Feel the burn.

Today for lunch I had a vegetarian hotdog (don’t make fun) with all the typical things we in the U.S. put on our hotdogs: mustard, neon green relish (why is it that color?), tomato, pickle (in addition to the relish which is, theoretically, made out of pickles), and-- because I am in Texas-- hot peppers. They weren’t chopped hot peppers or sliced hot peppers. They were just two, cute little hot peppers, sitting on top of the dog. But their cuteness was deceiving. They were pretty hot. 

Hot peppers have grown in popularity in the U.S. in the past few years. Salsa is supposedly the most popular condiment in the country now, overtaking the long-reigning champion, ketchup (or catsup). The level of hotness of said peppers depends a lot on where you are in the country. “Hot Salsa” way up north can actually be very mild. It can taste like tomatoes with some other stuff thrown in there. But “mild salsa” in Texas can sometimes still burn the paint off the side of a barn. It just depends.

People often associate this spiciness with Mexican food. And they should. Because they’ve got some hot shit down there. But I like hot and have a pretty high tolerance. Not as high as someone in Mexico who eats hot peppers like breath mints. Not as high as my brother who has lived in Texas for a very long time. But a decent level. I spent a Christmas in Mexico several years ago. And as a vegetarian (with nary a veggie-dog in sight), I often ate cheese enchiladas. Fantastic cheese enchiladas. Like here in Texas, I could choose from different sauces to put on top of the enchiladas. Whereas here green salsa (salsa verde) is typically pretty mild, in Mexico it has some heat. So much, in fact, that waiters often questioned my order. Once, with my friend Arturo (see blog post about Arturo’s family here) and I encountered such a waiter.

“But it’s hot, Miss.”

-- Yes, I know. That’s okay. I want the salsa verde.

As if he had not understood a word of my Spanish he responded,

“But it’s hot, Miss.”

 --- Um, I know. Don’t worry. I like it.

And then he looked at my friend as if to say, “Help me out here, amigo. This gringa is trying to order the hottest sauce and she doesn’t seem to understand the pain that is about to rain down upon her delicate güera constitution.”

And Arturo said, “Don’t worry. She knows.”

So salsa verde is what I got. It was hot, don’t get me wrong. I could feel sweat beading up on my upper lip and under my eyes. But I can take it, mi hijo. Está bien.

One thing to be aware of is that sometimes the tiniest of peppers are the most deadly to your tongue. I had two such types of peppers in Guatemala, only because the men of my host family were into spicy food. Everyday, my host “mother” made a little bowl of salsa for her 93-year-old father-in-law (go here to see a photo of Don Rafa). It was made with teeny, tiny green peppers that packed a real punch. If there was any leftover at lunch (yes, he ate it for breakfast), she would let me have it. Loved it!

These are one kind of hot little peppers
I had in Guatemala. If you know what
they're called, let me know in the comments

Another time, for a graduation party, they had tamales. The entire extended family was there and so was a mountain of tamales with various fillings. There were a couple vegetarian choices, and I was enjoying one when I discovered this little, skinny red pepper in the middle of my tamal. I pulled it out, showed it to the family and announced that I was going to try it, positioning the pepper in such a way that implied I was just going to pop the whole thing into my mouth (and I was). In unison, they all yelled, “No, no, no! Poquito, poquito.” So I took a tiny little taste and whoosh, a fire burned a trail down my throat. 

Here I am, learning to make salsa from
my hostess, Miriam. 

Once, I was having a Tex-Mex lunch with my brother at a local chain restaurant in Austin called Serranos. Yes, after the pepper. They put an actual serrano pepper on every plate. It is a larger pepper, not like the little devils I had in Guatemala. So I thought it was more like a jalapeño, which for me is on the mild side. On this day, I asked my brother, “Should I try this?” And he just said, “If you want,” although I noticed he was not eating his serrano pepper. Nevertheless, I took a little bite. Un poquito. But even before I started chewing it, I had to spit it out. It was burning my entire mouth. Even my teeth hurt. My teeth! I ate chips, chips and more chips. The burning continued. And it remained for some time after. I hadn’t even chewed or swallowed any of that pepper! Can you imagine if I had? 

¡Ay chihuahua!

