Wishing You Peace… And a Winter Wonderland

December 22, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 39 Comments

There is great beauty in the world. Snow adds another dimension. This is the road leading down to our house.

In troubled times, it is easy to forget that beauty surrounds us, and that there are people found throughout the world who are kind, generous, and tolerant. It is important to remember that the world’s great spiritual leaders— whether their wisdom came from Bethlehem, a cave near Mecca, a Bodhi Tree in India… or a mountain, desert, forest, palace, or city slum— simply wanted the best for their followers: peace, understanding, happiness, a future.

I have to believe, do believe, that if Jesus, Muhammad, Buddha, Moses and the world’s other great spiritual leaders of the past were here today, they would walk shoulder to shoulder together down earth’s highways urging the people of the world to work together to create a better world— not only for humankind, but for all life.

It’s a good thought to have during this season of hope, joy, and giving.

Speaking of “the beauty that surrounds us,” it snowed here last week. Peggy and I woke up and found our deck and trees coated with three inches of soft, white loveliness. We quickly decided to go for a walk in the woods. It was perfect for the season. I half expected to see an elf, or at least Frosty the Snowman (or maybe Big Foot wearing an ‘old silk hat’). The magical guys were all busy on holiday chores elsewhere, however. We happily shared our hike with the local deer herd, wild turkeys and an inquisitive grey squirrel instead.

Naturally I took my camera. Here are some photos from our ‘winter-wonderland’ walk. Think of them as our Christmas card to you. May you share a warm and happy holiday with your family and friends. We wish you peace.

Curt and Peggy

As we stepped out our back door, this young fellow was taking time out to smell the daisies. (That’s called artistic license. Actually he was checking the metal flowers to see if they were edible.)

Snow covered trees towered over our tool shed. There would be no yard work today!

I stopped to take a photo of a snow-covered branch and a flock of Canadian Geese flew into the photo. Serendipity. The specks on the photo were a reminder that it was still snowing.

Peggy took advantage of my distraction to pack up a snowball. And yes, she threw it at me! Had you been present, I can pretty much guarantee that she would have thrown one at you as well. We play a lot around here.

Snow makes the limbs on our White Oaks stand out.

Snow adds drama to White Oaks. A Ponderosa Pine stands to the left. The dark spot on the oak center right is mistletoe. Now, if I can just get Peggy to stand under it…

The limbs of this Douglas fir were bowing with the snow it had collected.

The limbs of this Douglas fir were bowed with the snow it had collected.

The straight tracks made by a wild turkey suggests it was on a mission. Normally turkeys wander about pecking at anything that resembles food. Snow is wonderful for recording animal tracks.

A female Black Tail deer stopped next to our upper fence to checks out. "You wouldn't happen to have an apple, would you?" she seems to be asking.

A female Black Tail deer stopped next to our upper fence to check us out. “You wouldn’t happen to have an apple, would you?” she seems to be asking.It was one of her twins that was sniffing at the metal flower.

Just past the road, our walk took us into Klamath National Forest that borders the back of out property.

Just past the road, our walk took us into Klamath National Forest. It borders the back of our property.

Peggy provided a splash of red in a sea of white.

Peggy provided a splash of red in a sea of green and white.

And I added a touch of blue. The OR on my hat stands for Outdoor Research, but I like to think of it as Oregon.

This oak was definitely a thing of beauty.

The snow added to the natural attractiveness of this twisted oak tree trunk.

Not to be outdone, a stalk of grass captured its own share of beauty.

A manzanita bush shows off its winter coat.

Its leaves peaked out through the snow.

Surprise! A madrone’s bark gleams with wetness created by melting snow.

Our walk takes us down to the Applegate River, which borders on the front of our property.

Our walk takes us down to the Applegate River. Ponderosa Pine on the left and Red Cedar on the right add color.

We return to our lower property following Upper Applegate Road.

And a final view of the forest giants that keep us company.

And have a final view of the forest giants that keep us company.

Mendocino, California… A North Coast Treasure

December 18, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 21 Comments

If you were a fan of Murder She Wrote, you might recognize this house. It’s where Jessica Fletcher lived in the imaginary town of Cabot Cove, Maine. It is actually found in Mendocino, California. Now you can stay there. It is the Blair House B&B.

Whenever I am near the small town of Mendocino, I make a point of visiting. It is one of my favorite communities on California’s beautiful and rugged North Coast. Its unique, almost quaint look, has made it a favorite among Hollywood movie directors looking for the ideal coastal location for their films. It has starred in several movies including East of Eden where it became California’s Monterey and The Summer of 42 where it was transformed into a New England town.

Its best-known role, however, was as the small Maine town of Cabot Cove where Jessica Fletcher (Angela Lansbury) lived and was forever solving crimes in the TV series Murder She Wrote. Nine episodes of the 12-year, 264 series were actually filmed on location and almost all of the episodes included shots of the town and surrounding areas.

This was Sheriff Mort Metzger’s home in Murder She Wrote. Now it serves as the Mendocino Visitor Center. The Pacific Ocean is in the background.

I drove south on Highway 1 to Mendocino from where I was staying in Fort Bragg for a few days on my North Coast trip in August. The region is filled with parks and lots of memories. One was particularly memorable. Peggy and I were camped in our van on a small river. It rained cats and dogs all night, or make that whales and elephant seals. I woke up and looked out our van window in the morning. A seagull was swimming by! Waves were lapping at our tires. We vacated the premises— quickly.

Dark and stormy nights have been particularly harsh on ships sailing up and down California, Oregon and Washington’s rocky coast, especially in the days before satellites and GPS. To counter the danger, a series of lighthouses and foghorns had been placed along the coast. In memory of the time our van Quivera almost became a shipwreck, I stopped off at Point Cabrillo Light Station State Historic Park just north of Mendocino and walked the half-mile out to the lighthouse. It is still doing its duty but automation has long since put the lighthouse keeper out to pasture. His house has now become a museum and his assistant’s house has become a guest cottage that visitors can rent. I paid homage to the days of yore and drove on to Mendocino.

The Point Cabrillo Lighthouse. Those are fog horns pointed out to sea that you see on the front.

The automated, ever-rotating light on top of the lighthouse.

Where the lighthouse keeper once lived.

I took this photo on my walk out to the lighthouse.

