Day in Los Angeles

Breakfast at Republique in Los Angeles, California

You thought gas was expensive in L.A.? You should try breakfast. We are at La Republique on La Brea in a historic building erected by Charlie Chaplin back in 1929, seriously nice digs. Our first stroke of luck was finding parking; next, we were early enough on this Saturday not to get stuck in a long line. Caroline opted for nostalgia, ordering the shakshouka, which is what we had on our first visit here back in August 2019 with the Braverman’s. That was a special moment as it was our first meeting with their new son, Liam. Lucky for Republique, we won’t be camping out here for 3 hours today as we did then as we have an appointment coming up at 10:00 a.m. As for my meal on this visit, a lobster and gruyere omelet with arugula. So what took the bill to $100, well we also had coffee. Just kidding, though we did have coffee, we also ordered three pastries to go; yep, that’ll do it.

Walking in Los Angeles, California

Well, how’d we mess this up? It’s Saturday, we thought we were supposed to be at LACMA (Los Angeles County Museum of Art), but it turns out our reservations are for Sunday, and we planned on being at the Huntington Library and Gardens over in San Marino today. Not sure the garden is going to honor today’s tickets tomorrow but we were not going to race an hour across the L.A. basin to try to get there when both entries were scheduled for the same time. The worst outcome will be that we have to pay for our entries tomorrow without credit for today, but I suppose it supports a good cause.

So far, so good, as the person at the ticket office for LACMA simply refunded our tickets for tomorrow and then charged us for entry this morning.

Otto Dix at LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

Started up on the third floor by taking the outside escalator up into the void. There’s a moment on the ride up, where high over the ground below, it appears the escalator doesn’t connect to the open walkway. With that bit of nerve-wracking out of the way, we started our truncated tour of the museum. Truncated because a large part of LACMA is gone as they are building a massive new structure spanning Wilshire Boulevard that won’t open until 2024.

Once in the gallery, I’m confronted nearly immediately by one of my favorite artists, Otto Dix. The piece is called Leda, and it depicts a swan raping a woman. It is not the depiction of Zeus’s avatar, the swan, raping Leda that draws me to the piece or to Dix’s work; though most of his work depicts a cruel and violent world, it is his authentic depiction of a people enthralled with the gore they so fondly adore. I fully understand that “most” people will feign disgust at images of violence, but the reality, in my view, is that our population needs blood sacrifice to nourish some primordial love of brutality. I happen to appreciate mine in the unflinching, cold, authentic voice of art.

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

I have an unwavering appreciation for the art of the last 19th and early 20th centuries. From Kandinsky, pictured here, to Chagall, Klimt, Delvaux, Miró, Klee, Ernst, Dix (above), and the inheritor of these schools of art, Francis Bacon.

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

Growing up, I loved the experimental nature of what I was seeing from David Hockney, but as he took L.A. by storm, I started growing weary of his work. It seemed to me that his movement stopped and that his themes were uncomplicated pieces that would sell to an adoring crowd of aficionados who needed an art celebrity friend in their midst. So, if I don’t really enjoy his work, why am I including one? When I was younger, my fascination with Hockney’s work likely arose from my discovering the world of art around me, and now today, I look at this piece and wonder if I’m simply not able to find appreciation because I lack the sophistication to understand how to see it.

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

It is in the arts of writing and painting that I find respect for Marxist ideology. Diego Rivera and his wife, Frida Kahlo, are two of those creators who likely were given more credit due to their thinking I felt stood behind their work compared to how my disdain of the status quo drove my derision of the mainstream.

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

Maybe the most famous work on exhibit right now here at LACMA, or at least the most recognizable to many, is The Treachery of Images by René Magritte. A contemporary of Delvaux’s and fellow Belgian certainly places him in the realm of interesting artists, along with being one of the first artists to work in Surrealism. All the same, I never found a spot for him in my aesthetic sense of appreciation.

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

Michael C. McMillen’s Central Meridian (The Garage) is one of my favorite installations ever. The Garage took me right out of LACMA and Los Angeles and deposited me somewhere out on the road in the middle of America after being granted access to a long-abandoned garage that hadn’t been ransacked.

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

Hailing from Chile, artist Roberto Sebastián Antonio Matta Echaurren, better known as Roberto Matta, created this piece as a reflection of the violence of the Vietnam War and the Watts Riots in Los Angeles. This piece is called Burn, Baby, Burn.

Caroline Wise at LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

It was difficult to truly demonstrate the size of the biggest elevator Caroline or I have ever been in. I’m in the opposing corner, but this shot really would have benefited from using my 10mm lens (left at home) instead of the 17mm I tried squeezing this into.

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

We are not typically ones for modern contemporary art, but the work of 77-year-old take-no-prisoners Barbara Kruger kicks modernity square in the crotch of superficiality and lays bare the empty social media-driven society of the pathetic that we are. I’d never heard of this hard-hitting force of truth before, and it wasn’t long until she captured my emotions as she reassured me that people older than myself also see the shit of what we’ve become.

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

Adjacent to this was another sign that read, “I Love Myself. And You Hate Me For It.” The dichotomy is poignant as the artist shows us the profoundly ugly state of being that exists in order to make someone feel better at the expense of the other. This resonates with me regarding our relationship between rich and poor, success and simply surviving, winning and losing. When you understand our simplistic positioning of perspective between the two poles of love and hate, maybe you can see what a sad and sorry bunch of idiots we really are.

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

The war is about identity and cultural differences. Society, by and large, hates individuality.

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

“You. You know that women have served all of these centuries as looking glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size,” from Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own. On the floor, it says, “If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face – forever!” This last quote is from 1984 by George Orwell.

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

Five hundred years ago, Tenochtitlán fell, and the Aztec culture was crushed by the European invaders. Mexico City rose from the ashes of that Aztec capital, and this exhibit at LACMA titled Mixpantli: Space, Time, and the Indigenous Origins of Mexico subverts that narrative and looks at how artists from the merged cultures created the world anew. The Nahua people describe Mixpantli as the “Banner of clouds,” referring to “The first omen of the conquest, depicting this omen as both a Mexica battle standard and a Euro-Christian column enveloped in clouds.”

On the ground in the main part of this exhibit lies a room-sized etching showing the map of Tenochtitlán/Mexico City during the time of colonization that still features human life and the activities that are part of that instead of the sterility of a map that only demonstrates territory. The artist who created this is Mariana Castillo Deball from Mexico City, who studied there and in Maastricht, Netherlands; she now lives in Berlin.

I’m pointing out the Berlin connection because of the fact that currently, many artists live in Germany due to Germans generally supporting the arts. But I have to wonder as the heart of Europe moves to invest more money into the military after years of believing that trade and culture were the most important part of keeping the peace on that continent. Now, with Putin in Ukraine, like Spain in Tenochtitlán, are we witnessing a change in priorities that, for at least some period of time, will disenfranchise so many international artists who count on the power of Germany to help create new ideas?

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

Sandy Rodriquez of Los Angeles created this work that is a lot bigger than this little corner I’m sharing here. The piece is called, “You will not be forgotten, Mapa for the children killed in custody of US Customs and Border Protection.”

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

This scene titled Gare Saint-Lazare by Claude Monet ties into something similar to the works of Paul Delvaux I appreciate and that is depictions of trains and their stations. This station in Paris servicing the Normandy area has been in operation since 1837. This painting is on exhibit as part of City of Cinema: Paris 1850–1907, going on at LACMA through July of this year.

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

We ended our time at the museum right here at the Black American Portraits exhibit, which is over in two weeks. The centerpieces in this exhibit are from Kehinde Wiley, who created the piece here in the middle of other worthy artists and one behind me also from Kehinde of artist Mickalene Thomas. Tragically, we missed seeing the Obama portraits that were on display here at the museum back in January when we were in L.A.

Guelaguetza Oaxacan restaurant in Los Angeles, California

After leaving LACMA, we pointed the car in the direction of Olympic Boulevard to revisit Guelaguetza Oaxacan restaurant. We had our first encounter with chapulines back in November 2018 with our daughter Jessica. (I was referencing grasshoppers if you were wondering what chapulines are.) As for the daughter reference for those who know Caroline and me but not Jessica, I was previously married. Today, we are going to try Huitlacoche, or corn fungus, to spell it out simply. Also on the menu was a tlayuda guelaguetza with chorizo, dried beef tasajo, and grilled marinated pork cecina. In case you are not sure what a tlayuda is, it’s a toasted large tortilla something akin to lavash.