I don’t know how you feel about spicy food or hot food or salsa picante. I have a friend who cannot take it at all. She hates it. I think it tastes totally different to her taste buds than it does to mine. Because even if it burns a bit, I like it. In any case, when you are traveling to other lands, you may be surprised that there are things much, much hotter than the Fire sauce packets at Taco Bell. Have fun and try as much as you can handle. But beware that you may be biting off more than you can chew.

Happy Holidays to all of you! See you in 2013!  

Relax!

When did we women in the U.S. become so busy that we need to have someone else do our nails? I don’t know when this happened, but now there are nail salons everywhere and there are women who go regularly. Yes, it’s true, things are very busy and hectic in this country. We do not relax as much as we should. We do not take enough time off from work. We have very few vacation days and some people don’t ever even use them (what is that all about?). Maybe this manicure/pedicure thing is a little vacation.

Maybe spas are as well. They are also everywhere these days. Beauty salons have them. Hotels have them. Casinos have them. They are a great way to get some pampering. There is nothing like a massage to work out all that stress. Mud baths and body wraps supposedly do wonders. And facials are a luxury for some (although I personally hate it when anyone touches my face, especially constantly and continually with greasy hands over several minutes. No thanks.)

When I was in Ecuador, I took a weekend trip to the town of Baños with some friends from my Spanish school. Baños is a town with many hot spring and steam sources (hence the name, which means “Baths”). Our hotel had “hot baths” on the top floor. Now this was no fancy, schmancy hotel. It was inexpensive and simple. And the hot bath was very economical, even for us students.

My friend Naomi and I went up to the top of the hotel in our bathing suits. We each got inside a box, where we sat down, our bodies enclosed, and our heads sticking out of the top. (Wasn’t there an old cartoon where someone got into a steam box one size and came out much, much smaller?)

Then the steam was upon us. It was hot. Really, really hot. When it got so hot we thought we were going to melt into a puddle, attendants opened the box and had us get out. We stepped a few feet in front of the boxes and they ladled cool water all over us, using downward hand motions (to guide out the toxins perhaps). Then we got back in the box for another steamy, hot experience. This cycle happened about three times. After the final steam, we were guided outside to the roof terrace, where other guests were relaxing after their baths. We were told to stand by a wall and then they hosed us down with more cool water. My friend screamed. I contemplated the daily routines of women’s prisons. Then we were done.

And this is what we got out of it: baby soft skin. I mean super soft. My skin had never been so silky smooth. It was also very relaxing despite all the hot, cold, hot, cold business.

This experience inspired me to seek out something different than a usual spa when I traveled to San Francisco with some girlfriends a few years ago. I knew there was a strong Asian influence in the Bay Area and I wanted to do something cultural, not just eat some great Asian food. I was initially thinking some kind of acupuncture or something similar in China Town. But then a male friend who lives in SF suggested a Korean spa some of his female friends had been to and recommended. So we made reservations for massages.

Included in our massage price was access to a steam room, sauna, hot tub, and showers. This was a “women only” spa, so although we each had terry cloth bathrobes to use, we could just walk around naked. Because that's what people do. 

Then the massage ladies called us upstairs. We were led into a room with what I can only describe as stainless steel tables covered with large plastic sheets. It looked like a place where autopsies were performed. There were another two guests on two of the tables (alive thankfully, but in the same room). The massage ladies told us to take off our robes and lie down. This is when my friend Susan whispered to me, “I’m going to kill you.”

So, there we were, naked, lying face down on plastic sheets and metal gurneys. Horrible, right? Wrong. These women began pouring warm water all over us. Not too hot, but warm enough to feel great. Water was flying everywhere, which explained the plastic sheeting. It also explained why the massage ladies were only wearing their underwear: bras and panties. Any clothing would have been drenched. We later wondered why bathing suits weren’t worn instead. And believe me, these undergarments were worn very modestly. If you know what “granny panties” are, then you get my drift.

Next, wearing some kind of loofah gloves (not sure because I couldn’t see), the massagers started exfoliating the hell out of us. All over our bodies. We were loofah’d in places we didn’t even know could be loofah’d. Then they switched to a regular massage (no loofah gloves), working out the tension we had developed from being naked on plastic covered metal tables in a room full of strangers and being loofah’d within an inch of our lives. Then they switched to warm oil. I don’t recall how long this all went on. It had to have been close to an hour, after which we were lying on our backs, when they rinsed off the oil, massaged our heads, and poured warm milk all over us, including our hair. Then we were rinsed off with more ladled warm water and we were done. Pretty silky smooth after this one, too.