The community started out as a logging town with a dog hole port in the 1850s, as so many North Coast towns did. Dog hole refers to the size of the port. If you’ve ever watched a dog turn around to fit into a bed it has scratched out in the dirt, you get the idea. Like the dog in his hole, the ship had just enough space to turn around. Given the additional challenge of steep cliffs, logs were loaded onto ships via a slide that reached down to the deck.

I found this photo of Mendocino’s historic log slide in the Visitor’s Center. The end could be lowered to load the logs onto a ship that would then take them to San Francisco. I am not sure I would want to be on the receiving end.

Mendocino was first named Meiggsville after Henry Meiggs, a San Francisco entrepreneur who had come west to make his fortune in the California Gold Rush. Anything with dollar signs attached had attracted his attention. Redwood lumber needed to build the rapidly growing San Francisco fit the description— as did an opportunity to defraud the city. Before the sheriff could catch up with him, however, Meiggs had skipped out to South America where he made a fortune building railroads and became the “virtual dictator of Peru” according to Wikipedia.

Meiggsville was renamed Mendocino after the cape it is located on and did quite well for the next hundred years selling lumber until the timber industry crashed and it became a backwater town with little money and fewer people. Artists discovered it in the 50s, as they often do when a place is both beautiful and inexpensive. Tourists weren’t far behind. Inexpensive no longer describes Mendocino, but the town has retained its beauty and still has a thriving art community.

I did what I always do in Mendocino: walked up and down the streets, hiked along the coast, bought my quota of books at the Gallery Bookstore, and scarfed down a delicious meal.

An hour or so can easily be spent wandering around the small town. The historic buildings have been well preserved, and repurposed. This is the Gallery Bookshop, one of the best found on the coast. I always go there first.

An hour or two can easily be spent wandering around the small town. The historic buildings have been well preserved, and repurposed. This is the Gallery Bookshop, one of the best found on the coast. I always go there first. The sign features a bookstore cat.

Shops feature everything from crafts to very good art. I found this cat in a shop next to the book store and was amused/impressed by the creative use of chicken wire.

Mendocino features a number of gorgeous, historic homes. Many have been turned into B&Bs.

This early home fits the description of “tiny homes” being built today. There was a sign next to it I found touching:” Watch out for the old dog.” Had I seen him/her, its photo would be next. (grin)

But I found this ‘old’ two car garage a decent substitute.

A number of water towers and even a windmill reflect the difficulty that original residents had in obtaining and keeping water. Their presence adds to the unique look of Mendocino.

Chinese were among the first inhabitants of Mendocino and this Chinese temple from the 1800s is one of the oldest. It was closed so I took this photo through the window.

The foggy, moist climate of the coast is great for growing things and attractive landscapes are found throughout the town.

And finally, the Mendocino Headlands form the backdrop for Mendocino. Any visit to the town should include a walk along the coast.

NEXT BLOG: It snowed here on Sunday providing an opportunity for Peggy and me to go on a winter-wonderland walk. Photos from the walk will provide our holiday card to the great folks who follow this blog from around the world.

Alfred Hitchcock, The Birds, Bodega, and Ansel Adams… California’s North Coast

December 14, 2015December 12, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 44 Comments

1 Alfred Hitchcock mannequin in Bodega California

Alfred Hitchcock’s film, The Birds, is forever entwined in the history of the small town of Bodega, California where parts of it were filmed. A mannequin of Alfred Hitchcock welcomes people to the town. Got Birds?

I like birds. We feed a lot at our home nestled up against the Siskiyou Mountains of southern Oregon. As I write this, I am looking out at our backyard bird feeder. It’s being stormed by Chickadees and Oregon Juncos. A couple of weeks ago it was sparrows. They attacked in mass, emptying the feeder in record time. Not only were they greedy, they were messy. As many sunflower seeds fell on the ground as went into their tummies. Scrub and Stellar Jays gobbled up the escapees, aided and abetted by a fat gray squirrel and two turkeys.

I look out on the bird feeder from my writing chair. It provides endless entertainment. You never know who might be hanging out. Deer often sleep under it. This morning they were up the hill. Earlier we had counted 1o bedded down on our road and the hillside.

Interest in the bird feed goes beyond birds as this gray squirrel demonstrates. It shimmied up the pole, which was quite humorous as he kept slipping down.

I caught this Acorn Woodpecker earlier in the year. I was impressed with his Linda Blair ability to swivel his head all the way around and give me the evil eye. He would have made a great extra for Hitchcock’s film.

I went out to replenish the feeder and was roundly scolded for interfering. By everyone. When I returned with more sunflower seeds, the sparrows decided they had waited long enough. They flew down from the Madrone tree and directly into the feeder, which I was still holding! Surprised and amused, I put the feeder down, rushed inside, and grabbed my camera. Peggy wasn’t home so it would have to be a selfie. Soon I had birds perched on my head, shoulders, hands, and even on the camera. Unfortunately, their fluttering and jumping around, made photography difficult, to say the least. Luckily, a few paused to eat.

With one hand holding the feeder and my other hand my camera, I worked to catch a photo of the busy sparrows.

The birds reminded me of my experience in August when I visited the small town of Bodega, which is just inland from the larger town of Bodega Bay on the north coast of California. Alfred Hitchcock had come here in 1961 to film his classic horror film, The Birds. It’s a story about our feathered friends getting nasty and attacking people. I had watched the film when it had come out in 1963 and visited the area a few years later. It was in the fall season and the local birds were gathering in large flocks. Normally, being mobbed by sea gulls doesn’t bother me, but…

Bodega has incorporated the movie into its history and people still visit the area from all over the world to see where it was filmed. Local grocer Michael Fahmie has turned his Bodega Country Store into something of a monument to the movie. A large billboard featuring Alfred Hitchcock is on the outside of the store while the inside is crammed full of memorabilia from the movie. A Hitchcock mannequin greets visitors. I said hi to Al and went inside. Afterwards, I hiked the short distance over to the movie’s most famous Bodega sites: the 150-year-old Potter School and the nearby St. Teresa Catholic Church. In the movie, kids had run screaming from the school for sanctuary in the church, with the birds in hot pursuit.

Hitchcock was always great at promoting his films. This was from the Bird's movie billboard outside of the Bodega Country Store.

Hitchcock was always great at promoting his films. This was from the movie billboard outside of the Bodega Country Store.

A number of film posters are found inside the Bodega Country Store. I've included this one featuring Tippi Hedren for my followers from France.