Now that we totally have Mal de Puerco (thanks, Gabriela, for this one; it literally means “Disease of the pig,” but could also be considered a food coma), we wandered aimlessly down Pico, just trying to drive slow and straight. Caroline stopped in a small Oaxacan grocery looking for hot chocolate powder because, again, Gabriela, we now need some of that Mayan hot chocolate we fell in love with at Cocao Nativa in San Cristóbal de las Casas, Mexico, a couple of weeks ago. Came up empty-handed there. So we just kept going.

Looking for something to do on this unplanned part of the day, Caroline found a Kinokuniya Japanese bookstore in Santa Monica that should have only required a single left turn, but the Mal de Puerco was working hard on us, so we had some turns and such before we arrived at the Mitsuwa Marketplace on Centinela Avenue where the bookstore is located. The selection of colored pens is extraordinary and it requires some serious willpower to not grab one of each for the drawing I’ll never get to.

Too bad we are stuffed as the ramen here is right on. Again, I can’t help but think, as I did in San Cristóbal, why can’t we have nice things in Phoenix? As a matter of fact, as I write this, I’m at another non-descript strip mall of an anonymous intersection here in the desert we live in; from here at Starbucks, I peer out the windows at a Five Guys, Walmart, Petco, Rubios, a mattress shop, TitleMax, GNC, and some other corporate franchised businesses that lack any character, flavor, or uniqueness. But this is not supposed to be a lament post, just a celebration of the things that draw us into travel and out of our generic and mundane corner of America.

I waffled a minute but then decided that the Hello Kitty Moleskine notebook, even at $30, was mine. Monday is my birthday, so I’ll just consider this notebook as my 59th birthday gift to myself.

We were just about a block from Venice Beach, where I was certain I wouldn’t find a hint of parking, although we did find a Starbucks that has 30 minutes of parking out back. To fight back the food coma, we are sucking down a coffee at 7:00 p.m. and doing some writing; well, Caroline was reading, but then it was time for more meandering as our time allowed for parking was quickly coming to an end.

Only a few blocks away, I found that parking spot I thought would be difficult to spot, and it was a cheap $5.00. A walk on the beach is the perfect punctuation to a perfect day; it may be late and gray, but still, we are walking in the sand along the Pacific.

Koreatown in Los Angeles, California

At our hotel back in Korea Town by 8:30, it’s just too early to give in to the heavy eyes we’re carrying with us, and so, out into the night, we go. The idea when I made these plans was to see whatever Korean movie was playing just up the street, but it turns out there’s nothing currently playing that was made in Korea. There was The Batman subtitled in Korean, but we passed on that. The Korean corndog and weird sandwich shop we’d visited before closed already, and the plaza where these places are was not as lively as it was a few years ago. I’d like to say, “Funny how the pandemic changed things,” but none of it is really funny.

Caroline Wise at a taco stand in Koreatown Los Angeles, California

So we continued a short walk around the neighborhood, looking for something light to eat. One place, called Sun Nong Dan, looked seriously promising as it was packed with nothing but younger Koreans, but they were serving giant portions. Their sign out front also noted they serve breakfast; asking the host near the door what time they open, he said they are open 24/7. Galbi Jjim (beef short ribs) covered in cheese might just be on the breakfast menu for the two of us in the morning, though we were also considering a pastrami and chili burrito at Oki Dog; we’ll see.

Museo Nacional de Antropología

Today, we fly out to Chiapas, but we thought we’d at least look at part of the National Anthropology Museum, which was only about a 10-minute brisk walk from our hotel. We couldn’t be sure we’d have enough time to make our visit meaningful if we tried racing over when they open at 10:00. Well, this is one of those lessons not to trust Google as on a lark Caroline went to the museum’s website that said they were opening at 9:00. Turns out that everyone else checks Google too because we had the place to ourselves for nearly 40 minutes and we didn’t even leave our hotel until shortly after 9:00. While we hoofed it and didn’t begin to scratch the surface, the experience was well worth it and promises to draw us back to Mexico City…that and a visit to Palenque and a variety of other archeological sites throughout Mexico.

Again, I’m in a situation where I’m able to eke out just enough time to prep photos; too many photos, but I’ll worry about which ones to remove later. In the meantime, this allows those who do follow our adventures to at least get a glimpse into the adventure…

…well that was then, March 8th to be exact, and now is now or March 27th, and from the experience of the previous weeks where I initially posted so, so many photos, I simply made them all work. This post has more than 60 images, and while it’s ridiculously long, I think I can make it work; plus, looking down below, I can’t see any photos that could be easily removed.

A mother in the birthing pose appears to be made of terracotta and somehow survived the approximately 2,000 years since she was first formed. Pardon the obvious, but I need to throw out a Viva la Vulva! not only in recognition of all the women we saw in the race a couple of days ago, the women who’ll take to the streets today on International Women’s Day, but also from the future when tomorrow, walking around San Cristóbal de las Casas, I’ll photograph some graffiti that says just what I shared regarding the vulva. It’s great knowing that the cultures of these lands have been able to celebrate the important stuff from time to time.

Mask of Malinaltepec warrior used in fertility and funerary ceremonies. Dates from between 600 and 750 A.D.

On a trip to Mexico with a focus on textiles, it is only natural that if we see some old cloth examples, I know that Caroline will tug my sleeve asking me to capture the design, so I just make it a point to photograph them all. By the way, it’s been my experience that the Google algorithm for image matching of textiles is poor. Why does this matter? The Google and Bing image search function has come in very handy from time to time.

A ceramic figure in contemplation of trying to figure out why someone is doing something so stupid as to baffle the observer, or maybe the person is in astonishment as they were creating this as a self-portrait and are marveling at how well their sculpture is turning out. Okay, this is my interpretation, and as an authority regarding myself, I can assure you that my thoughts about this are straight out of my mind and are likely as correct as they’ll ever be.

Entering the Hall of the Maya, we find this quote from the Popol Vuh that I likely poorly translated, “Don’t fall down, not even on the way up. Do not find obstacles behind or in front of you. Nothing stops you. Grant us good roads, beautiful flat roads.”

You, we, us, are looking at Dintel 26 de Yaxchilán which is a lintel from building 23 in Yaxchilán, Chiapas. Carved 1299 years ago by Mayan hands, this limestone monolith carries a lot of meaning. On the right is Lady K’ab’al Xook, who is offering her consort Kokaaj B’ahlam III (sometimes known as Itzamnaaj Bahlam IV or Shield Jaguar) a jaguar headdress. It might be nearly impossible to see in this scaled-down photo, though in the original, it’s easily identifiable; the huipil of K’ab’al Xook has frogs embroidered on it. Over the next days on this Mexico adventure, we’ll dig deep into the history and motifs of the huipil, a woman’s tunic-like garment.

Dintel 48 de Yaxchilán. This lintel was from building 12 and is one of eight panels that were once there. They appear to depict a list of the first ten rulers of Yaxchilán.

The origin of Dintel 43 de Yaxchilán should now be obvious. This lintel shows a figure with a huge feathered headdress carrying a ceremonial staff.

This is one of the many Mayan gods depicting a trade such as merchants, warriors, or cocoa farmers and, as such, belonged to the priestly caste of society.

This stucco frieze from Placeres, Campeche, was surrounded by scaffolding as things were being renovated or restored; the details were not clear. Consequently, parts of it were obscured, and the lighting was horrible, though, with the magic of Photoshop, I feel like I was able to extract a pretty good image from what I shot. The piece is from the early classic period of Mexican culture dating from about 250 – 600 AD.

Imagine my shock of being so impressed upon seeing this and the thought this was dragged out of a jungle intact for putting on display here only to learn it’s a recreation. On one hand, I’m happy that the original wasn’t disassembled and moved here, but now I want to visit the location where I can see these kinds of things with my own eyes.

How I feel as I scroll down and see that I still have 45 more images to write about.

What a treat that we get to see this as, at one time, it had been stolen from this museum. Meet the Mayan king K’inich Janaab’ Pakal (also referred to as Pakal I) from Palenque, represented here by his jade death mask from about 683 AD. Of the 124 objects stolen in 1984, 111 of them were recovered in 1989 after the idiot who was trying to trade them for cocaine was apprehended.

