins and friends and I would buy Cokes, chips, and candy; my uncle’s little store that was everything from a restaurant to a tortilleria; my grandmother’s lovely home (which better fucking damn well stay in the family—you’re on notice, uncle dear [note: not the same uncle mentioned above]) with it’s sprawling courtyard, the guava tree I’d climb to reach the delicious guavas, and the small rooms that house so many good memories; up to the elementary school we’d head, where I spent one miserable year before heading to middle school; off then we would go to my parents’ house, which isn’t much to write home about since the construction wasn’t so great, but it’d be nice to show IP where I lived when I was a tween. If it were early May, we’d be in time for the village’s festival, and in time to eat lots and lots of pitayas, known as dragon fruit. They kick prickly pear’s (known as tunas in Spanish) ass when it comes to the battle of cactus fruit.

Pitayas

We’d also have to get some hielo raspado. Which is shaved ice, but with flavors 10 times better than those you find anywhere, including Hawaii. This is most likely vanilla. Vanilla with a sweet milk? OMFG, nom, nom, NOM!

Hielo Raspado

4) To sleep, off we go to the Paraiso Caxcan, a little resort tucked in between the villages of San Isidro and San Miguel. I have never stayed there, of course, but I think it’d probably be the best bet for IP and me while in Mexico (I don’t like staying with family unless it’s my grandmother; since that’s not an option, and since my parents’ house is bound to be in disorder, the resort it is!). Here we could swim, relax, eat at the restaurant, get a small cabana for ourselves, and have a cookout if we wanted to.

Paraiso Caxcan

4) After visiting San Isidro, we’d have to make a trip to Juchipila and Apozol; Jalpa could be done on the way to Zacatecas, and that would be very brief given that I didn’t spend much time there. Juchipila would also be a quick run; I’d point out where we did our weekly shopping, the hospital where I was born, we’d get some mouthwatering rotisserie chicken and juice (and maybe a Chocomilk for me?), and then we’d depart. In Apozol, we’d hike up to my middle school, where I actually had a good time. Not too long ago I found a website that had a bunch of pictures of my school, but the domain name has lapsed and the pictures are no more. But this would definitely be on the list. We’d also stop to get some popsicles here because they are the bomb.

Apozol, Zacatecas, Mexico

5) After a brief stay in San Isidro, we could head over to the state capital, which boasts a rich history that dates back to the mid-1500s. Silver was found in the capital, which made it a hub as the lands were taken over by the Spanish. The mines are pretty much abandoned now, and you can take tours of at least one of them. The city center is preserved and is designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The cathedral of Zacatecas is beautiful:

Cathedral of Zacatecas

The Plaza de Armas is always hopping; there are bands playing, schools competing in dance competitions, people watching. After exploring the city center and maybe taking a gander at the university, IP and I would have to head to the Cerro de la Bufa. The cerro commemorates the Battle of Zacatecas during the Revolutionary War in the early 20th century. It was a decisive victory for Pancho Villa and his men; the federal troops were absolutely decimated and the town fell to the rebels. Victoriano Huerta, president of Mexico at the time, resigned shortly after the defeat since Zacatecas now gave the rebels rail access to the nation’s capital. You can access the summit of Cerro de la Bufa by car or by teleférico (an aerial tramway) that links the summits of Cerro de la Bufa and Cerro del Grillo, giving passengers views of downtown Zacatecas. The summit of Cerro de la Bufa has a parish built on it; a monument to the battle exists in the form of a museum and three large statues of Pancho Villa, Felipe Ángeles and Panfilo Natera, riding their horses to take the town. Little stalls selling souvenirs ring the museum and parish.