A number of film posters are found inside the Bodega Country Store. I’ve included this one featuring Tippi Hedren for my followers in France.

A film still from The Birds shows children running from the Potter School in terror.

A film still from The Birds shows children running in terror from the Potter School (on the right).

The Potter School as it looks now. Today it is a private residence.

10 Potter school and St. Teresa church in Bodega California

I’ve included this photo because it shows the location of St. Teresa’s Catholic Church in relationship to the Potter School.

St. Teresa’s was already famous when Alfred Hitchcock came to town. In 1953 Ansel Adams photographed it. He’s one of my all time heroes. I couldn’t resist getting my camera out. I am not a professional photographer. Mainly, I have fun. It was interesting for me to compare my efforts with those of Adam’s when I got home. The power of the Ansel Adams’ photograph is immediately apparent. It is easy to see why he is recognized as one of the world’s greatest photographers. Still, I was happy with my efforts.

Ansel Adams’ powerful photo of the church.

My photo of St. Teresa's Catholic Church from the Potter School.

My photo of St. Teresa’s Catholic Church from the back near the Potter School.

My perspective facing the church from the left.

And from the right.

A front view of St. Teresa’s Catholic Church showing a stained glass window.

A final photo of St. Teresa's Church in Bodega looking from the doors up.

A final photo looking up from the doors.

When …—… Saved Lives: The Marconi Telegraph Station at Point Reyes

December 10, 2015December 10, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 32 Comments

1 Tunnel of Cypress Trees at Marconi-RCA wireless site Point Reyes

This tunnel of cypress trees leading into the Marconi-RCA wireless receiving station at Point Reyes National Seashore in California is considered one of the most beautiful tree tunnels in the world.

Do you recognize the dits and dahs? I memorized what they meant for a Boy Scout badge back in the Dark Ages, back before satellites and modern communication systems came to connect almost anyone, anywhere, anytime. Here’s a clue: the three dots stands for S, and the three dashes for O. Think SOS: Save Our Ship. You will recognize the whole alphabet spelled out in dits and dahs as Morse Code, named after the American inventor Samuel Morse, who developed it in 1838.

Morse Code

Combined with telegraph lines and operators, it revolutionized communication. Getting the quickest message between points A and B no longer required finding the fastest horse or train. Seconds instead of days or weeks became the rule for sending important communications over long distances.

What Morse did for land based communication, Guglielmo Marconi did for oceans. His claim to fame was being the prime inventor of wireless communication using radio waves. He started at the young age of 21, working in his attic in Italy with his butler Mignani. (I am reminded of the young Steve Jobs, sans butler, working out of his garage in Palo Alto.) Like Jobs, Marconi was an entrepreneurial genius as well as an electronics wizard, or geek, if you prefer. He began by sending a message across his attic in 1894 to ring a bell. By 1902, he’d cornered the market on sending wireless messages using Morse Code across the Atlantic Ocean.

Ships at sea and their passengers were among the primary beneficiaries of the new technology. “Surprise, you are a new father. Send money,” could now be transmitted immediately instead of weeks down the line. There was also a safety factor. For the iceberg bound Titanic, it meant that 30% of its passengers were saved— instead of none.

By 1914, Marconi had extended his operation to the Pacific Ocean and built sending and receiving stations in the Marin County towns of Bolinas and Marshall north of San Francisco. (Because of interference, sending and receiving stations had to be separated.) During and immediately after World War I, military concerns combined with a touch of nationalism, and, I suspect, a generous dollop of old-fashioned greed, led to the take over of Marconi’s American operation and its transformation into RCA, the Radio Corporation of America.

A Mural in Olema, California that provides a look at what the community looked like when it served as the sending station of Marconi telegraph. The blue surfboard represents a bit of artist creativity. (grin)

A mural in Olema, California just north of San Francisco that provides a look at what the community looked like when it served as the Pacific Ocean telegraph sending station for Marconi-RCA telegraph. The blue surfboard represents a bit of artist creativity. (grin)

An early photo of the Marconi receiving site in the small town of Marshall on Tomales Bay. Workers lived in the hotel.

The hotel as it looks today as part of the Marconi Conference Center.

6. Old Highway 57 and Highway 1 in Marshall

Old Highway 57, the dirt road, once serviced the Marshall Marconi wireless receiving site. Modern Highway 1 is seen below along with Tomales Bay. The distant hills are part of Point Reyes National Seashore.

7 Old 1873 Seafood restaurant in Marshall Ca

Historic Marshall included this old/now deserted seafood restaurant built in 1873.

Today, Marshall is know for its oysters and kayak eco-tours.

Today, Marshall is known for its oysters and kayak eco-tours.

I hound this old rocking chair sitting alone Highway one. All it needed was an old codger to sit in it.

I found this old rocking chair sitting along Highway 1. All it needed was an old codger to sit in it.

In 1929, the Marshall operation was moved to Point Reyes. It was still there actively receiving messages when I first started visiting the National Seashore in the late 60s and early 70s. A forest of receiving antennas and no trespassing signs announced its presence. Most of the communication with American ships involved in the Vietnam War passed through the facility. On July 12, 1999, the station sent its last message. Dits and dahs had been made obsolete by bits and bytes.

I was drawn there on my August trip up the North Coast of California by a statement I had found on the Net stating that the cypress trees at the entrance formed one of the most beautiful tree tunnels in the world. Even though I had driven by the facility dozens of times over the years, I had never noticed. Shame on me. When I drove up, a group of amateur photographers with expensive cameras were busily proving the point. I joined the queue with my small Cannon S-100.

I was also blessed with a touch of serendipity. A display sign announced that the Maritime Radio Historical Society was featuring a display on telegraph use in Marconi’s impressive Art Deco headquarters. I drove down under the tunnel of trees and walked through the building’s open door. An hour later I emerged with the distinctive sound of a telegraph keys clattering away in my ears and enough information for a dozen blogs.

The lovely art deco building built by Marconi-RCA for its telegraph receiving station at Point Reyes National Seashore.

The lovely art deco building was built by Marconi-RCA for its telegraph receiving station at Point Reyes National Seashore.

Steven King, a volunteer with the Marine

Steven King, a volunteer with the Maritime Historical Radio Society and the Point Reyes National Seashore spent most of an hour explaining how the Marconi-RCA wireless receiving station worked during its heyday.

12 Telegraph call letters for ships at Marconi-RCA wireless site Point Reyes

Every ship at sea had its own call sign for receiving telegraphs. These were left when the last telegraphs were sent out in 1999.