Ometochtli or Dios dos Conejo (Two Rabbit God) was a minor Aztec deity relating to pulque, an alcoholic beverage made from the maguey (agave) plant and its many rituals. He was also part of the Centzon Tōtōchtin (400 rabbits), a group of divine rabbits known for their drunken parties.

God of Water or God of Rain and Storm, I’ve seen Tlāloc referred to as both; I can see how he could be considered so.

Vessel titled Ave del Pico Ancho or Broad-Billed Bird, according to Google Translate.

I think this sculpture is also a vessel, and if I’m not mistaken, I believe this is another version of good old Tlāloc.

Another clay vessel, this one, is of Zapotec origin. Zapotecs or Be’ena’ Za (Cloud people) are the indigenous people of Oaxaca.

I’m guessing that this is a mask of the jaguar, but it’s only a guess.

Let me introduce you to the Goddess 13 Serpent. The position of her hands, the braided crown, and the ears adorned with jade discs identify this statue as a deity.

There was a placard on this sculpture that seemed uncertain in its description that reads something like, “A tombstone that bears a great resemblance to the warrior, deity, or perhaps priest, named 5 Death, Oon Diyi. In his right arm, he carries a shield with three arrows, and in his left, he carries a bag for offerings and a spear gun.” While I can’t quite make all of that out, I’ll go with it.

I think I’m a bit obsessive with the faces.

Big or small, it makes no matter to me; I like faces.

While maybe offering some insight into the Aztec style of sandals, I’m guessing there was more to this cup than being an example of footwear.

I’m looking above at the glyph featuring 5 Death Oon Diyi, and now I’m starting to see the shield and arrows.

From the placard associated with this display, “Ritual Burial. In the archaeological excavations here at Temple Mayor, human skulls have been discovered with small sacrificial knives inside the mouth or in the hole of the nose. These recreate the metaphor of the breath and the words of death, which speaks using flint.”

So, is the face of death speaking? The sign identifies this as Cuchillos con Rostros or Knives with Faces and explains, “The knives carved in flint with fantastic faces stand out; they symbolize the sacrificial instrument that has life, is sharp, and cuts like the jaws of the earth.”

Someone else on the internet says this is a child’s skull; it’s probably fake, huh?

This image and the two that follow are all from the same item on display. The nearby caption calls this a Brasero del Guerrero or Warrior’s Brazier, and I suppose I can see that if I look at the broken top and imagine a bunch of coals sitting up in there on fire, providing light, heat, or both.

From the text next to this display, “The image modeled on this splendid brazier is that of a dead eagle warrior, as shown by the emaciated face and the adornments he wears, such as earrings in the shape of hands and the necklace of severed hands and hearts like those used by the deities of death.”

The text continued with, “The warriors who were sacrificed to the sun were called Cuâuhtêcatl or inhabitant of the country of the eagle.”

I’m starting to reconsider my idea of cremation as I realize that Caroline could combine the various fiber arts to weave, knit, embroider, and crochet me a face mask that would be able to be with her until the day she passes too.

I wanted to associate this woman wearing a snake belt with an interpretation of Coatlicue (more about her below), but the differences are too great, so I’ll have to go with that I have no idea at all about anything regarding this sculpture, but the engraved patterns on her dress sure look a lot like some of the Mayan weaving motifs we’d see in the days following.

Yep, Tlāloc and his goddess wife Chalchiuhtlicue (Jade Skirt), who holds dominion over the streams, seas, rivers, lakes, and springs.

Is this a mask of Tlāloc sitting atop someone else’s head?

In an excavation southeast of Mexico City in Tlahuac, a number of giant painted ceramic braziers were found. They are decorated with representations of various deities of rain and plant fertility.

Coatlicue was known as the “Mother of the Gods.” Her name means “Skirt of Snakes.”

The backside of Coatlicue. From Encyclopedia Brittanica, I found the following:

Coatlicue (Nahuatl: “Serpent Skirt”) Aztec earth goddess, symbol of the earth as both creator and destroyer, mother of the gods and mortals. The dualism that she embodies is powerfully concretized in her image: her face is of two fanged serpents, and her skirt is of interwoven snakes (snakes symbolize fertility); her breasts are flabby (she nourished many); her necklace is of hands, hearts, and a skull (she feeds on corpses, as the earth consumes all that dies); and her fingers and toes are claws. Called also Teteoinnan (“Mother of the Gods”) and Toci (“Our Grandmother”), she is a single manifestation of the earth goddess, a multifaceted being who also appears as the fearsome goddess of childbirth, Cihuacóatl (“Snake Woman”; like Coatlicue, called Tonantzin [“Our Mother”]), and as Tlazoltéotl, the goddess of sexual impurity and wrongful behavior.

Aztec sun stone at the National Anthropology Museum in Mexico City, Mexico

This Aztec Sun Stone was originally carved into a piece of rock and dragged a maximum of approximately 22 kilometers (roughly 14 miles) by thousands of people. In its current form, it weighs more than 54,000 pounds (over 24.5 metric tons). Contrary to some people thinking it is a Mayan calendar, it is an Aztec monument described on Wikipedia: “The monument is not a functioning calendar, but instead uses the calendrical glyphs to reference the cyclical concepts of time and its relationship to the cosmic conflicts within the Aztec ideology.” This is probably the most recognizable of all pre-Columbian art from the region.

Xōchipilli, the Aztec god of art, games, beauty, dance, flowers, song, and the second most famous piece of history from Mexico. His name translates to Flower Prince. When I photographed this statue, I didn’t realize in the dark (and being in a hurry) that he sits upon a base that features magic mushrooms.

The caption above this is part of an illustration noting the Ceremony of New Fire. With a festival called Xiuhmolpillia signifying the end of a 52-year cycle, bundles of 52 sticks are burned, followed by all hearths being extinguished until a sacrifice is made. With fires reignited, orders went out calling for stone carvings to be made that resemble the sacred bundles (seen above left and right), and then those would be buried in a tomb such as this one that’s been decorated with skulls and crossed bones.

Two days ago at Templo Mayor, I photographed Tlaltecuhtli and referred to the carving as being of a goddess, but it turns out that the words in the Nahuatl language were genderless. So, there’s some ambiguity if Tlaltecuhtli, pictured here, is male or female or if that even matters in the realm of deities.

Goddess Cihuateotl is the demon figure taken on in the afterlife of a woman who died during childbirth.

The room of a million impressions. That’s not its formal name just my observation.

A recreation of a wall painting from Cacaxtla. This is the Bird Man related to Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent deity responsible for teaching the arts and agriculture.

I thought I had the full story on this bat vessel when I photographed the sign near it, wrong. The sign, in Spanish only, spoke of objects made of alabaster.

Does this look like a macaw to you? Does it look like it’s 1,500 years old? For me, this could be the Buste de femme assise sur une chaise by Pablo Picasso that he created in 1939. Funny how Picasso was so celebrated as a modern artist while when I went to school throughout the 1970s, we were still being taught about the primitive barbarism of cultures outside our dominant caucasian advanced civilization that turned the people of the earth in the right direction. From what I’m seeing on this trip to Mexico, the pre-Columbian societies of Mesoamerica were creating works no less impressive than those created by celebrated Europeans 1,500 years after Mayans and Aztecs had made the scene, and they did without wheels, iron tools, and large beasts of burden.

I have about as much connection to a statue of Caesar or Michelangelo’s David as I do to Quetzalcoatl or the 2,500-year-old Seated Buddha in Yungang, China, and so to hold these European works in renown as being any more important to my culture than I would of works outside of Europe seems to me like a travesty. What all these things have in common and thus make them equally important to my sense of place on earth, is that they were all made from people out of history. Humans from around the world have been toiling to express themselves and leave impressions on others for an untold number of years and as I’m a human, I want to feel related to all of our creations. This is not cultural appropriation; it is gratitude for the diversity of expression and creativity that is able to influence all of us from today and well into the future.

The Breastplate of Tula is a shell piece of armor found in the burned palace of Tula, Hidalgo, Mexico. It was protected inside an adobe box.

Wow, we saw this exact vessel three years ago in Phoenix, Arizona, as part of a special exhibit titled Teotihuacan: City of Water, City of Fire.