Statue of Pancho Villa, Cerro de la Bufa

Teleferico

Cerro de la Bufa by Night

5) There would be a lot more to do, but unfortunately, Google Images is failing me. We’d have to go for a picnic in El Aguacate, which has about 35 inhabitants and one of the most pristine areas of open land that I’ve ever seen. It’s a hike to get to the actual village, but the payoff is a beautiful afternoon filled with yummy food, clear skies, and hills to explore. Presa Achoquén would be a must for some nice views, a hike, and another picnic (or cookout). By integrating hiking into our visits to Zacatecas, Apozol, Juchipila, Jalpa, El Aguacate, and Achoquén, IP and I could probably spend a week here as long as we’re not too wrapped up by family. Then again, I don’t have many left there, so I might be able to get away with just being a tourist in my hometown.

And that’s what our trip would be like if Mexico weren’t a failed narco state. I like to say that in jest, but the reality is that, even in Zacatecas, the long tendrils of violence are reaching and touching people on a deep level. As this New York Times article from 2009 reports, Zacatecas can be a prime target. I wouldn’t want to travel alone there, but traveling with my husband could be even more dangerous. Sure, tourists are for the most part left alone, but the sight of IP and me could be rather tempting to someone hard up for money or just part of a cartel that dominates the northern part of Mexico. Bluntly put, it’s obvious IP is American, and that could lead people to believe we have big bucks. Which we don’t. But compared to them, we probably do.

It wouldn’t be the same as when I was a child, which deeply saddens me. But hopefully one day I’ll be able to show IP and any children we may choose to have where I grew up, where I was pretty happy, and where I hope stability, prosperity, and normalcy will return to again.

©2012 Sonnet 87. All Rights Reserved. Originally published by WordNerd for Sonnet87.com. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

To prepare for the trip, I assessed my current inventory of summer clothes and determine that it’s drab. Drab-drab-drinsky. So I headed over to Old Navy to check out the things I’d been eying. With the help of my sister, I ended up with the following:

A few skirts for those days when we’re out of our swimsuits and not on a tour. Or for the evenings, of course:

A few (more than few cute tops that’ll complement the skirts or shorts):

My sister specifically picked out the light sweater and tank below for the orange skirt pictured above:

And finally, I needed a new bathing suit. Lands’ End was having a sale. It was a match made in heaven:

And I’m not even close to done. Up next: new luggage, some shorts, and doing my best to resist buying this lovely dress from Athleta.com that I could also wear in Greece one day:

©2012 Sonnet 87. All Rights Reserved. Originally published by WordNerd for Sonnet87.com. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

Am I cranky?  Yes.  It’s a combination of a growing annoyance with the interpretation of the holiday and a shitty day yesterday in terms of wedding planning.  Perhaps I’ll elucidate that further in another post.

©2012 Sonnet 87. All Rights Reserved. Originally published by WordNerd for Sonnet87.com. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

Step 2: Knead all the ingredients until it looks like this.  Doesn’t that look a lot better?

Step 3: Form the dough into the cookie shape.  Wouldn’t you like to know how I get those nifty ridges?  Wait, that sounds dirty.

Step 4: Stick these puppies into the oven and presto!  You’ve got 82 encanelados that go perfectly with a glass of milk!

Alas, I cannot pass on the recipe or Mother would have me for lunch.  And yes, I did shape the cookies into the shape of a wedding cake—what do you expect from a woman with one particular Maggie Sottero dress on her mind?!?

©2012 Sonnet 87. All Rights Reserved. Originally published by WordNerd for Sonnet87.com. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

¡Vivan los héroes que nos dieron libertad!

¡Viva México!

¡Viva México!

¡Viva México!

¡Felíz día de la independencia a mi México!

©2012 Sonnet 87. All Rights Reserved. Originally published by WordNerd for Sonnet87.com. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

Mmm, enchiladas!

The recipe is my mom’s; I had meant to show the process as I was making them, but it doesn’t really work when you’ve got salsa de enchiladas slathered all over your hands.  *The* IP and I will have this for dinner, followed up by his birthday ice cream cake.  I will sing “Happy Birthday” in an obnoxious, loud voice, all the while wishing my beloved fiancé the best.  Before that, though, we’ll enjoy some enchiladas (and it’s the first time I’ve cooked in I don’t know how long . . .).