A view of the telegraph receiving antennas as they look today.

This tunnel of cypress trees leading into the Marconi-RCA headquarters receiving station at Point Reyes National Seashore in California is considered one of the most beautiful tree tunnels in the world.

I had a final opportunity to drive under the beautiful bower of trees as I returned to the highway.

NEXT BLOG: I head north for the small town of Bodega to explore where Alfred Hitchcock’s movie The Birds was filmed and discover a church that was photographed by Ansel Adams.

What to Do When a Nike Missile Is Pointed at You… Surrender.

December 6, 2015December 5, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 39 Comments

This Nike missile came out of the ground and was pointed at me when I was visiting Golden Gate National Recreation Area just north of San Francisco. I quickly moved aside and snapped its photo. Missiles were raised skyward before being fired.

I heard a whirring sound just before the large metal gates clanked open. A Nike missile rose ominously out of the ground. It was pointed at me. “I surrender,” I said to the missile as I slowly raised my hands. It seemed like the wise thing to do. Not very long ago (1953-1979), back in the disturbing days of the Cold War, this deadly weapon had been loaded with a nuclear warhead two-three times as powerful as the atom bombs America had dropped on Japan at the end of World War II. It still spoke of destruction, but now it was defanged. It had become a museum piece, a shell of its former self, a relic of our very scary past.

SF-88 is located in what is now the Golden Gate National Recreation Area just across the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco. It was one of 300 Nike missile sites across the US built as a last line of defense against Soviet bombers carrying nuclear weapons. It now serves as the only restored Nike site in America.

I visited the museum as part of my August trip up the North Coast of California. When I arrived, two park rangers sat outside enjoying the sun. I put one to work; he volunteered to take me on a personal tour of the underground facility. We climbed down the stairs with our footsteps echoing into a large room filled with missiles. After describing how the massive weapons were to be used, he suggested I try pulling one on its track. I couldn’t believe how easily it moved; I felt like I had super powers. He explained that the system was designed for getting the missiles up and ready to fire in 15 minutes. Several million lives depended on quick action.

Each of the 300 Nike missile sites around the US had several Nike missiles ready to fire off in 15 minutes to take down Russian bombers approaching the country.

A view of one of the missiles. They were large enough I couldn’t capture the full missile within the confines of its underground bunker.

I easily moved one of the Nike Missiles along the track toward its launching station.

5.The Nike missiles at SF-88 would rise through these gates

These gates would open in preparation for a launch of the Nike Missiles.

The Nike missiles at SF-88 were intended to target Russian bombers 90 mile off the coast from the Golden Gate. The nuclear warheads were to assure that none got through. The greatest fear was that they might be carrying 50-megaton Tsar Hydrogen bombs, the mother of all bombs. The Russians had built one and blown it up as a warning to the US. To put things in perspective, it had 1,350–1,570 times the explosive power of the atom bombs that destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

“The Tsar Bomb,” the park ranger explained, “would be exploded a few thousand feet up in the air above San Francisco.” All people living in the region would be killed. There would no longer be a San Francisco, an Oakland, a San Jose, a Berkeley, or any of the other communities located in the Bay Area. Neither would there be any birds, mammals, reptiles, trees, grass, or other life left living. A chill settled over me as I recalled I was a student at Berkeley during the 60s, at the height of the Cold War.

I thought even the smaller Nike weapons would be devastating to the region. The prominent west winds would bring deadly radiation from the explosions raining down on the Bay Area and points east. “What would it matter?” the ranger asked. What indeed. Once a nuclear war started, the US and Russia had enough nuclear weapons to wipe out life on earth— several times over.

Having heard enough bad news, I climbed out of the bunker leaving the ranger to explain doomsday to another group of visitors that had arrived. I was outside by myself when Nike Missile came rumbling up from its underground hideout. No one had told me it was part of the tour.

The gates as seen from above. I don’t know, but I suspect they would have been camouflaged during the Cold War.

I heard a whirring sound, the gates clanked open, and the missile arose out of its bunker.

What would have been lost during a nuclear war.

A view of the Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco from the Golden Gate National Recreation Area. The Nike missile site is over the hill from where I took this photo.

NEXT BLOG: I visit the Marconi Station at Point Reyes National Seashore where Morse Code messages were once sent out to all ships at sea in the Pacific Ocean— and are still sent out to the sunken Titanic in the Atlantic.

Hostile Spirits from another Realm… A Return to the Grand Canyon

December 4, 2015December 1, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 20 Comments

The Grand Canyon is filled with spectacular rock wales that constantly take your breath away. But do they harbor hostile spirits?

The Grand Canyon is filled with spectacular rock walls that constantly take your breath away. But do they harbor hostile spirits?

It’s time for another blog on my backpacking adventures. This one concludes my Grand Canyon series. In my last tales about the Grand Canyon I journeyed several thousand feet into the Canyon and then several thousand feet out with a 60-pound pack on my back. I confessed to having doubts about the journey along the way. My trips in and out of the Canyon weren’t over yet, however…

A friend was to join me on my next trip into the Canyon but wouldn’t be flying in for several days. (This was in my pre-Peggy days.) I took advantage of the time to explore the volcanic mountains that loom over Flagstaff. Seventeenth Century Franciscan missionaries had named the San Francisco Peaks in honor of the Order’s founder. I put my Ford Ranger in four-wheel drive and followed a winding dirt road up the tallest one, Humphreys Peak, until I found a suitable place to pull off and set up camp.

White fir provided shade and shelter while a small creek gurgling down the mountain provided water. Humphrey’s Peak tops out at over 12,633 feet and can be seen from much of Northern Arizona. Native Americans from the surrounding areas consider it sacred. I spent a week wandering around exploring on foot.

I kept an eye out for bad weather, though. Occasional spring snowstorms in the area have been known to catch and kill unwary hikers and campers. The Hopi have another explanation for these unfortunate incidents. Kachina spirits, Hopi Gods, are said to appear during such storms. Apparently, their intentions aren’t friendly.

Fortunately I saw neither snow nor malicious Kachinas during my brief stay and dutifully appeared at the Flagstaff airport on time to pick up my friend M. She was all smiles and stylishly dressed like an LL Beam model. I could see she was a little nervous. Backpacking isn’t exactly her thing and packing into the Canyon can be rather daunting, even for veterans— as I have noted. M is always game for a new experience though, so she threw her shiny new equipment into the back of my pickup and off we went.