If I slow down and think about why this kind of imagery and history is downplayed in the U.S., I’d have to assume that it is due to fear of self-awareness. Psychedelic experience, which I believe we are looking into with this image and many others seen in Mayan and Aztec art, has been too difficult a bitter pill for people to swallow. Ignorance creates dependencies that those who would deny it, don’t realize that it applies to them, are in need of the nanny state they express such disdain for. But at the end of the day, they want everyone around them to conform to their norm of gun ownership, worship of a Christian god, access to cheap alcohol and gasoline, a strong military, and a president who empowers them to do anything they want while protecting meaningless jobs and supporting those with negligible skills as long they look exactly like the person they envision as being part of the American way. Personally, I’m more interested in flying serpents with loaves of bread in their heads and tongues lolling out of their forehead/third eye.

Stela 31 from Tikal in Guatemala tells the story of the “Lord of the West,” also known as Siyah K’ak’. We thought the guy on the side was an astronaut, hence the angle of my framing.

A recreation of the temple deities we just saw yesterday at Teotihuacán’s Temple of the Feathered Serpent on the south end of the Avenue of the Dead.

This sculpture is known as the Disc of the Death from Teotihuacan and is said to be related to Mitlantecuhtli – The God of Death, seen at Templo Mayor a couple of days ago; he’s the guy with his guts hanging out.

It appears that only Janice and George Mucalov of Sand In My Suitcase fame and I obviously, have ever photographed this statue; sadly, they offered nothing about the provenance of this little guy. So, I’m just going to swing out on a branch and hope my description doesn’t show any disrespect because I mean none. Even deities need to move their bowels, and this guy shows the preferred stance for eliminating waste; if only he had some hornlike object coming out of his head to place a roll of toilet paper, I’d have one of these at home. Hey, should anyone take offense at my feeble attempt at humor, you should try writing about nearly 70 images you thought were a good idea to share.

You must be thinking by now, how many braziers can you share in one post? Okay, this is the last one, but it’s of the God Tezcatlipoca, so I’m sure you now understand. As the supreme god, creator of heaven and earth, omnipresent and omnipotent, god of the night sky and memory, the one who gave goods and then took them away, he was in opposition to kindly Quetzalcoatl.

I’ve got nothing about this; not gonna even try. I think I was in a frenzy by this time, just taking random photos of anything that made me giggle or think it could be important.

Our time in Mexico City is coming to an abrupt end, with us needing to make haste for the airport. In about 4 hours, Ciudad de México could move to gridlock as it is International Women’s Day, and there will be a mass demonstration that could be very unpredictable, so we would rather ensure we catch our flight this afternoon and leave the museum, grabbing our bags from the hotel, and getting into a taxi for the 9-mile ride that can take an hour to cover.

Everything went smoothly, and before we knew it, we were in the air scouring the landscape with the hope we might fly over Teotihuacán for one more look at the pyramids, but there was no sign of them.

When we are down there doing the things we do, whatever they might be, we are in our personal universe that extends to the edges of our perception, but up on the hilltop, in a highrise, or aloft in the air, we are offered the view of how much more to our limited purview there is to reality. No wonder when people enter space and look back at the Earth, they are brought to tears as they gather hints of the magnitude of potential spread around a globe that’s impossible to comprehend when their own sight and senses are so myopic.

At the edge of Mexico City, we flew south with about 500 miles of land to cover before our next destination.

Approaching Tuxtla, Mexico, before catching a taxi to San Cristóbal de las Casas.

This is our beautiful room at Hotel Parador Margarita on Calle Dr. José Felipe Flores and a welcome sanctuary of safety after the daredevil mountain driving we just survived for over an hour. We’ve not been here but a few minutes but I’m already dreading that we’ll have to retrace our steps with some maniacal taxi driver back the other way at the end of this trip.

John’s hungry, which means we’ll walk by a couple of dozen restaurants that will all be dismissed as not being good enough or that something better might be just around the corner. This could go on for a solid hour if it weren’t for Caroline encouraging me to “Just pick something; I don’t care what we eat.” Should I have done some research prior to arriving? Maybe, but I wanted our visit to this unknown to us city to be an absolute surprise, and that is certainly happening. After circling a small part of the historic city center while trying to leave some mental breadcrumbs of where we were going and how to get back, we stopped at El Tacoleto, which, in fact, was on our way back to our hotel. We’d passed this corner restaurant before, but I wanted the real taste of Chiapas and tacos didn’t fit that bill until they did.

With dinner out of the way, it was time to admire the narrow sidewalks and the well-worn, shiny stone streets and continue trying to absorb enough to begin gaining some familiarity with where we are here in southern Mexico.

Contrary to the appearance of things, the streets of San Cristobal are not empty; I simply waited until they appeared that way. All three of these street shots were taken along Calle Dr. José Felipe Flores, where we are staying, and while we wandered over Real de Guadalupe, which appears to be the main tourist street open only for foot traffic, its frantic nature wasn’t operating within my senses of a desired tranquility. Tomorrow, I’ll explain just what it is we are doing all the way down here, close to Guatemala.

Mexico City is Estupendo!

This day stands as the definition of a perfect day. Our first full day in Mexico City and we were blown away. It’s now after 9:00 pm after walking more than 13 miles from our hotel in Polanco over to Centro Historico, and I’m afraid I’m already about to fall behind in my blogging chores as I have my doubts about contending with nearly 500 photos and countless impressions. I don’t believe we wasted a moment, nor did we rest very often, and even when we tried to take our time while eating, impressions were constantly coming on, all of them wonderful.

Waking this morning, we were surprised at how quiet a city of almost 9 million people is, but then, as we were getting ready to head out, we thought we heard drums. Opening our window, and I do want to emphasize fully opening our window here on the 5th floor, no suicide prevention needed here, we looked out at dozens, I mean hundreds, I mean thousands of people running a race. We shut the window and took off for the street to check out the festivities.

We had nothing to worry about as I miscalculated how many people were on the street; it was easily in the 10’s of thousands, and it was 99% women. We’ve never seen so many women in one place. We still don’t know what they were running for, but later in the day, we’d asked about some blue-steel barricades around most of the monuments in the area and learned that there is a feminism demonstration coming up on Tuesday.

We are walking along the Avenue Paseo de la Reforma on our way towards Centro. This statue is the Angel of Independence, and it was standing guard above the finish line for the race.

While there are certain areas of Mexico City visitors should avoid, there’s hardly a city in the United States that doesn’t have the exact same kind of issues if you do your research, talk to your hotel staff, and pay attention to the change of character of the place you are walking through; it seems that things are perfectly okay…and often very beautiful.

It turns out that this Sunday morning shutdown of Avenue Paseo de la Reforma is an every Sunday affair to allow the people of Mexico City to bike, run, rollerblade, or just walk along this main artery through the city without worries about cars, buses, or motorcycles threatening people. We’d already been warned prior to coming to Mexico that pedestrians are invisible.

From Wikipedia: Cuitláhuac (Spanish pronunciation: [kwiˈtlawak])  was the 10th Huey Tlatoani (emperor) of the Aztec city of Tenochtitlan for 80 days during the year Two Flint (1520). He is credited with leading the resistance to the Spanish and Tlaxcalteca conquest of the Mexica Empire following the death of his kinsman Moctezuma II.

Are the women of Mexico City so inclined to topple and deface monuments to get their point across? Well, from the amount of graffiti on the barricades extolling women’s rights, I’d have to recognize their ambition to get their point across.

While, on the one hand, our view of the monuments is being restricted, it’s great to know that the opinion of the public is tolerated. I suppose this goes hand in hand with many of the ideas Mexico was founded on, that being that revolution is always respected.

Hovering above the barrier above is this statue of former president Benito Juárez.

This is the Palacio de Bellas Artes (Palace of Fine Arts) as seen from behind the barrier. Later in the day, we’d visit the grounds, but we wouldn’t have enough time to explore the museum. Walking on, we noticed a campsite of displaced people, apparently from Oaxaca, who were there to protest their situation. We didn’t know it yet, but that was our first run-in with victims of land disputes. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any more information available for us to better understand what was going on.

Narrow pedestrian streets in the early morning hold a special appeal that will be missing once the throngs of people hit the shopping passage that is just getting going.

Whatever might have been old on Avenue Paseo de la Reforma is now gone, replaced by modernity for use by the wealthy and powerful while here on Avenue Francisco I. Madero, there are no cars, no new buildings, but there is a McDonald’s without the Golden Arches.

