We Are an Equal Opportunity Family

Stevie is an amazing cook and therefore does all the grocery shopping and meal preparation for our family. Although I accompany her into the grocery store, I usually get lost in the panaderia where I buy and eat 3-4 pastries each visit. My family responsibilities are simple. In addition to doing all the driving (my big claim to fame), my chores consist of washing all things related to family life. This includes but is not limited to the van, the dishes, the laundry, and the Perro. These tasks vary in difficulty depending on our location. For instance, in the US you may find me at the back of the laundromat trying to go unnoticed as I perfect the art of folding women's underwear without being seen. But here in Mexico I simply walk our bag of clothes to the lavanderia. When I return a few hours later the clothes are nicley folded and wrapped in plastic bags, all for a few pesos.

Other jobs in Mexico are not so easy. Washing the van for instance is a breeze in the states. The hoses at the car wash shoot out hundreds of gallons of fresh h2o every minute. You just aim-n-shoot and the dirt disintegrates before your eyes. But here in Mexico the water hoses resemble something you'd use in a kitchen sink. The whopping 0.2 PSI doesn't shoot, it dribbles.
And then theres the Perro! Back in the good-ole USA we'd drop Kiki off at the groomers. A couple hours later she'd have a pretty bow in her fur and she'd smell like roses. We've been in Mexico almost 2 months and there hasn't been a groomer in sight. Kiki was getting smelly, even by my standards. After Stevie begged and pleaded for a week, I finally caved. Despite the fact that Kiki HATES water, I think it went pretty darn well. I actually think she enjoyed it. She's not really talking to me right now, but I'm sure that's what she's thinking. OVER AND OUT - TREE

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Happy Anniversary Sprinter Life!

Today is our anniversary. Not of the day we met, the first time we kissed, or the the first time that we said the 'L' word to each other. No, today is a much bigger event. It's the 1 year anniversary of the day we officially moved into the Sprinter Van together. We packed up the apartment in Venice, sold most of Stevie's belongings and set out on the open road. Sprinter Life was born. We've learned a lot in 365 days of Sprinter Life. We learned that we don't need a lot of stuff in order to be happy and that less is actually more. We learned to survive in a very small space together. We perfected the art of the Urban Bivy. We explored the entire west coast from San Diego to the Canadian border. Then we watched the landscapes change through the windows of our home as we meandered our way back down to Nayarit, Mexico. We learned that we are most happy when we are together and moving from place to place as a small tribe. We discovered that we are nomads. Thanks to all the people who extended their homes, kitchens, and showers to us in the last year. Mom, Indra, Cyndi & Brian, Bree & Shan, The Simkos, Cheryll, Dana, Jean, Miranda & Miguel, Jody & Kerri, 24 Hour Fitness, Starbucks, and anyone we missed, THANKS! We love you. TREE, STEVIE, KIKI

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What we see as Nomads: Roadside Shrines In Mexico

I grew up with a ghost in the house. Matter of fact, I'm named after him. He was my biological father who died a few months before I was born.
As a way of transcending her devastation, my mother often spoke of him as if he were right there in the living room with us. Sometimes she would even include him in the conversation. Stephen, what do you think, should I hang Stevie’s school picture on the wall or keep it on the desk? He’d usually respond with a tug at the heart in one direction or the other. When my mother remarried and I got a real live dad, we started referring to my dead one as Daddy Stephen. When she and Daddy Doug (whose name was later shortened to plain Dad) gave birth to my sister, we stretched my phantom father’s paternity to her as well. After all, it wouldn’t have been fair if I had two dads, and she only had one.

To this day, my sister and I both appreciate having an extra spirit dad hovering above- one who never gets mad, is always sympathetic, and can be by our side in a pinch when we're scared. It’s like having a Jesus without the other followers.