My friend Laurel had been by herself in another room, getting a different treatment because she was pregnant. When she came down to the hot tub, she said in amazement, “That was the best thing that has ever happened to me!”

Yeah. It was pretty awesome. Crazy, but awesome.

As I usually do, I will suggest that when you are traveling, whether in your own country or abroad, try to experience different things than what you are accustomed to at home. Don’t just go to a spa that is like a spa you would find in your own town or city. Try something new. But as always, be cautious. Some “spas” have seedy reputations. Do your homework or get recommendations from people you trust. Check websites for customer feedback. Just like you would at home. But take a chance to try something new. You may end up more relaxed than ever. And softer than a baby’s bottom! 

Leave your heart behind, but not your meds.

When you are planning a trip, especially one overseas, a very important thing to remember is your medication, specifically your prescription medication. If traveling within the United States, forgetting your meds may seem like a really bad thing initially. But if you live in the U.S., all you need to do is have your pharmacy at home contact a pharmacy where you are visiting and you’re all set. No problem.

Not so when in another country. There are some medications you can purchase over-the-counter (without a doctor’s prescription) in pharmacies/farmacias/drug stores/whatever else they may be called in other countries. I have heard of people going to Mexico for cheaper medications for everything from prescription skincare to erectile dysfunction medication. But if you are on a daily, or even weekly, medication for a health condition, you need to be sure that you not only pack it, but that you pack enough for the entire trip. Because if you run out, you are up the proverbial creek without a paddle.

I would also suggest that to avoid any issues with immigration in any country (including your own), keep prescribed medication in the original bottles. It’s probably not a good idea to dump them all in a ziplock plastic bag so you save space in your luggage. I’m all for saving space when packing for travel, but a little baggie full of pills just doesn’t look good, officially speaking.

Unfortunately, I cannot speak to anything beyond pills. If you have diabetes and require insulin injections or have another health condition that requires injections of any kind, then please do your homework, talk to your physician, talk to a travel clinic in your home country, and make sure you do what is necessary to stay healthy during your travels.

In regard to other medications, such as pills, you also need to remember them when you leave your hotel or hostel or guesthouse. You’re thinking, “No duh.” But honestly, sometimes you are in a hurry to catch a bus or another flight and you leave the little things behind. Like pills.

When I was in central Mexico, staying in a simple but charming family-run guesthouse, I became friends with a young Danish couple staying there. They weren’t married, but they often told the older locals that they were so their cohabitation wasn’t frowned upon. The same morning they left for the bus station to continue traveling through the country, I heard a knock on my door. It was the maid. She was an extremely sweet person. Very friendly and she helped me when I suffered from stomach bacteria (see stories about stomach woes here). But this particular morning, she was upset about something. Shaking a small plastic disc in my face she declared, “That couple was using birth control! That is a sin! They are not supposed to use these! I cannot believe it!” And on and on.

My first thought was, “Oh no, they aren’t going to have birth control for the rest of their trip! They are going to freak out!” (My second thought was, "How does the maid know those are birth control pills if she is so against them?" But I digress ...).

I managed to calm the maid down a bit, telling her that sometimes doctors prescribe birth control for health reasons, not just to prevent pregnancy (which is true, of course, even if it wasn’t in this case). Then I said, “Here, let me take care of those for you,” and took the packet as I patted her back and diplomatically nodded my head. I already had plans to go to the bus station that day because I was checking out transportation options for my mother’s upcoming visit. I decided to go earlier to see if I could catch the Danes and save them from possible problems, like, say ... an unplanned pregnancy.

When I got to the bus station, they were happy to see me since we didn’t get to say good-bye that morning. But the woman was even happier when I showed her the pack of pills she left behind and asked, “Did you forget something?” Tough situation avoided. Sinful tourists – 1. Devout maid – 0.