Templo de San Francisco de Asis now has the distinction of being the first church Caroline and I visited in Mexico City; we’ll be sending them a plaque after returning to Phoenix, Arizona, to allow them to share with all future visitors that we were here.

This is the side chapel of Templo de San Francisco de Asis and not the last church we visit today.

And here is the main altar with the neon gas-encased Virgin Mary. Leaving the church, we walked up to Gante Cafe, which looked popular, so we grabbed a table for a late breakfast of chilaquiles. I wouldn’t have minded stopping at one of the 37 Starbucks along the main avenue, but kept looking for the local options. As it turns out, it doesn’t seem like Mexico City has a lot of independent coffee shops so we ended up dipping into this American institution sooner than we would have thought.

No way these were the doors of a private residence, but sure enough, back in 1822, General Agustin de Iturbide lived here. Who, after Mexico’s secession from Spain in 1821, became part of the regency and was even proclaimed emperor of Mexico for a short time.

Church of San Felipe Neri “La Profesa” is the location of a conspiracy to bring Agustin Iturbide to power during the Mexican War of Independence as Mexico sought independence from Spain.

Bloody Jesus in a box shackled by the neck might seem like the prize in a box of Mexican breakfast cereal, but this particular sculpture is to be found right here in the Church of San Felipe Neri “La Profesa”

The Church of San Felipe Neri was in no way an easy building to photograph.

Looking at these treasures of Mexico City, one thing becomes immediately apparent: Mexico needs to invest in protecting these old buildings. That should be high on everyone’s priority list, but then again, I don’t know how much of an economic role tourism plays in this city.

We’ve reached the Plaza de la Constitución, a.k.a. Zócalo, where the first thing that we set our eyes on after taking in the size of the open space was the Mexico City Metropolitan Cathedral of the Assumption of the Most Blessed Virgin Mary into Heaven.

Nothing special here on this side of the Zócalo’. I just like the view and the arcade at street level.

Tabernacle of the Metropolitan Cathedral of the Assumption of the Most Blessed Virgin Mary into Heaven in Mexico City, Mexico, is a mouthful, so how about we are visiting another church.

Inside the tabernacle, if this had been the end of our day, we wouldn’t have been disappointed, and yet there were still 4 or 5 days of experience ahead of us on this Sunday.

Around the corner of the churches, we’ve reached our main destination, the Templo Mayor, which was called Huēyi Teōcalli in the Nahuatl language back when this was the capital city of Tenochtitlan, now known as Ciudad de Mexico or Mexico City.

I can’t be certain if this is the first serpent sculpture we’ve ever seen, as there was an exhibit of artifacts from Teotihuacán in Phoenix a few years ago, and they might have included one, but I can’t find a blog entry about those days. In any case, this is certainly the first time I have seen such a sculpture in situ.

The Conejo or rabbit will be a frequent theme.

It’s so incredibly fortunate that these still exist, as the Spaniards didn’t leave much standing in their efforts to erase the history of the ancient peoples of these lands. Serpents, pyramids, and multicolored deities where human sacrifice might have been part of the plan weren’t in the Catholic plan of what “normal” life was all about. Maybe some people can take these kinds of moments for granted, but we can’t; it is a privilege to see these things with our own eyes.

I started out this entry by including an over-abundance of images, and I’m sure many of these had a lot of meaning when I took them, but now, looking at them while I sit in the airport on the way to San Cristobal de las Casas, I know that the stairs and platform felt important due to the contrasting and crooked lines. However, at this moment, it feels like most viewers will just see a mess of stone. You should simply come and see these things for yourself.

No depth creates a bit of a flat image, and seeing this as a photograph, I’m inclined to remove it and the one above, but it isn’t costing anything to leave it where it is, so maybe a dud photo once in a while will better demonstrate the skill I bring to the others.

Once in the Templo Mayor Museum itself, it’s as though we dropped through a wormhole and landed in the greatest collection of art that could possibly be assembled regarding this area of Mexico City. Everything I see I want to photograph, but the thought of effectively needing to write a textbook of the inventory in this place is not very appealing. Already, I’ve included far more images than I should have, and over the course of writing and editing this post, I could see paring some of the memories, but then again, I’m a glutton for what these blog posts bring back to us.

The idea that this pales in comparison to the anthropology museum everyone has raved about to us seems unbelievable right now, especially in light of the fact that absolutely no one has ever spoken of this particular museum. Well, if we should be so lucky, we’ll have a brief window of opportunity to see for ourselves the famous anthropology museum on Tuesday before our flight farther south.

Maybe what is most astonishing about the history represented here is that Rome was just bringing its form of culture to northern Europe, where the inhabitants of Germany were still considered barbarians and had just mastered fire. I’m joking; this was a stab at my wife and her Neanderthal roots. Two thousand years ago, the people of this part of North America were wildly interpreting their place in the universe using complexity, architecture, infrastructure, color, and character that can only arise from deep within the imagination and intellect. This is Cuāuhtli or Eagle Warrior.

Our pro-European Western bias, when compared to a people’s connection to the cosmos and cycles of life that evolved on this corner of the earth, is an embarrassment to our own ignorance. Why we couldn’t have been taught about the sophisticated cultures that emerged across Mexico and Guatemala I could claim is a mystery, but the reason is obvious: we are part of the ruling white hegemony that feels it would risk its own sense of superiority if we were to validate other cultures and periods in history.

Sure, there’s a historical tragedy that befell the people of central Mexico due to societal collapse possibly brought on by drought, famine, or war, but what nature didn’t squash, the Spaniards did their best to finish off, all in the name of God and Gold.

But how often do we find ourselves immersed in the center of such a history to be able to contemplate such questions? I don’t, and if I find myself at the Grand Canyon, in Washington D.C., Yellowstone, or at any other number of destinations in the United States, rarely do I have the opportunity to consider the full scope of an indigenous people where such a prolific society left us so much to think about. Being in Mexico right now, my senses are bombarded from all sides by the sights, sounds, language, tastes, and my own lack of knowledge I found myself in a similar situation when I first landed in Europe back in 1985, and so much was unfamiliar. The sculpture is known as Águila Cuauhxicalli, which translates to Eagle Vessel.

Now that I’m older, I better understand the value afforded me and the rarity of such experiences to be had by people who are curious and humbled by running into the unknown. These pieces of art are not just artifacts; they are the craft and attention of someone giving their lives meaning and celebrating ideas we can no longer relate to. Not that I think it’s impossible to peel the skin of the onion back to peer into the black box of the unknown, but at this juncture, in our collective conscience, we are too afraid to examine the universe through the filter of plants that appeared to facilitate seeing in a different way.

Don’t go thinking that I believe the only way to see truths is through a psychedelic concoction, but just as we experimented on humans trying to repair broken bodies or diseases, I have to wonder why we are so afraid of psychic journeys that could repair things we’ve not yet considered or do the controllers already know what lies beyond the veil and fear for the unraveling of economic enslavement if more people were creating art and exploring rituals that would loosen the bonds of political and religious orthodoxy? This clay vessel is fronted with a sculpture of the Aztec god of rain and thunder, Tlāloc. He is easily recognizable due to his eye goggles and fangs.

Anyway, I’m currently in the clouds approaching Tuxtla, Mexico, and strange enough, this isn’t the first time this high in the sky that religious thoughts have been with me while aloft. I need to stop writing for now; not that you’ll know any of this without my sharing, but now you know. Hopefully, I’ll return to writing tonight after our taxi ride to San Cristobal, dinner, and check-in to our hotel.

It’s now 20 days later as I turn to these images again. I finished writing about our journey in Chiapas as that was seriously fresh in my imagination, but that leaves me out in the middle of an imaginative desert where I’m having trouble finding something to plant here.

Well, that 20 minutes spent looking up this guy was nearly for nothing, although I did find some info on other sculptures we had the opportunity to see here in Mexico City.

This mosaic is made of more than 15,000 pieces of turquoise.

A close-up of the piece just above it. Nothing else to share other than someone else took a close-up of one of the figures when this piece was on display in New York City.

Turtle shell sculpture made in honor of Huehuetéotl, the deity of fire.

The wrinkled old toothless face is the giveaway that we are looking at, another representation of Huehuetéotl, just as the goggle eyes and fangs are indicative of Tlāloc, the god of rain shown further above.