We drove out to the trailhead at Hermit’s Rest and prepared for our descent. A large sign warned that thieves had been breaking into cars. We were supposed to take our valuables with us and lock up our vehicle. It was not the type of sign that encourages confidence. I locked the doors and camper shell, checked twice, and wished my truck well.

This wasn’t the first time outlaws had worked the area. Hermit Trail in its earlier guise had been known as Horse Thief Trail. Apparently for good reason. Stolen horses would disappear down the trail never to be seen again. The Santa Fe Railroad improved on the path in the early 1900s and turned it into a tourist route. Fleecing local ranchers turned to fleecing out-of-state tourists. But those days are history. Bright Angel is today’s trail of choice into the Canyon and the horse thieves have long since ridden off into the sunset. The Hermit Trail is now simply one more minimally maintained route.

While it doesn’t match the Tanner Trail in terms of difficulty, it was still a challenging descent. I must say that M managed her first day much better than I had. At the end of the day we discovered one of the Park Services solar and wind outhouses that guaranteed to fossilize your leavings. We camped up wind and out of sight.

I was eager to share the beauty and isolation of some of the side canyons the next morning. We took a short hike and soon found ourselves in the midst of towering, awe-inspiring cliffs. M’s reaction was much different from what I expected. Dangerous spirits inhabited the area and we were disturbing them. We needed to leave quickly.

On one level, I could understand her unease. In our twenties, we had both been significantly influenced by Carlos Castaneda’s journeys through the Sonoran Desert. Don Juan had taught his young apprentice that mysterious and powerful beings from different realms inhabit remote regions. Some of these beings were really bad dudes, prepared to pounce on the unwary. Given my own pantheistic views, it wasn’t hard to populate the Canyon with spirits. But I had spent years wandering in isolated wilderness areas and had yet to meet a spirit that had caused me any damage, or for that matter, even stopped to chat.

I shared my perspective and was met with a rather cool response. Apparently I lacked the necessary perception to understand the danger. I had the irreverent thought of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ but kept it to myself. M was serious. After her bout with Castaneda, she had moved from Iowa to Texas where she was introduced to the work of George Gurdjieff and his pupil, Peter Ouspensky. Gurdjieff was an early 20^th Century mystic who taught that the vast majority of humanity is asleep, little more than robots. Given proper training, however, individuals can awaken and reach higher levels of consciousness. I assumed that it was at these higher levels that one became aware of the evil spirits. Gurdjieff called his training the Fourth Way in honor of Buddhism. He, Ouspensky, and other followers set up esoteric schools to teach people the path to awakening.

One such follower was Robert Burton. Burton was working as an elementary school teacher in the San Francisco Bay Area during the 60s when Gurdjieff and Ouspensky caught his attention. In 1970 he persuaded a number of his acquaintances that he was a person of higher conscious, the stuff that gurus are made of. By 1973 he and his group had purchased property near the small town of Oregon House in the Sierra Nevada Foothills and were clearing land to establish a Fellowship to propagate Gurdjieff’s teaching and grow wine grapes. M and her husband moved from Texas to California to join Burton in his efforts.

By the time I met M in the late 70s she had left her husband and Oregon House, but was still an avid follower of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky. I suspect she was continuing to financially support and participate in the Fellowship. When she learned of my interest in Castaneda, she gave me a couple of books on the Fourth Way and suggested that there was a local discussion group I might enjoy joining.

In some ways, I was a good candidate for what Burton was offering. Eastern traditions, especially Zen Buddhism, had a strong appeal. Meditation gave me the same sense of wholeness and connection that wandering in the woods did. I wanted to believe that humans were capable of reaching higher levels of consciousness, of becoming more civilized in the broadest sense of the word. Self-actualization, to utilize Maslow’s term, seemed like a highly desirable goal and I always had myself on some self-improvement plan or the other. I need lots.

Burton had drawn a number of bright, well-educated, and accomplished individuals around him. In ways, his success at recruiting followers was quite similar to that of Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh who had set up shop in Oregon. Both had strong appeal to people who were seeking meaning in life that they weren’t finding in post Vietnam, post Watergate, super-materialistic America. While M had been finding answers with Burton, another friend of mine had placed herself at the feet of the Bhagwan.

The acceptance of a teacher or guide is a legitimate and time-honored tradition in many Eastern oriented practices. Ultimately, however, I lack the capacity of becoming a true believer. Regardless of the appeal, I am not willing to commit the trust required to place myself in another person’s hands. This means I can never quite understand the value that people derive from joining someone like Burton or the Bhagwan. You have to go there to get it and I won’t make the trip.

Anyone interested in gaining significant control over my mind frightens me, regardless of his or her motivation or whatever benefits will supposedly accrue. The best of folks, from my personal experience and historical reading, have flaws. Assigning someone god-like status hides these flaws. Rational, humanistic justification of action is not required. God or Whatever wills it. A multitude of bad things can hide out under this umbrella. Every day brings new examples.

So I had passed on M’s original suggestion to join a discussion group on Gurdjieff and Ouspensky and now found myself unable to recognize dangerous spirits from another realm. I honored M’s concerns, though, and we returned to camp. Our afternoon was spent capturing the beauty of the Canyon with watercolors.

As we hiked out the next day I found myself fretting over another type of bad spirit, the very corporeal local type that breaks into unattended vehicles. Cresting the Rim, I expected to see window glass strewn all over the ground next to my pickup. There was none. It turns out in my paranoia about locking the truck, I had forgotten to roll up my windows. Fortunately, nothing was missing and nothing had been disturbed. I returned M to the Flagstaff Airport and drove southeast. It was time for another adventure— encountering elk and the spirit of Geronimo while backpacking through the Gila Wilderness of southern New Mexico.

NEXT BLOG: I’ll get to the Gila Wilderness eventually, but next up, I am returning to my recent trip up the Northern California Coast. And I answer a serious question… What do you do when someone points a Nike missile at you?

Adios Puerto Vallarta, Hasta Luego

December 2, 2015December 1, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 18 Comments

No doubt about it, the highlight of our visit to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico this year was our visit by Senior Iggy, the Iguana.

It was time to say goodbye to Puerto Vallarta. We packed up our clothes, laptops, dock kits, etc., and were wondering where we would find space for the goodies we had bought. Like most experienced travellers, we carry minimum luggage. Space is at a premium. Somehow, we always seem to have a few square inches to spare, however. Our Kindles help; a travelling library is no longer required.