I’m very grateful that my mother raised us amidst my father’s presence. I believe that as mortals we need more than to just remember the dead; we need to foster a relationship with their spirit as well. By doing so, we are allowing them to still care for us in our daily lives. I don’t necessarily mean that they help us wash the dishes or pick the winning lottery numbers; their influence is more internal.  By embracing what is timeless, expansive, and untouchable in them, we celebrate our own boundless perfection. Likewise, by honoring their state of death, we acknowledge the fragility and temporality of our own life.

It’s for this reason that I love roadside shrines. And, lucky for me, they are all over Mexico. Their prevalence speaks to a couple realities, not the least of which is how dangerous it is to drive here.  Whenever we see a little family of crosses on the side of the road, we know to slow down- literally and figuratively. The next thing that always comes to mind is how happy it makes me that Mexicans care so well for their dead. They build them the most elaborate shrines and visit them often. I can just picture the happy ghosts hanging out on the side of the road, sipping tequila in their little casitas complete with painted trim, Christmas tinsel, photographs, flowers, candles, and crosses. Even in the most remote areas, we’ve yet to see one shrine that’s rundown or neglected.  I deeply admire that level of dedication.

Lastly, I like the shrines because they humble me. If ever I feel different from my fellows, I take a second to remember that we are all going to be dead people one day. One of my favorite metaphors for life and death is that temporarily we are all little droplets of a waterfall descending in a cascade with other droplets, but at the end of the journey, each and everyone of us returns to the same river.   

I know, I know, this view isn’t consistent with the happy ghost one, but somehow, to me, it all makes sense- STEVIE

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Happy Thanksgiving!!!

WOW! Is it the end of November already? We can't believe it. We've almost been south of the border for 2 whole months now. Here's wishing you all a wonderful Thanksgiving! There will be no Turkey for us this year. You can't even buy Turkey in Sayulita anywhere that we've seen. We'll make due though. I think Stevie is planning to cook up Chili Relleno with cornbread stuffing. We've got Spanish Class from 11:30 to 1:30pm, and Tequila class from 7:00 to 9:00pm. Should be a great day! We have so much to be thankful for! Miss all of you sooooo much. Sending lots of love - XOXOXOX STEVIE, TREE, KIKI

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En Serio... Tequila School???

My encounters with tequila have always been frightful. When I'm not passed out on Tequila, I'm fighting on tequila (and I've never won a fight in my life, so that's not fun). Plus, Tequila has always delivered the worst hangover imaginable. So I naturally cringed when Stevie put forth the idea of adding Tequila School to our list of activities. Although I put up a valiant effort while trying to debate my way out, her point of attack was well calculated and her battle front strategy well planned. She promised to hold my head above the toilet seat. She promised to protect me in the event of physical combat with random strangers. I was up against the ropes when she delivered the final blow...

"But Treeeeeeeeee, being in Jalisco, Mexico and not drinking Tequila is like being in Napa Valley and not drinking red wine!"

Where do you go from there? I was KO'd. So here we are, signed up for a 3 week Tequila class in Sayulita that entails learning all about the beverage, from plant to bottle. Graduation occurs when we drive north 3 hours to the town of Tequila Mexico, the birthplace of my arch nemesis. There we will tour the distilleries and test our knowledge.

We're now 2 classes into the course and I'm actually pleasantly surprised. Real Tequila tastes good! Apparently I had been drinking the equivalent of Walmart box wine when it comes to Tequila, because the real stuff is amazing. Here is what I've learned so far...

1) Tequila traces its origin back at least two thousand years. The Indian tribes that inhabited what is now central Mexico discovered that the juice of the agave plant, if left exposed to air, would ferment and turn into a milky, mildly alcoholic drink. News of this discovery spread throughout agave-growing areas.

2) Tequila should not give you a hangover. The reason crap Tequila (like Jose Cuervo) gives you a hangover is because it's only made with 50% Agave. The other 50% is SUGAR, plus artificial color additives to make it amber/golden. Hence the hangover.