Ladies, I suggest you keep that particular type of “medication” in your makeup bag or something, rather than out on a countertop or table. Not only will you avoid leaving it behind, but you will avoid any potential culture clashes that are simply too difficult to explain in any language. Keep your birth control to yourself, if you know what I mean. Not all locals in more traditional countries hold the same view as the maid I mention, but why risk such drama?

For other types of medication, it is just important to not only bring it along, but to bring enough. You are taking it for a reason. Don’t let forgetting it make your trip memorable for the wrong reasons. 

Let it rain.

It is dry in Central Texas. Very dry. This has been the case for many areas of the U.S. this summer. And last year, too. I have developed a new appreciation for the wet stuff from the sky. A nice, steady rain that soaks in and pitter-patters on the roof would be welcome. I would especially welcome the kind of rain I have experienced in Central America.

I have written about the cold climes of Latin America (see here), and the hot ones as well (here). Many places I have been in Central America have two seasons: rainy and dry (or muddy and dusty as the case may be). The rainy season I experienced in the hot, tropical areas of Costa Rica, Nicaragua and Panama did not include days and days of unending rains. The days were hot, pretty much like the dry season. But typically in the afternoon, it would rain like the dickens for a while. It came down in buckets. Within minutes, the streets were running with water. If you stepped into the street, your shoes would get soaked. Even with an umbrella, you would get drenched. If indoors, the rain battered the rooftops so loudly that you could not have a conversation with anyone.

This is a nice, hard rain I experienced while staying with
a family in Granada, Nicaragua. This is the uncovered
laundry area (notice the pila in the corner) and my room
was to the left, where the floor was covered with water.

On my first trip to Costa Rica, I was with a group. It was during rainy season, so the afternoon rains came after we had completed our work at a house construction site. So much rain came down, that some of the young women in my group ran outside to wash their hair in the downpour.  

There are places in the U.S. where these types of rainstorms happen. I experienced strong rains years ago in the Houston area. If I was driving, I sometimes pulled over to wait out the storm because my windshield wipers couldn’t keep up and I couldn’t see a thing in front of me. There are also places in the U.S. where the rain is regular, consistent, and at times unrelenting. But I have never lived in those places and can only imagine what that is like (maybe a little too dreary for me).

I did hear about a person from the Pacific Northwest who moved to Austin only to be bothered by all the sunshine. It is so sunny here so often that this person found it strange and uncomfortable. For the first time, she had to wear sunglasses regularly; she had to think about sunscreen with a higher SPF; she even wore big hats when at an outdoor events.

Yes, the sunshine is pretty predictable here. You wouldn’t know that from the meteorologists on the local news. They say things like, “If you don’t like the weather in Central Texas, just wait a minute,” a quote that is actually attributed to Mark Twain speaking about New England. Since New England actually has four seasons, and a cranky Atlantic ocean whipping its shores, in Texas (at least in Central Texas for the past couple years) it might be more appropriate to say, “If you don’t like the weather, too damn bad!”  

If you travel to a place that has a different climate, different weather patterns, different temperatures than at home, enjoy the difference. If you are from hot and dry Central Texas and are spending some time in hot and wet Panama, get those shoes wet, walk without an umbrella, shampoo your hair outside in the rain. If you are from a place where it rains frequently and the sun is a stranger, enjoy that sunny beach you are visiting, bask in its glow, soak up that Vitamin D (but always use sunscreen!). If you are visiting a place that is so hot you feel like you could melt, then find some local cool cocktails (like I did here).  As I have said before, enjoy what is different. This weekend may be gloomy and rainy in Austin, but that gloom and rain is welcome out of necessity. When you're traveling, the weather is part of the experience, even if your original plans get washed away.

Go batty.

I have written a little about bats in a previous post (see here). Today I am going to write about them again, and not just because this weekend is Austin’s 8th Annual Bat Fest (although the timing is pretty good for that).

In case you are not aware, the Ann Richards Congress Avenue Bridge in Austin, Texas is home to the largest urban colony of bats in North America. At sunset from spring to fall, you can see as many as a million (or more) bats leave in unison to fly down the Colorado River (Lady Bird Lake). They look like choreographed black smoke, flitting and dipping as they consume tons of mosquitoes and other insects. It is quite a sight, and one that attracts thousands of tourists every year. It is only fitting that there is a festival in honor of the bats.