Checkout was at 10:00. The plane was leaving at 3:30. Translate: Lots of time to kill. We headed over to the hotel’s open-air restaurant that overlooks Banderas Bay. Maybe some dolphins would entertain us. We didn’t see any, but Angel, the headwaiter, spotted us and came hurrying over. Peggy has befriended him over the years. I am in charge of generous tips. The combination assures excellent service.

Peggy and Angel at Krystal Hotel in Puerto Vallarta

Peggy and our waiter, Angel, at the Krystal Hotel.

While we missed seeing any dolphins during breakfast, we found this father-son look-a-like team rather amusing.

While we missed seeing any dolphins during breakfast, we found this scene rather amusing. I wonder who the boy’s father is? (Grin)

As always, we had enjoyed our two weeks— one with friends and one on our own. We had eaten several good meals, sat out on the beach, watched beautiful sunsets, appreciated the art, and enjoyed the wildlife, including Senior Iguana, who had stopped by for a visit. Walking three to five miles a day and limiting ourselves to one major meal meant we might go home skinnier than we came. That would be a first.

Much of the art on the Malecon encourages interaction, much like Burning Man art. Here I am with our friends Ken and Leslie Lake.

Numerous good restaurants in Puerto Vallarta always tempt us. Peggy chomps down on a tropical creation.

Speaking of the tropics, this plant certainly had a tropical look.

As did this flower.

And this palm tree.

Pigeon with flying symbol on back in Puerto Vallarta

Pigeons are found everywhere but this fellow with his unusual ‘flight patter’ on his back caught my attention. I must have chased after him for ten minutes with my camera.

A view of our hotel. When we started going to Puerto Vallarta, the Krystal stood side by side with one-two story buildings. Now surrounding skyscrapers have destroyed the ambience.

A view of our hotel. When we started going to Puerto Vallarta, the Krystal stood side by side with one-two story buildings. Now it is surrounded by skyscrapers. So much for ambience.

We would head out to the beach every evening to catch the sunset. I liked the silhouette of these palm tress created by the setting sun.

We headed out to the beach every evening to catch the sunset. I liked the silhouette of these palm tress that was created by the setting sun.

14 Cowboy and cruise ship in Puerto Vallarta

Old and new Puerto Vallarta: A cowboy stops to talk with someone as a cruise ship disappears into the distance.

Counting up left over pesos is always part of our departure ritual. Peggy’s responsibility is to then go out and spend them. She darted across the street to the furniture-plus store while I worked on writing in the hotel’s lobby. I now have another blog in the Grand Canyon series (you will see it on Friday), and Peggy has two new colorful cereal bowls.

Finally, after what seemed like a long, long time, we grabbed a cab for the short ten-minute ride to the airport. And here I have something important to report— the security-check was a pleasure. What?? No way!!! Peggy and I work really hard to make TSA officials in the US laugh. On rare occasions, we even get a glimmer of a grin. I think TSA has a no-smile rule, like the guards at Buckingham Palace. But here, the agents were actually smiling on their own, like they enjoyed their jobs, like they were happy to see visitors, like they recognized the odds of us being terrorists were infinitesimally small. Back in the US they probably would have been fired.

A final Puerto Vallarta sunset.

NEXT BLOG: Back to the Grand Canyon and hostile spirits from another realm.

Shape Shifting and Art in Puerto Vallarta— or, On Becoming Your Favorite Animal

November 30, 2015November 27, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 11 Comments

1. Mystical mural of animals in Puerto Vallarta

Shamans choose their animals to shape shift into based on certain characteristics. The Jaguar is powerful and dangerous, the deer and rabbit fleet of feet, the bird fleet of wing, and the coyote clever.

Shamanistic traditions around the world often involve shape shifting. The shaman enters a trance and adopts the form and/or spirit of an animal, for healing, travel to another world, or more sinister purposes. Often the switch is made with the aid of a hallucinogenic drug, such as peyote. This is the drug of choice among the Huichol Indians of Mexico and is frequently portrayed in their art. In addition to works produced by indigenous people for sale in Puerto Vallarta, I also found a number of murals that illustrated the indigenous tradition of shape shifting.

2. Shape shifting mural mask in Puerto Vallarta

Masks are reflective of shape shifting. Jaguars are a common animal of choice, as in the Puerto Vallarta Mural, and…

This Oaxaca mask.

Deer are fast, a good choice if you have to get somewhere in a hurry. This Huichol deer is covered with beads that make up symbols that relate to the Huichol’s belief system. That’s peyote on his forehead.

I haven't heard of iguanas being a choice for shape shifting. Maybe that's why this Huichol piece looks sad.

I haven’t heard of iguanas being a choice for shape shifting. Maybe that’s why this Huichol piece looks glum. Or is that my imagination working overtime?

In this Huichol string painting, I couldn’t help but believe that even the baby was shape shifting. A squid, perhaps? The mother-to-be seems to prefer a snake form.

While almost all Huichol creations reflect the tribe’s belief system, much of the art created in Oaxaca is created solely for the beauty and pleasure it brings, often with a sense of humor attached. The same can be said for Puerto Vallarta’s murals.

There is no apparent shape shifting in the Oaxaca saber toothed tiger. Or in the peacock behind it.

Another Oaxaca cat with big teeth.

And here we have the domestic version is his “feed me now” pose.

Cool cats, perhaps— as jazz musicians were once referred to as, and a musical iguana were the subject of this mural we found on the Rio Cuale.

Cool cats, perhaps— as jazz musicians were once called, and a multi-talented iguana, were the subject of this mural we found on the Rio Cuale.

An iguana of a different stripe? This is one pointing to one of life’s great pleasures: hot peppers. Apparently they are hot enough to shake Puerto Vallarta’s Cathedral.

Shape shifting is a thing of dreams in our minds as well. We imagine what it might be like to be a hawk soaring across the sky, or a cheetah running with the wind. I’ve been reading a book on lucid dreaming, just for fun. If you aren’t familiar with the concept, it has to do with consciously being aware that you are dreaming and doing things you can’t normally do in life, like walk through walls, or take off flying whenever you wish. Basically, you control what happens in the dream.