Burial tombs could be intricate affairs, and when possible, the museum lays them out on display nearly exactly as they were found.

My inner spirit mask.

A relief dedicated to Tlaltecuhtli; more about her below.

Why has nobody ever made a film featuring Tzinacan, the Aztec bat god? The Maya knew him as Camazotz, and little did we know that we would visit the “place of the bats” (Zinacantán) a week later in Chiapas.

Another variation of Tlāloc, but this one adorns a brazier, though I have no idea what exactly was burned in it. Copal and other resins were popularly used in rituals in the past and are still in use to this day.

We know that masks have been being used for more than 9,000 years and possibly longer as ones made of wood or other fragile materials wouldn’t have likely survived, but for my dollar, I love these Aztec jade masks on view at the museum.

Mitlantecuhtli – The God of Death.

This is Goddess Tlaltecuhtli, who created heaven and the underworld. At some point, there was an image of a person carved into her womb, but I guess it made for an interesting souvenir to someone somewhere in the past.

Back out on the streets, everything is as culturally immersive as anything we’re seeing at ruins or in museums.

There are many buildings that appear to be returning to dust and look uninhabited until we spot a satellite dish adjacent to a tree growing out of the roof and, below that, an open window that shows signs of occupants.

This is the La Santísima Church or Church and Hospital of the Most Holy Trinity; it’s been standing here since 1783.

Trying to move away from the crowded streets, it was easy to find what we were looking for, though the fear level goes up in the fear that the media stories we hear in the United States will come true, “Two Caucasians walking in a deserted area show up dead in an alleyway, victims of their own stupidity.”

Yep, nobody else out here but us.

Occupied or not? We couldn’t tell.

We were minutes too late to enter the Church Of Santo Domingo; maybe next time. Not that luck wasn’t on our side; across from the church was a hopping food stand with no less than a dozen people sitting on small chairs and overturned buckets eating what we, too, were about to have for lunch. Heeding the admonitions to avoid street food was just thrown out the window. The verdict was a resounding wow.

I had to get back to Phoenix, Arizona, before I learned that Okupa Cuba is a Black Block group of feminists supporting women and children who are victims of violence. Could anyone imagine a squat happening in the United States for an extended period of time?

Earlier in the day, I tried to take a photo of the Palace of Fine Arts, but with the barrier around it, I figured that it was the best I’d be able to get today. Well, here we are on the grounds, but our feet are tired after walking more than a dozen miles today already and a few more to go before getting back to our hotel. We’ll put it on the list of the many places we need to come back to here in Mexico City.

Band practice in the park, we couldn’t have been the only ones enjoying the free entertainment.

Monumento a la Revolución, or Monument to the Revolution, celebrates exactly that: the Revolution for Independence from Spain fought between Sep 16, 1810 – Sep 27, 1821.

Believe it or not, we didn’t see it until we were nearly upon it, and then all of our wishes moved to hoping it would still be open long enough for us to ride the elevator up the center of the monument.

The view from up here is amazing and should be witnessed for not only the sunset but the sunrise too.

There’s a small museum under the monument, but not a lot of information for us English speakers. Most likely, visitors are well familiar with their own history here.

Looking straight up into the monument, the blue frame glass thing is where the elevator takes visitors.

Vendors selling trinkets celebrating the revolution line one of the walkways, but we are hesitant to buy anything at all, considering the textile side of our journey in Mexico that starts soon down in Chiapas.

Remembering to take photos of ourselves in this environment is tough as we’d rather everything reflect where we’ve been, but having a photo or two to prove we were actually here isn’t a bad thing.

Attention readers: it’s nearing 11:00 pm, and I’ve selected and prepped 71 of nearly 500 photos. I’m posting all 71 here, mostly without text, for you to see my process, as this is a work in progress. My goal of finishing a blog a day while we are in Mexico is already off to a bad start; who knew there would be so much to see here on a Sunday?

I’m leaving the paragraph above, though, as I move to finish this post here on March 26. It’s a bit superfluous, but it is a note in our history of how things play out. Our incredibly inexpensive dinner that had to be noted was for bowls of posole from La Casa de Toño. What was so special about this meal? That bowl of pork posole was under $4.00, and Caroline, who had a small bowl with chicken, was barely over $3.00. We ran into this place by pure chance. Coming around a corner, we saw a long line of people waiting in front of a small restaurant. Assuming they knew something we didn’t, we got in line, only to find out that the Peruvian family in front of us spoke a little English, and between that and our minuscule Spanish, we were able to have a great conversation during our wait.

Like I said with the title, Mexico City is Estupdendo!

Teotihuacan in Phoenix

Mayan Exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona

Things are not always what they seem: this blog post was not written on either of the days we collected these images on January 11th and 12th, 2019. The reason this moved back into our minds now is that we recently visited Mexico; today as I write this it is actually March 27, 2022. While we were traveling, we looked for reference material with regards to this exhibit on my blog here and saw that there was nothing. I’m fixing that today.

Mayan Exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona

The special exhibit Teotihuacan: City of Water, City of Fire at the Phoenix Art Museum was running from October 6, 2018, through January 27, 2019, so we only had days left to see it. Admittedly, sometimes we find ourselves ignoring all media about Phoenix as usually there is not much going on anyway and by taking in the cultural information we have to also be witness to the violence and tragedies that unfold in our city.

Mayan Exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona

With more than 200 objects on display, we were attending a docent-led tour on the evening of the 11th. The event was scheduled for museum members only, so we signed up for membership to the museum  and were happy to take advantage of this great opportunity and to support future exhibits like this one.

Mayan Exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona

We visited a second night as we didn’t feel like we’d had our fill yesterday. But here’s where a big issue arises, why in the world did I use my phone on the second night to capture these images?

Mayan Exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona

Little did we know back then in 2019 that we’d one day have the opportunity to visit Teotihuacan, the site of origin of these amazing artifacts and see a bunch of Mayan and Aztec pieces of history in Mexico.

Mayan Exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona

Back in November 2004 around Thanksgiving time, we’d made a trip to San Francisco after Caroline learned of the Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya exhibit that had taken up temporary residence at the Legion of Honor museum after being hosted in Washington D.C. from April thru July, lucky us.

Mayan Exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona

Now we can identify things that we are looking at, they are braziers.

Mayan Exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona

This is the detail of another brazier.

Mayan Exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona

The funny thing about the photos I did capture, my memory says there were other pieces here. I now have to wonder if we’d visited another exhibit of Mayan antiquities that are lost somewhere in my brain I cannot access? Maybe as I continue working through old photos, I’ll discover that other exhibit.

Mayan Exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona

And regarding what we did see and photograph, I was astonished at the time, but now after visiting the anthropological museum in Mexico City and the Templo Mayor museum there too, this was just a small taste of an immensely rich cake.

Mayan Exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona

Don’t get me wrong, we were honored that even this small collection came to our city but I could have never guessed that seeing so many of them in their country of origin would have the emotional impact that it did.

Mayan Exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona

I don’t know if this is a she or he but whoever it was, they are beautiful.

Mayan Exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona

Just a whole bunch of wow…my memory has faded but I think this vessel in fact held a whole bunch of wow.

Hawaii – Day 7

It rained overnight, over and over again, using the tin roof as a musical instrument that sang to us. The lyrics told of how the other drops that were falling to earth were feeding the plants and nourishing the land in order to keep Kauai happy. The light breeze gently blew through the open windows, and we slept like we were at home; we were cozy here. The full night of sleep lasted until the first light of morning stirred us awake.

Every few minutes, it rains and then slows to a stop, only to pick up again a few minutes later. The stream of clouds, while denying us a proper sunrise, works hard to make up for it by offering a dramatic show of cumulus clouds. We bask under the sky with our tropically enhanced breakfast of oatmeal and fresh starfruit, enjoyed with hot coffee outside on the front porch, pinching ourselves that this is our life today. Watching the world, we are one with our laziness. Chickens have come out to start their day pecking at the wet earth, looking for their own version of tropical breakfast. We indulge sky and fowl by being witness to their existence.