3) Good Tequila should never be mixed with anything. No limes or salt either. It's for sipping only. If you try to order a Margarita in the state of Jalisco, they laugh at you.

4) Good Tequila should always say 100% Agave on the bottle. If it doesn't, you're getting crap. (refer back to #1).

5) Really good Tequila is always at least 40% alcohol. Not 35%. 40% or more. Period. 

6) White Tequila (Blanco) is not crappy, or just for mixing as we once thought. It's simply pure Agave that was not aged in a barrel, therefore it pulls no amber color from the oak. Blanco is a drink in and of itself, and needs to be treated as such.

7) The other two types of Tequila include Reposado and Anejo. Both of these have the golden amber color from being aged in oak barrels. Reposado is aged from 3-11 months, and then bottled. Anejo is aged up to 3 years.  Then you also have Extra Anejo, aged 3+ years. The really good stuff can be aged for up to 15 years! Just like wine, the Tequila pulls flavors like vanilla and caramel from the oak barrels. The longer it's in there, the darker and richer it gets. 

8) Treat Tequila like a fine wine. Drink it from a snifter, like you would a good a bourbon. Let it breath after you pour it. Sniff it before you taste it. When you taste it, let it sit in your mouth for up to 8 seconds. Then inhale through your nose before you swallow. This will keep it from burning your throat.

So far we know that we like all three types of Tequila. Just like fine wine, they are each different. We have barely scratched the surface, but we're looking forward to becoming intimate with each unique style. As Stevie is fond of saying, we'll only learn by drinking more. Over, Out - TREE

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Stevie's Lost In Translation

If you know Stevie, as many of you do, then you know she LOVES to talk. She'll talk to anyone, anywhere, anytime. She is by nature a communicator. She is also Sicilian, so you cannot expect her to suppress her vibrant verbal nature just because she doesn't know the language. Perhaps that is why she is learning Spanish so much faster than the average student.

Language is a funny thing. You take a bunch of letters and string them together to make a single word. Group those words together and you can verbally communicate just about anything.  Now, take those same words and try to translate them into another language with the intent of communicating the same message. This is where my lovely Sicilian communicator keeps getting herself into trouble.

For instance, when we were at the ferry terminal Stevie had a conversation with a nice old man. He asked if we had kids, and Stevie patted her belly and said "Ya No, Ya No."  Her intention was to say "Not Yet," but what she actually said with a big smile as she rubbed her tummy was "Not Anymore." And that explained the horrified look on the poor Catholic mans face as he walked away shaking his head.

Another example... My little lady has quite a temper, and for a while she was fond of saying "Tengo rabia," meaning "I'm enraged." Thanks to our friend Miguel, we now know she was actually saying "I have rabies," which I personally like a lot better, especially when directed at me.

We got a curious smile from a guy in Baja when Stevie said "Estoy caliente," intending to say "I'm hot" (because of the weather). What she actually said was "I'm horny." Despite the fact that she now knows the correct word is calor, all I ever hear is caliente, caliente, caliente.

Want more? There are many native Indians still living around Mexico and we've been interested in meeting indigenous people. Stevie, being fearless, has told these people... "Quiero mas aprender sobre indigentes," trying to say that she wants to learn more about indigenous people. Only "indigentes" means "homeless people."  I don't think they took it personal, but it's real hard to tell.

My favorite one of all was when Stevie was talking to a Mexican couple about surfing. She shamelessly stated... "Yo tengo mierda," meaning "I have fear"... except the word for fear is "miedo." Stevie, with all of her dramatic hand expressions, informed everyone that "I have shit".