I mention in the aforementioned post that to me bats are fascinating. I would not call them “cute” per se, but they serve an important role in our ecosystem (did I mention they eat mosquitoes?). Not only did I encounter them in my hotel sink in Nicaragua, and flying from beneath a bridge in Texas, but I have seen them in a place one might more naturally expect: a cave.

When in the Yucatan peninsula of Mexico several years ago, my then-boyfriend and I went to explore a cenote (sen-NOTE-ay). A cenote is basically an inverted cave or a sinkhole, that connects to groundwater. It is an underground cave with freshwater, so you can swim around, snorkel, and even walk around where the water isn’t too deep. We paid the modest fee to enter this particular cenote and climbed down a rather rickety ladder contraption. The water was deep where we entered, so we swam around, coming to the other side where we could stand up and walk. My boyfriend was walking ahead into another chamber of the cave when I spotted something hanging from the ceiling. It took me a while to figure out they were bats because they were very small, not what I had seen in books or on TV. I called out, “Hey, there’s baby bats hanging out over here.” And just like that, whoosh! A huge herd/flock/bevy/whatever of bats came flying out of a hole in the ceiling of the cave. I wasn't scared, for whatever reason. They didn’t make any noise. All I could hear was the flutter of their wings as they circled in a figure eight formation above me. I just stood there, still as could be, hand over my mouth in awe, trying not to make a sound. It was amazing.

I know there are many of you out there who are freaked out by bats. You don’t want anything to do with them. They scare you because you’ve heard they have rabies or they will get tangled in your hair. Maybe they seem like rodents with wings. Maybe you’re afraid they will turn you into a vampire. But there are times when traveling presents you with the truth and shows you how different something is in its natural environment. Sometimes something you fear is just something to marvel. This was not a bat flying around the attic of a farmhouse. These were not two dehydrated and sleepy bats hanging out in a hotel sink. What I saw in that cenote was a colony of bats that lived there. They slept, ate, and raised babies there. I was the interloper, not them. And I had to be thankful to those wordless hosts. Because it was quite a show.

Read up, Part 2.

I was talking travel books with a friend last night and recommended to her the books I suggested in this blog post. So now I feel like recommending to you some more books, these with the common thread of "cultural differences." I have written before about how cultural differences make traveling so interesting. This is true. At least for me. But sometimes these differences are much deeper than you ever thought. The following books illustrate this well.

Foreign Babes in Beijing: Behind the Scenes of a New China, by Rachel DeWoskin.
A recent American college graduate goes to China to work for a public relations firm and becomes a star on a Chinese soap opera. She improves her Chinese language skills, immerses herself in Beijing life, and encounters cultural differences that sometimes baffle her. She also illustrates the changes China was undergoing at the time, in the early 1990s, shortly after the Tiananmen Square protests. Knowing little about China, I found her story educational, charming, funny, and inspiring. I really want to go to China now.

The next two books I list show how you do not have to leave the U.S. (or wherever you may live) to find cultures other than your own. And the stories don't necessarily have to come from immigrants.

Neither Wolf Nor Dog - On Forgotten Roads with an Indian Elder, by Kent Nerburn.
This book traces the lessons an American Indian teaches a white man as they travel through the reservations of the Dakotas. What Mr. Nerburn learns, and therefore what we learn, goes way beyond anything most of us have ever known about native peoples and how they view their history and world. According to the author's forward, this book has been used as a bridge between cultures and as tool for Indians themselves - a way for them to visit their past history and feel proud to be Indian.

The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down - A Hmong Child, Her American Doctors, and the Collision of Two Cultures, by Anne Fadiman.
This book was recommended to me by a language interpretation instructor I had. It is about the Hmong community in Merced, California several years ago. Many Hmong refugees fled to the U.S. and other countries because of the civil war in Laos in the 1970s. This book focuses on one such refugee community and shows how cultural differences and misunderstandings can have serious repercussions in the U.S. medical community. Western medicine and traditional Hmong culture collide in this intriguing anthropological story.

These real-life stories amazed me. In many ways. Traveling can sometimes mean "traveling with a book." You can learn about other cultures while reading in a comfortable hammock in your backyard. You can enjoy others' travel adventures and experiences without renewing your passport. And you can discover incredible and different cultures within your own borders. I love traveling to experience other cultures, but sometimes all I can afford is a book. Sometimes, that is enough.