©2012 Sonnet 87. All Rights Reserved. Originally published by WordNerd for Sonnet87.com. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

Impossibly enough, though, even with all of my middle school shenanigans and goings-ons, I loved middle school in Mexico. It was a time when I was considered pretty, popular, smart and was looked up to by all of my peers. You have no idea how that affected me, the girl who had gone to school in Saline, Michigan, and was nothing compared to the Suzannes, Kellys, and Jennifers of that stark-white world. There was a time when I felt absolutely comfortable and began to see myself as I was, not as I wished I were – I stopped wishing for blond hair and blue eyes, I stopped wishing for paler skin. For once, I was perfect the way I was and I thrived in that environment. I adored my school – Escuela Secundaria Federal Rafael Ramirez Castañeda. Life outside of school was actually boring compared to school and I wished for mornings to come sooner because it was fun. It was fun to learn, fun to interact with my friends, fun to interact with the other seventh grade class, fun to impress all the teachers who put effort into teaching and trusted me to learn (unlike my experience in Mexican sixth grade, which sucked). At a time when kids’ self-esteem tends to plummet, there was newfound joy in school and in myself.

It didn’t stop with me. Most of my peers were pretty happy and well-adjusted, too, at least when it came to school. Discipline problems were scant and we actually took pride in doing our best and elevating the school’s stature. Perhaps it was partly attributable to the fact that we all had to wear uniforms – ugly uniforms, to be sure, but they did have the effect of creating a sense of equality that wasn’t there prior or immediately after my Mexican middle school days. Teasing about being fat, skinny, light, dark, just didn’t happen in my class. We all got along well and usually banded together. There were divisions between male and female when it came to what could be called executive power (I lost my bid to be eighth grade president simply because our homeroom teacher decided that having girls as presidents two years in a row simply wasn’t fair), but we mostly got along. There were family problems, of course; some peers did drop out due to family pressure or lack of resources, but they still remained friends. We were one big happy class, the kids in Primero A (middle school grades, seventh through ninth in Mexico, were subdivided into two classes, A and B – there was spirited competition among all the classes and grades, to say the least). Primero B seemed to be a bit more fractured but they were, after all, B.

(As much as I still tease B, they were generally good kids and we were friendly enough to each other – the school administration was good about fostering healthy competition between all grades and class divisions. A subdivisions generally won across the grades, so that’s where the mock high and mighty attitudes emerges.)

I had conquered my fears of Mexican school in sixth grade, so going to seventh wasn’t as big a deal academically. Socially, I was terrified and ended up sticking to my older cousin and her friends for a bit. But as she was a year older, I couldn’t keep up the Post-It Note act for long – I had to interact with my peers. I was surprised and delighted that they weren’t as assy as my sixth grade classmates (this was a school most people commuted to, myself included) and made friends rapidly. Soon I could count them all as friends. Hugo, the guy who could do back flips at will and usually did so after scoring a goal in soccer; Marta, a sweetheart of a friend who was a smart ass in disguise; Juan Carlos, who tricked into my first miserable yet memorable kiss; Gaby, a girl whose father owned a paper shop nearby and helped fight the good fight with me to get into typing class; Sandra, the girl whose father was principal but who never attempted to get by through nepotism; Enrique, the kid who beat me out as president but was pretty decent to talk to once the gender wars settled on any particular day. There were more, of course, but they’ve all faded away with time.

Middle school was a good time in general; the last half of it, done in Saline, was no treat, but I had my experience as a Mexican kid to look back on instead of Saline. I’ve often said my life kind of blanks out from the second half of eighth grade until the time I started college. Why the hell are U.S. schools so terrible on kids? Everyone’s a dictator, all the kids are mean, and you have to watch your every step so you don’t become a mockery. Be a little different (like, oh, say Mexican) and you’re toast.  Not so in Mexico – even with my accent and sometimes awkward Spanish I was considered cool.

I have to wonder what their formula was for keeping kids relatively sane at that time of life, so much so that they had time to become entrepreneurial masterminds.

©2012 Sonnet 87. All Rights Reserved. Originally published by WordNerd for Sonnet87.com. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.