I don't expect these moments are over. We've got too many countries to go through, and there are too many people for Stevie to practice on. At least I'm getting really good at reading facial expressions. At this point when I detect confusion, skepticism, or plain horror, I just break out the dictionary. TREE

 

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Livin la vida

We've got a smooth daily routine going here in the Mexican state of Nayarit. In the mornings we drive to Punta Mita to surf. After that we come back and I work while Stevie writes. Kiki and Stevie usually take an afternoon siesta before we head off to Spanish class. We'll usually grab a couple pescado tacos on the way to school. After class I always go looking for the guy who sells frosted pastries out of the back of his truck. This can take between 5-55 minutes due to the fact that this guy likes to move his damn truck every half hour. You never know where he is gonna be. In the evenings Stevie sips 100 anos Tequila while cooking dinner and I try to catch up to her in Spanish. The next day... repeat. I could do this for a while! Right now we plan to stay here until December 18th. After that we'll head down to the State of Colima to look for more surf. From there we're going inland to Mexcio City. Not sure where we'll be for Christmas and New Years. Too soon to tell!  Our original plan was to blow through Mexico in a couple weeks, but now it looks like we'll be here at least a couple months. This country is just too cool. We do, however, have a large distance to travel before we reach South America, so our goal is to cross into Belize by the end of January. For now we're enjoying this amazing country! TREE

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Daily Life In Sayulita

On our first day here in Sayulita we met a great new friend. His name is Eddy, and he used to work in this neighborhood before he got laid off. I had asked for his help fixing a broken door in our cabin, and he proceeded to use my tools to fix it. (See Simko, I told you someone would use those tools!). Eddy speaks ZERO english, so as he worked, we spoke in spanish. He is a surfer but he broke his board 8 months ago and had not been in the water since. He thinks it will take a total of about a year to save enough money to buy another board, but that was before he got laid off. Now he's not sure. I invited him to go surfing with me for the day and use one of my boards. His eyes got huge and an ear-to-ear smile crossed his face as he said "Si!". We've been surfing together every morning since.  At around 7:30am Eddy shows up for coffee. Each morning starts with a french press of dark roast and a half hour of spanish practice. From there we hit up one of the local breaks. He really knows how to avoid the crowds. So far we've surfed completely alone all week! Not bad considering we're passing spots that have 10-15 gringos fighting for waves! The waves have been small this week but they're supposed to get big this weekend with a new NW swell. We're also talking about a couple road trips to the north and the south maybe next week. I think he and I are both tstoked to have met. TREE

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To Bees or Not To Bees

I am the type of human who secretly wishes my race would go extinct. When I watch a movie about the slaughter of dolphins or drive by an unsightly bald spot on the side of a mountain that once shimmered green with old growth trees, I pray for bubonic plagues to happen sooner than later. It’s not that I’m a misanthrope; on the contrary, I tend to like people. The problem is that I loathe having to witness and contribute to the widespread destruction we routinely wreak on our planet and all of its inhabitants.

I’ve often heard my fellows equate our species to a virus, but I think that’s far too generous an estimation. Viruses don’t usually kill their hosts, their own kind, or themselves- but we kill all three, gleefully. And in the rare instance a virus does behave like a human, it’s considered maladapted.

The Famous Mr. Ed!

Adaptation is the evolutionary process whereby a population becomes better suited to its habitat. This change happens very slowly over thousands of years, and increases an organism’s chance of survival. The long, slender neck of a giraffe and the big, square chompers of a horse are both delightful examples.

But what happens when the habitat changes too fast, or too much, for a species to adapt?

 In 2007, the avian census reported that over 25% of the U.S. songbird populations are in deep decline. The reason for the birds’ dwindling numbers is widespread loss of natural habitat coupled with a deafening increase in noise pollution. Interestingly, songbirds have always been a great indicator of an environment suitable for human prosperity: where they thrive, we thrive. Yet, despite their best efforts to adapt, the artificial environment we’ve created is killing them.  

Likewise, we’re in the middle of a bee crisis akin to a mass suicide in the Apis mellifera world. A mysterious ailment called Colony Collapse Disorder is causing agricultural honeybees to abandon their hives and disappear. The frightening thing is that 80% of crop pollination is accomplished by honeybees. Without them, we starve. Albert Einstein said, “If the bee disappeared off the surface of the globe, then man would only have four years left to live.” (Oh, if only the planet could be so lucky.)