It’s nearly 11:00 before we leave the really slow life to join the normal slow life that exists beyond our encampment under Kahili Mountain. And just what was it that motivated us to put down the pen and the drop spindle? Poke bento from the Koloa Fish Market, of course. From the mud road over to the tree tunnel down to the small village by the sea, we collect our early lunch and look for the perfect spot to sit down and enjoy it. That spot is on the way to a spouting horn on the other side of Poipu. There’s a short wall here that becomes a picnic table where we dig into this mixture of ahi, seaweed, sesame, sea salt, wasabi cream, and rice. Another band of rain pushes us back to the car, and we are once again on the move.

On the way to the spouting horn, we passed a botanical garden and made a note that we thought we’d like to return and visit its grounds. The spout is busy as the ocean pumps water into a tube that feeds this hydraulic show. I’m comfortable sitting here watching the ocean while Caroline walks over to visit the vendors that have set up shop at the end of this road. The impromptu “mall” is reminiscent of the gift and jewelry stands we find being run by Navajos in Arizona and New Mexico

With no plan for what to do with the day, we stick to that plan and will simply go where our impulse takes us. After leaving the Poipu / Koloa area we head for the main road and spot a sign pointing us to the Old Road to Lihue – sounds perfect. The drive is exceptional in its beauty. If you were to think that I say this about all the roads in Hawaii, you’d probably be right. Our road travels through a broad green valley with lush mountains ahead and golden grasses lining the asphalt. There are not enough superlatives to exclaim our awe and good fortune that we caught the sign that has pulled us into this seductive landscape. While we creep ahead on this car-less road at five mph, we’d prefer to be walking it.

Following a curve in the road, we turn the corner to eye an even bigger surprise: the Menehune Fishponds or, more appropriately, the Alekoko Fishpond. Legend has it that this 1000-year-old lake was built by the Menehune “little people” in a night. No matter the source, this is a great example of early aquaculture that has survived for ten centuries.

Looking for old town Lihue when yet another sign drew our attention, this time to the Kauai Museum. It’s a small affair that charges $10 for entry, but the two-story building next door houses part of the exhibit, so the cost feels reasonable and we decide to go for it. This place has held on for 53 years now and is starting to show its age. I should point out that our ticket is good for a week.

Having visited the Bishop Museum in Honolulu and Waimea Valley earlier in the trip, this scene portrays what we see in our imagination now as to what Hawaii might have looked like back when Captain Cook landed around the corner. There are a few gaps of information and history that are filled in with this visit, but nothing really illuminating.

Great, I didn’t take a single note about what this was, but I believe it’s a crust of salt found near the salt ponds where saltwater would be evaporated for the collection of this all-important mineral.

One of the staff, upon hearing of our interest in the music of Queen Lili`uokalani (she wrote Aloha Oe), brought us over to Paul Isenberg’s family piano to sit down and play it. Who is Paul Isenberg? He’s the guy who moved from Germany to Hawaii to develop the sugar cane industry for the Kingdom of Hawaii. In 1918, during World War I, the operation was seized by the United States and sold to a consortium of Hawaiian businessmen. They renamed H. Hackfeld and Company to American Factors, which was shortened in the 1930s to Amfac. That company’s non-Hawaiian assets were bought by a Chicago realty company in 1988 that later renamed itself Xanterra Parks and Resorts and is the company that Caroline and I have used countless times to book stays from the Grand Canyon to Yellowstone. The piano is over 100 years old and was made in Leipzig, Germany.

Our intention was to head north to Kapaa, but a traffic jam turned us around, so we stopped at the “famous” Mark’s Place for dinner. One big MEH was our response to this allegedly popular joint. At 6:00, we dipped into a theater to watch the newly released The Hobbit, which elicited another big MEH.

Ended the day after a lackluster late afternoon with a shower under the banana leaves using our wonderful outdoor shower. We split a slice of haupia and purple yam pie we’d been saving from the Koloa Fish Market and sat down to write and listen to the rain. The windows are open and will remain so for the duration of our stay. The breeze is cool, and around 11:00 p.m., we start to consider getting some sleep.

Hawaii – Day 5

Our last day on O’ahu greets us with a double rainbow.

We were up early for the sunrise and a walk in the surf. We can’t quite see the sun yet, but its reflection off the hotel glistens on the water, and soon, we, too, will emerge from the shadows. Along with the light, our hunger arrives, dragging us towards Sunset Beach with a stop at the farm stand we’ve been visiting nearly every day to stock up on pineapple and coconut to accompany our bananas: the breakfast of paradise.

Maybe the Pipeline Surf Championship is over because there are hardly any cars here this morning, and it looks like the stands are being taken down. With this abundance of parking, we stop for a while to check out those who are out on these pristine waters. These two guys above are on about their 10th attempt of getting on their boards at the right moment, getting close enough to perform the trick they are attempting and make the leap to execute it.

Blam…..they nailed it and threw their hands in the air in celebration

While the guys were trying to surf two to a board, a young woman had paddled out with her bodyboard and proceeded to power shred these waves with some gnarly spins and serious strength on display. Two boys, maybe about eight years old, were the next to join the others out on the water. After paddling out, they proved their mettle and surfed the Pipeline like seasoned pros; those kids have sand!

Okay, enough of playing the observer; time to get back out there as we are prodded by the rain that comes rolling in. Oh yeah, we changed our mind about the drive west and have turned around to go south.

Where is the day going? It’s almost noon as we leave the Pali Highway to enter Honolulu, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s lunchtime, and we have an appetite. Where else would we go but back to Ono Hawaiian Foods Cafe, where we ate after we landed in Hawaii last Thursday, and seeing it’s Sunday we’ll just call this church.

Our feast consisted of poi, Portuguese sausage, salt meat, and watercress, along with some lau lau, which, as a reminder, is pork wrapped in taro leaf. Dessert was haupia with some extra haupia. I’ll explain: as we sat there stuffed and very satisfied at the end of this culinary orgy, the owner brought us another portion of haupia. We tried waving him off, explaining someone else had already delivered our haupia, to which he replied, “You’re doing just fine.” We shut up and ate up.

Honolulu has a traffic density that compares to the worst of Los Angeles. It took us one hour to drive less than 10 miles, and when we arrived at our destination, it was raining hard. So it goes regarding the rain, though, as it has rained off and on every day we’ve been here. Once parked in a garage, we quickly pay for our entry into Iolani Palace, home of the last of the Hawaiian monarchy.

What a giant tragic mess this building represents. On one hand, it was the royal home after its completion in 1882, but within about a dozen years, it became the prison of Queen Lili’uokalani, who was the last monarch to ever oversee the islands. Contact with the West proved fatal for Hawaiian autonomy. The laying of the cornerstone of this building and convincing Hawaiian rulers they would be taken more seriously if they could entertain dignitaries in a palace was likely a ruse to start gaining the trust of those in government.

With America becoming entrenched in the affairs of the islands, it was likely already well thought out that when those loyal to the U.S. mainland made their move against the monarchy, the troops would move in from offshore to raise the American flag. From that point forward, it was only a matter of time before this territory would become a state, and the Hawaiian people would lose their lands.

Now, we are supposed to visit this palace and marvel at the modern Western-centric monarchy that is being romanticized into something that only happened due to them allowing us onshore. America’s history is, in large part, built on the displacement of native peoples from both their lands and culture. Shortly before Hawaii fell fully into American hands, the Dawes Act of 1887 authorized the federal government to break up reservations in an effort to bring Native Americans into mainstream U.S. society in order to assimilate them and destroy their cultural and social traditions. For over 100 years, right up until 2007, we were still forcing Native American children into boarding schools in the continuing effort to “Kill the Indian to save the man.” This policy didn’t have so much to do with the fact that they were Indians, but that the ruling dominant culture saw them as indigenous primitives it could equate with animals, just as we appeared to be doing with Hawaiians.

You can visit every room in the palace and never feel that you’ve seen anything of Hawaiian origin or culture. We visitors to Hawaii then fool ourselves into believing that a visit to a beach, snorkeling, attending a luau at a resort, or donning a lei put on us by a Hawaiian at the airport upon our arrival is immersing us in Hawaiian culture. We are idiots buying a fantasy TV version of reality that has been candy-coated. Don’t get me wrong, I love the scenery and the tropical paradise of this environment, but whatever Hawaii once was is mostly gone now, and it’s a tragedy.

This is not the face of Hawaii; it is the facade of domination and conquest. It is effectively a grave.