The book, A Field Guide to Lucid Dreaming, even has a section on shape shifting. “Before you go to sleep,” the book directs, “decide what person, beast, or object you want to transfer into.” Say you want to try being a tiger. Imagine it before you go to sleep. When you awake in your dream, “feel the sensations a tiger would feel. Stand on all fours and feel your teeth getting sharp.” Good advice (grin). Once you become a skilled Oneironautic, you might actually make it happen according to the book.

Feel your teeth growing and becoming sharp!

Now, I confess I am a little skeptical. At least I haven’t suddenly become awake in my dreams and decided to become a yappy Chihuahua. That’s not saying it isn’t worth a try. I do on occasion change the course of a dream from a bad ending to a good ending. I actually get up and run away from the monster instead of lying there in a semi-paralyzed stupor as he starts to devour me from the toes up. It’s a start, but not enough. I dearly want to be that hawk winging across the sky or the Cheetah charging along at 35 miles per hour. How about you?

Is there a Chihuahua in your future. Even though Senior Pooch pretended to be deaf, he couldn't avoid having his numerous faults listed, again and again.

Is there a Chihuahua in your future. I found these guys playing along the Rio Cuale. My thought: Even though Senior Perro pretended to be deaf, he couldn’t avoid having his numerous faults reiterated— again. Don’t you just love the look on his face?

Or possibly you have something more elegant in mind, as reflected in this Puerto Vallarta Mural.

Or possibly you have something more elegant in mind with a ring in your nose, as reflected in this Puerto Vallarta Mural.

NEXT BLOG: Peggy and I say goodbye to Puerto Vallarta

The Markets of Puerto Vallarta— Where Hustle Is the Name of the Game

November 27, 2015November 27, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 21 Comments

The old vendor’s face, wrinkled with decades of toil, was backlit by a strong sun.

The old man waved beaded bracelets and necklaces as us. We were having lunch at la Palapa and a tasty red snapper was demanding my attention. I couldn’t have cared less about the beads. In fact, I was irritated by the interruption— by the constant interruptions as one after another street/beach vendor rudely shook his or her wares at us, demanding our attention and dollars.

But the face of the old man— the deep wrinkles and lines, the scraggly whiskers, the cloudy eyes: the character— it caught me. I broke out my camera and ten pesos. I wasn’t going to buy trinkets; I was paying for a likeness, a reflection of life and how hard it can be, but also capturing a certain beauty, won by years of struggle.

A blanket vendor also insisted on showing us her wares as we ate lunch. The bright sun behind her made photography difficult but it helped capture the rich colors of her blankets.

Puerto Vallarta is a tourist town. Its primary source of income is the thousands of people who are disgorged weekly from airplanes and giant cruise ships. The challenge, from a purely economic perspective, is how to sort the visitors from their cash before they leave, to get a piece of the action. Hustle is the name of the game, from the small girl selling Chiclets for pennies to the timeshare salesperson selling future vacations for 25 thousand dollars. The small girl has only her haunted eyes to push her product; the timeshare salesman has a whole arsenal of half-truths and a tenacity that would put a tick to shame.

(While I write this post, I realize that it will be published on Black Friday, the day that America’s merchants are desperately hoping to sort Americans from their cash. When I turn the TV on, it is one continuous ad— marketers rudely shaking their products in our faces with half-truths that would put a timeshare salesman to shame.)

An hour of relaxing on the beautiful Banderas Bay beach in front of the Krystal Hotel is like an hour lesson in basic capitalism. Beach vendors are specialists. Whether you need a shirt, a dress, a hat, a ring, a necklace, a tattoo, a trip, a cigar, a massage, a woodcarving, a drink, dark glasses, a blanket, or food (or not), someone will be there to sell it to you. The hat man has hats perched on top of his head as high as they will go. The blanket sales vendor a stack of blankets a yard thick. The henna tattoo guy comes at you with a book of tattoos to pick from. Will it be a Harley or a harlot? A polite, no gratias, usually sends them all on their way, at least for the moment. But show a bit of interest and they descend like buzzards, ready to pick your wallet, if not your bones, clean.

Peggy is the shopper in our family. She bought a small turtle, iguana, and beaded eggs from a Huichol artist, two gorgeous tablecloths at the Municipal Market, and a silver necklace from a beach vendor. Peggy had recognized the beach vendor from years past.

3. Huichol artist ion the Rio Cuale in Puerto Vallarto

Ernesto, a Huichol artist, has a bright smile for us whenever we stop by. If he doesn’t have what we want, he makes it for us. The brightly decorated eggs (lower-center) are covered with Huichol symbols and will be decorating our son’s Christmas tree.

Peggy checks out a new table cloth she is buying. The day before we had checked it out and Peggy had mentioned she wanted the edges sewn. The young woman took the tablecloth home that night and did the work.

Peggy checks out a new table-cloth she is buying. The day before we had checked it out and Peggy had mentioned she wanted the edges finished. The young woman took the tablecloth home that night and did the work— on three table cloths. We ended up buying two.

5. Felix the beach vendor in Puerto Vallarta

Felix, as in Felix the Cat, displays his bracelets and necklace pendants on the beach in front of the Krystal Hotel.

“Do you remember my name?” he asked. “It’s Felix, like in Felix the Cat. Meow.” I particularly liked the meow and meowed back. While Felix was entertaining us with his patter, he had opened his box of silver jewelry. Peggy showed a spark of interest in two necklaces. “Which do you like?” Peggy asked, turning to me. Felix knew he had her. “I’ll sell you both for 1400 pesos,” he offered. “Too much,” Peggy responded. “How much will you pay?” he asked. We had entered the negotiation stage. The general rule of thumb is about 50% of the asking price. Vendors double the price, and add a bit for profit. We ended up only buying one and paying too much. Felix left with a large smile.

Large public markets are a step up from the beach in terms of sheer quantity. A walk through the Municipal Market (Mercado Municipal) will introduce you to dozens of vendors, each with his or her own space packed to the ceiling. All are trying to entice you in. “I make you good deal.” “Half price.” “Almost free.” “Look will cost you nothing.” “Two for one happy hour cost.” And on and on, over and over. One vendor on the Rio Cuale asked, “Want to buy some junk?” It was a welcome and humorous change.

6. Vendors stall at the Mercado in Puerto Vallarta

Vendors stalls at the Municipal Market next to the Rio Cuale are stuffed to the ceiling with items designed to capture a tourist’s attention. It quickly becomes overwhelming unless you are shopping for something specific.