Why the exodus en masse? Well, everything from intensive pesticide use, genetically modified crops, and climate change has been recently linked to the increase in collapse of bee colonies around the world, but the most compelling reason is that factory farmed honeybees (and that’s virtually all that’s left) are much more susceptible to stress from environmental sources, such as viruses and fungus, than organic or feral bees. In other words, the bees- like the songbirds- cannot adapt to the travesty of progress.

Forty percent of the earth’s organisms are endangered. If our way of living is making them sick, how do we feel? Are we adapting or maladapting?

To bees, or not to bees- is that not still the question?

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to maladapt to

The slings and arrows of progress,

Or do we take arms against overpopulation, coal burning, plastics, pesticides, 

Honking horns, Xanax, Zoloft, suicide,
Military testing, industrial farming, deforestation,

Dupont, BP, Walmart, and Monsanto-

And by opposing end them?

Well, you know my vote. -Stevie

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We're Not In Kansas Anymore...

No, we're in Sayulita, a lush green little paradise on the Pacific coast Mainland. We spent the day exploring, doing laundry, grocery shopping, and outfitting the bungalow we'll call home for the next month. We've rented a sweet little self-contained studio cabin right in the middle of a Mexican neighborhood. We've got wifi in our room and Kiki has a big yard to lurk in. This area is a dramatic change from the dry desert of Baja. Here it's green and humid, like a jungle. Tomorrow we'll do a day trip north to look for waves, and Monday is our first day of language school. I'm already nervous. What am I going to wear? I wonder if the other kids will like me?  Will Stevie make me sit in the front row again? So many worries. Oh well, they still have recess in Mexico, right? TREE

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Kiki does hard time in Mexico

The Ferry ride over to Mazatlan was easy sailing. It’s a modern ferry with all the amenities. We made a good decision and invested $64 for a private cabin. We had 2 beds, a bathroom, and a hot shower. Unfortunately they wouldn’t allow Kiki in our room. She had to be caged with the other animals, of which kiki does not believe she is. If you know Kiki then you know the serious trauma she believes she incurred during her 14.5 hour lockup. We did manage to smuggle her out and walk the deck 4 times over the course of the trip. We only got caught once and the guard was a real asshole. He was acting like the gringo gang was pulling the heist of the century by busting our 3^rd Musketeer outta jail. I thought he was going to throw us all in the hole. As he was walking Kiki back to her jail cell I took the opportunity to practice my Spanish and said… “Cuidado Senor, ella muerde Policia!”

The drive to Sayulita was semi gripping but not too bad. Driving the Sprinter in the Mainland requires more focus for sure. The drivers are more aggressive and the roads are tight. Plus there are NO street signs, something you never notice when you fly in as a tourist and take a taxi cab or bus. We only took one wrong turn in Mazetlan and ended up in a barrio, but it worked out and we ended up on the cuota (toll road) after a couple miles. We listened to spanish CDs for 7 hours until we reached our destination. TREE 

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Adios Baja

Today was our last day in Baja. We hung out on the beach with Mom and John and drank way too many beers. They talked politics for hours, which is what happens when you put my Mom and Stevie in the same room. I'm confident they solved all of the worlds problems over Pacificos and fish tacos. We simply need to appoint them "supreme rulers of the universe" for 1 month and the force will come back into balance. I may have to give up my stun gun, but in the new utopia I apparently won't have any use for it. Plus Kiki (and every other dog in the world) will gain the inalienable right to vitamin fortified high protein gucci dog food.
Tonight we'll board the Ferry and 12 hours later we will arrive in Mazetlan. From there we will drive 7 hours south to the small surfing town of Sayulita where we plan to spend the next month. We've enrolled in a 4 week language school there so our spanish should be taking a serious jump soon. We've also signed up with PeaceMexico and will be doing volunteer work with the mexicans in the area. That, plus working on Outdoorplay should keep me plenty busy. Should be good times. ROGER... OVER... OUT - TREE

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La Paz - The Peace

We've connected with my Mom and John and we're all kicking it here in La Paz. It is so great to see them. My Mom has a room at a resort called La Concha. Stevie and I managed to drive the sprinter through the security gate and park in the back lot. We've got a great bivy spot 50 yards from the beach. Que Padre!