If any of you out there can recommend any books you have read about other cultures -- books that amazed you in some way -- please share in the comments below. 

Check yourself before you wreck yourself.

Ugly Americans. What is that? Do they really exist?

Oh, you bet they do. They are amazingly loud, talking as if their ears have not yet depressurized from their flight. They don’t speak any phrases in the local language, choosing instead to speak louder when a local does not understand them. They display an arrogance that is often shown with demeaning comments about the way things are done in that particular country. They do not consider local traditions, choosing to wear inappropriate clothing in more conservative places or refusing to research local customs before arriving to avoid any misunderstandings or disrespect.

The Ugly American is also a novel, written in 1958 by Eugene Burdick and William Lederer. I found this great quote on Wiki where a Burmese character in this book explains his view:

“For some reason, the [American] people I meet in my country are not the same as the ones I knew in the United States. A mysterious change seems to come over Americans when they go to a foreign land. They isolate themselves socially. They live pretentiously. They’re loud and ostentatious.”

(You can see more about the book, and the 1963 movie staring Marlon Brando, here.) 

This is a drastic version of people from the U.S. who are abroad. Oh, these drastic versions exist. But there are also those who aren’t as obvious, not as obnoxious. Yet they, too, have trouble opening their minds to absorb differences and find value in them. 

They say things like:

 “They drive on the wrong side of the road.”

“Their doors open the wrong way.”

“They don’t know how to make a sandwich.”

“Their coffee is too strong.”

First of all, let’s establish that if you want everything to stay the same, to experience only the same things you experience every single day of your life at home, then don’t travel. Stay home. Order a pizza. This seems like an extremely boring way to live in my opinion, but if that is what you prefer, then do what you do.

Second, when you are going on a trip-- particularly if it is a trip to another country-- it is a good idea to shift your thinking a bit. I believe that the fun of visiting another place and experiencing another culture is for the differences. The differences are interesting, beautiful, and often inspiring. And all these differences, whether they are the way coffee is prepared or how people drive, are not necessarily “wrong.” They are just different. To people in other countries, the way you do something is very different. Sometimes we forget this when we are traveling. Much like the character in The Ugly American, I do not know why.

When I was in Nicaragua, the sea turtles in the Pacific were laying their eggs on the coast. There were night tours from San Juan del Sur that took people to watch them lay their eggs. A group of us packed into a couple crowded vans and bounced along a bumpy road for about an hour to another beach. When we got to the nature reserve, we were greeted by the scientists who would be leading us to the turtles. They gave us explicit instructions: no flashlights unless they were red light; no flash use with cameras; and no talking. Easy enough. We didn’t want to scare the turtles and keep them from their job of laying eggs in the sand.

In the very dark night, we eventually came upon a female turtle digging away at the sand to lay her eggs. The guide pointed a red-filtered light at her so we could see. All of us were silent ...except for one couple that evidently did not hear, or chose to ignore, the previous instructions. They were talking normally, like they were having lunch at a cafe. They were promptly shushed, and it took a few times before they finally shut their respective pie holes. Now, I am not 100% sure this couple was American. But based on past experiences, I am 99% sure they were. 

Yes, it’s true that there are people from all cultures that are oblivious, obnoxious, loud, embarrassing, etc. I am not saying that all such people are my fellow U.S. citizens, because in fact, I have seen and heard such behavior from other countries as well. But it has become such that no matter where that particular type of person is from, people assume they are American. So I simply suggest that when you are going to travel abroad, shift your thinking for the little things, and maybe you can help shift the thinking of others in the world and help make the Ugly American a thing of the past.

It’s a simple shift.

Not  “They drive on the wrong side of the road” but “They drive on the other side of the road.”

Not “Their doors open the wrong way” but “Their doors open differently.”

Not “They don’t make a sandwich the right way” but “This sandwich is a whole new experience.”

Not “This coffee sucks” but “This coffee is definitely going to wake me up!”

It is not about being polite. Or politically correct. It is just changing your frame of mind so that you enjoy the differences instead of making them into something annoying. And then you can possibly avert becoming an annoyance yourself. 

Zach Galifianakis in Due Date (also starring Robert Downey, Jr.). Hilarious movie.