O’ahu has proven to be educational, romantic, beautiful, and mostly fun. The conflict that exists within me regards the misconceptions that are allowed and encouraged to remain dominant is why I have to qualify that this has been “mostly” fun. It would be far too callous to dance on the graves of a culture and never pay respect to what one’s ancestors had to pay in order to just survive. Yet here I am today, trying to reconcile within myself how I can wear a smile knowing the truth.

Grilled pineapple and jalapenos on a burger never tasted so good as they do here in Hawaii, so a third and final visit to the Kahuku Grill felt in order before returning to the hotel for a swim and some writing.

Hawaii – Day 4

Up with an alarm and gone from the North Shore by 6:15 as we were heading back towards Honolulu for an 8:30 reservation. Should have visited Kalaupapa National Historic Park on Molokai back when we visited that island in 2006; then, after today, we would have visited all of the major National Parks in the Hawaiian islands. We are going to Pearl Harbor which is referred to officially as the World War II Valor in the Pacific National Monument. I suppose it’s okay that there are things that will be left undone out here in the middle of the Pacific that can draw us back for a third visit. So besides the former leper colony on Molokai, we still have to visit Lanai, hike the Kalalau Trail on the Napali Coast, swim with sea turtles (not really all that important), and go to an official luau at a resort – never mind, there is NO way we will ever do that – EVER!

Before venturing further, Caroline has to stop at the information desk to collect her Junior Ranger booklet and get busy identifying what she needs to accomplish to be sworn in later as a Junior Ranger.

The USS Arizona, a pre-World War I “super-dreadnought” battleship destroyed during World War II, is the main attraction here at the memorial. At the time the ship was built, Arizona had just become the 48th state of America, hence the commemoration.

As anyone who is interested in visiting Pearl Harbor already likely knows, there’s a short naval boat ride out to the USS Arizona Memorial and the most iconic site here.

Almost 71 years to the day after the Japanese bombed this port and sank the USS Arizona, the oil still leaking from below is evident. In contrast to the tragedy, it is quite beautiful on the surface of the water.

Fortunately, the visitors to this solemn place are acting accordingly and showing the respect that should always be afforded to locations where an act of barbarism took so many lives. This sense of physical presence of the tragedy is reminiscent of feelings had while visiting Dachau, Manzanar Japanese Internment Camp, Custer’s Last Stand, Gettysburg, and the Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia.

Usually, the place of a human death doesn’t immediately become a memorial. The evidence is removed from the place where it happened, as human remains are taken to a cemetery or to cremation. Here, we must confront that the rusting hulk of a vessel just below us still holds the remains of over 950 soldiers who died aboard this craft. They were not able to be brought by a family member to a proper resting place, but then again, what is more appropriate than using the site of a grievous act of war as a reminder of our transgressions that take so many lives?

A place of contrasts where the beauty of Hawaii is also the site of the beginning of America’s entering World War II, a harbor where the tropical setting of palm trees and the ocean is also the setting for a mass grave, where dark clouds loom over paradise.

We see so little of the battleship standing out of the water, it’s difficult to imagine that there is so much ship just below us, but this model demonstrates the scale of what is just out of sight.

The museum back on the mainland has a great exhibit that goes into the details surrounding that fateful day. This piece of heavy steel shows what the force of the bombs was doing as they unceremoniously shredded into reality and tore at the fabric of our sense of peace.

Like all National Park facilities, there’s a Junior Ranger program for those interested in learning more about the history and importance of a location while gaining a better understanding of being a steward of America’s most important lands and facilities. Caroline is collecting yet another nearly perfect score as she does her best in our rather brief visits to finish not just the requirements for becoming a Junior Ranger but to do all of the exercises and learn just a little bit more.

We left Pearl Harbor now hungry as our breakfast of bananas and pineapple was wearing thin. I’d already scoped that the Highway Inn might be a lunchtime winner, so we headed over to Waipahu and, in an unassuming strip mall, started our wait. Twenty minutes later, we had a small table and were trying to figure out what to eat. Considering this might be the first and last chance to ever visit this eatery, we got indulgent and started with an appetizer of Kahlua pork and purple yam in a quesadilla topped with mango salsa. Already, the meal was super yum squared. Next up was the laulau combo with pork and a side of squid lū’au. Determined to gain a wide sampling of their dishes, we ordered some of the made-to-order tako poke. In case you don’t know, or if Caroline is reading this to me when I’m old and in the throes of dementia, tako is the Japanese word for octopus. This dish is served with a creamy wasabi sauce, onion, and ginger miso, and it alone should have qualified the Highway Inn as great, but there was more. Haupia, oh my god, this was the greatest haupia we’ve yet had! And while it is just coconut pudding, it was the best coconut pudding.

Seeing that we were already in the Honolulu area, we decided to head over to the Bishop Museum, where Hawaiian and Polynesian history is on display. Our introduction to the facility was right here in the main hall and while difficult to see down on the ground floor, there was a men’s choir singing Hawaiian songs and lending a terrific start to our visit.

Our brief concert was followed by this gentleman giving a talk about clothing and feathers of which the exact details escape me as I’m trying to write about the day.

Along the way, we encounter a story that speculates that it may have been a group of people from Southeast China that had ventured away from the mainland and went on to discover and populate the Polynesian Islands before embarking on the journey over the ocean to populate the Hawaiian Islands. Funny how, growing up in America, I learned nearly nothing about the rich history of anyone else on Earth other than those we conquered.

Stone and wood tools were common in Hawaii, as there were no early steelworks. Wood has a difficult time surviving the centuries, but there are plenty of stone artifacts here at the Bishop. This particular tool was used for mashing foodstuffs, particularly taro, for the making of poi.

This urn with embedded human teeth is so interesting that I wish I’d photographed the card that explained its utility or symbolic meaning. So without that, I can only present you with an urn of teeth, not something I’ve ever seen in another museum or at any friend’s house.

Weavings in the form of mats, basketry, and cloth are represented well in the museum with great examples.

This is Kapa, as it is known in Hawaii; in the broader Pacific Islands, it is more widely known as tapa. Tapa, depending on how it’s prepared, can act as a cloth or be used as paper. It is often made of mulberry or breadfruit bark and was a common form of clothing before the introduction of cotton.

Lei Niho Palaoa, which is Hawaiian for a necklace of hair and whale ivory, is on display here. The hair was from a person of nobility and was diligently collected because it was thought to contain the power or “Mana” of the person it had belonged to. Interesting to see this mythology that there was strength and power represented by hair stretching from the Middle East to Native Americans to Polynesian culture, and it makes me wonder if the modern-day habit of keeping one’s hair cropped short and beard shaved clean isn’t a form of disempowerment.

The Ahu ʻula is a feathered cape made of hundreds of thousands of feathers that were delicately harvested a few at a time from living birds who were then set free to continue producing these valuable feathers. Why were they so important to early Hawaiians? Because the Ahu ʻula was worn by people of great power to provide spiritual protection. Seeing these in person is nearly as extraordinary as seeing the Grand Canyon with one’s own eyes; they are spectacular, profound even.

Masks of tattooed wooden figures are common among the Pacific Islanders, and as part of the culture and tradition of these areas, they are featured in the museum to help tell the story of customs and art shared across such a vast region.

So, while we are a bit gun-shy and apprehensive about the tourist zones of Honolulu, Waikiki, and Diamond Head, we slowly warm up to their appeal, but probably more due to our interest in the history of Hawaii found here rather than the consumer and tourist culture. While still in the area with time to spare, we’ll continue on our exploration that started today in the southwest and trek up the western shore of O’ahu.

Our destination up Highway 93 is Kaʻena Point State Park. Wouldn’t you just know it, the side of the island that is a predominantly indigenous area would be the desert side?

Compared to the North Shore, the ocean here is calm, with almost no surf.

With about two hours of driving to return to our lodging at Turtle Bay, we scope the area here on the western shore and quickly turn around to head back. On the other side of the island, we encounter a steady rain that is dimming our hopes for another spectacular sunset. No big deal, really, as we are having a perfect time with whatever comes our way. After a mediocre dinner, we arrived again at the hotel to a blustery, occasionally rainy evening that suggested we head to sleep early. But who goes to sleep at 9:00 p.m.? Old people, that’s who, are we old now? Maybe it’s that we’ve been going for over 15 constant hours? Nah, we’re just getting old.