We love this sleepy little town. I call it sleepy because frankly, its practically empty. That has been our experience in almost every place we've traveled in Baja. US tourists are terrified of the drug wars. People have stopped traveling to Mexico and in doing so they've pounded the death nail into businesses and families all over Mexico. Hotels are empty, construction stopped, restaurants boarded up. Even the RV park we had planned to stay at here is La Paz was shut down. The situation with the drug cartels is truly sad, and so is the way the war is being fought. It doesn't take a genius to figure out where the drugs are going and therefore who is funding these cartels. WE are. The USA. We have 5% of the worlds population, yet consume 60% of all the illegal drugs produced in the world, more than any other country on earth. Rarely proactive, we also spend less on education and rehabilitation. No, our reactive solution is to throw offenders in jail. 80% of all prisoners in the US are incarcerated on drug related charges. We've arrested 10 million people for marijuana since 1965. How much money have we spent? How effective has it been? When will we wake up and try something new?

Time and again the locals tell us how distraught they are about the drug war. You can see the frustration on their faces. Although the violence is, for the most part, between the army and the "bad guys", and despite the fact that it is isolated to small sections of Mexico, the effects are felt as far away as sleepy La Paz, Baja, where all the people want is "The Peace". TREE

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El Triunfo

On our drive to La Paz, we stumbled upon a delightfully quirky pueblo called El Triunfo. (Think David Lynch in Mexico.) In the mid 1800s, El Triunfo was a booming mining town with 10,000 residents. By the turn of the century, the silver rush had made it a cultural center, bringing miners, merchants, artists, foreigners, dancehall girls, and anyone else looking for a profit to the quaint mountain town. Oddly enough, it also brought pianos- lots of them. At one point in time, El Triunfo had more pianos per capita than anywhere else in Mexico. Today, it's home to 303 people, a delicious cafe aptly named Cafe El Triunfo, and one international highlight: a spectacular piano museum. 

We visited the museo de musica, and I tickled the old ivories for Tree and Kiki, and then we went to the cafe and ate an entire pizza made with prosciutto and arugula. It was divine. The crust was thin and crispy; the sauce was made with sweet, fresh tomatoes; clumps of melted raw mozzarella kept the liberal portions of salty prosciutto from falling off; AND, it was cooked in a wood fire oven. It was so incredibly delicious, in fact, that I had to meet its maker. His name was Mark. He's an expat, ex-drug addict, and maybe had trouble with the law and "had to leave the States." He had bright, twinkly blue eyes, a bald head, and a very thick and long steel mustache that hung from the sides of his face. He's also a biker, so I couldn't help but think that it was like his face was wearing hair replicas of a Harley's handlebars. Yes, his mustache really was THAT big. His arms were huge too, the way bikers arms can be, and covered in tribal tattoos. I'm not going to lie, he looked scary, but he was as sweet as his tomatoes. 
Given the fact that he was around 60 and had the same history as my biological father who died before I was born, I couldn't help but think how some people get second chances in life, and some don't. 
Wouldn't it be so cool if instead of being buried in a small grave in Hope cemetery, my dad was making mouthwatering pizzas in the Baja?  At the age of 34, it seems too late to wonder what it would have been like for me had my father not died. There's too many years to rewrite, and quite frankly, that's exhausting. But, in a parallel universe, why not?  I can see him living on the lam, smiling with a big mustache and a rolling pin, standing TALL in front of a wood fired oven somewhere deep in Mexico. More pepperoni for me pops! -Stevie 

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