The market is two stories high and must contain at least a hundred stalls… each with one or more vendors eager for you to check out their goods.

The market is two stories high and must contain at least a hundred stalls… each with one or more vendors urging you to check out their goods.

My friend Ken Lake and I were wandering through the market at the seaport while Peggy and Leslie were having massages when we received a different offer. Ken was using the line, “We have to wait for our wives,” to put off vendors.

A rather short and squat, older woman responded, “Who needs wives? I have a sister. Only $50. I have two sisters, one for each of you.”

“For $50,” I asked as Ken made a hasty retreat. “No, no. $50 each,” she insisted as the eyed the rapidly disappearing Lake. “You could have two at once. Much fun.” She said laughing. “Mañana,” I responded as I hurried to catch my friend before he disappeared.

The most intriguing market, it turns out, was right across from our hotel. We had visited years earlier and I hadn’t been impressed. This time was different. Peggy, Ken and Leslie had gone across the road for a visit while I was working on a blog. She came back saying I had to go. Turns out, the place is a huge furniture market, with the furniture being made on site. But that’s only the beginning. It’s an interior decorators dream, packed with thousands of items. I walked around in awe for two hours, going from room to room. And there was no pressure to buy. Not one salesperson approached us unless we had a question. I was so appreciative I was tempted to buy a 20 foot table as a thank you.

The furniture store as seen across the street from our hotel. It must have has several thousand feet of display space.

8. Large table at furniture store in Puerto Vallarta

This large slab of wood is destined to be turned into a table! Can you imagine the size of the house you would need to accommodate it? Do you own a castle?

I would love to have a table like this. You would never be at a lack for conversation when you had guests over. The chairs were equally delightful.

Peggy came and rooted me out of one of the rooms I was wandering through to look at this chest.

12. Peggy and scuplture at Puerto Vallarta furniture store

I took advantage of the break to have her pose in front of one of the warrior statues that were found throughout the store…

10. Life sized horse at Puerto Vallarta furniture store

There was also this full sized horse. It must have gone with the 20 foot table and the castle to put it in.

Along with these musical frogs.

13. Old woman at furniture store in Puerto Vallarta

For all of the large pieces in the store, there were dozens of smaller works. This old woman with her wrinkles reminded me of the old vendor I kicked off this post with. It’s a fitting place to end.

NEXT BLOG: The fine art of shape shifting in Mexico. Jaguars are really popular when it comes to turning yourself into an animal. What would you become?

Folks in Puerto Vallarta Take the Dead Seriously… Sort of

November 25, 2015November 25, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 25 Comments

The charming Catrina has come to symbolize the Day of the Dead. Each artist creates his or her own version. I thought the heart and flowers added a special touch.

Come November 1st, people in Mexico prepare to entertain their dead ancestors. El Día de los Muertos, or, the Day of the Dead, has arrived. Home altars are set up; special foods are left out for the dearly departed; and people get ready to party with grandpa, even though he is no longer around. Why not? If you’d been moldering away in a grave for twenty years— or even a day as far as that goes, wouldn’t you be ready for a little fun, a bottle of tequila, and a six-pack of cerveza?

From a more serious perspective, the Day of the Dead allows people to get together and remember friends and family who have passed on. The tradition dates back to the ancient times of the Aztecs. More recently, the Catholic Church adopted it, as it often has with indigenous beliefs, to expand the flock and keep them faithful. The government, in hopes of promoting national unity, declared the day a national holiday.

Not far behind the church and the state, Mexican businesses quickly figured out that El Día de los Muertos was a cash cow waiting to be milked. Almost any market you enter in Puerto Vallarta offers Day of the Dead items for purchase. Among the most popular are skulls.

Skulls are found for sale everywhere in Puerto Vallarta. This fine example is a from Oaxaca. The shop person told me that all of the paint brushes used in Oaxaca art are made from human hair.

Okay, this skull is wild! The art is created by laying lines of beads into wax, a process used by the Huichol indians.

Ceramic skulls are much more common in markets, and much less expensive.

An army of skulls found in the Municipal Market of Puerto Vallarta.

Miniature box art for the Day of the Dead found in Puerto Vallarta.

Miniature box art also captures the spirit of The Day of the Dead. This is a scene in an auto mechanic’s shop. Everyone, it appears, is having a good laugh. Maybe they are discussing the bill.

Dealing with the spirits of the dead is worldwide. When I was a little boy growing up next to a graveyard and sleeping outside in the summer, I encouraged our three cats and two dogs to sleep on the small cot with me. They were my protection from the denizens of the dark. It didn’t matter that there was barely room for me. As a Peace Corps Volunteer in Liberia, I quickly learned that the spirits of the newly dead were particularly dangerous. An all night wake, with lots of rum and much wailing, was required to send the restless spirit on his or her way. My first night in Gbarnga, I heard people screaming and beating drums without a clue about what was happening. It was a long night.

We arrived in Mexico a few days too late to rub elbows with the dead, but we ran into Catrina in a number of locations. This lovely skeleton-woman with her stylish look and clothes has come to symbolize the Day of the Dead and Mexico’s willingness to laugh at death. She started off in the early 1900s as something of a satirical comment on Mexico’s one-percenters of the time, and their desire to wear the latest and most expensive of European fashions. She served as a reminder that regardless of our social status in life, we all end up in the same condition: dead. I salute the people of Mexico for their sense of humor about the subject.

Judging from the number and variety of Catrinas we found, I surmised that Puerto Vallarta's visitors bureau had sponsored a Catrina contest for the Day of the Dead.

Judging from the number and variety of Catrinas we found, I surmised that Puerto Vallarta’s visitors bureau had sponsored a make your own Catrina contest for the Day of the Dead.

We found this Catrina with her frilly hat at the Municipal Market.

We found this Catrina with her frilly hat, hot pepper necklace, and cactus blouse at the Municipal Market.

We found this realistic Catrina at the same location in the Municipal Market on a previous visit to Puerto Vallarta.

And this realistic Catrina at the same location in the Municipal Market on a previous visit to Puerto Vallarta. Note the snazzy ear rings.

I wondered if this blond bombshell with her generous boobs wasn’t a Marilyn Monroe Catrina.

I don’t think I have ever seen a plunging neckline plunge this much. And isn’t the red hat something! I’m thinking this lady is someone’s Valentine.

A Huichol artist worked on creating a Catrina in one of the shops we visited. I added my pesos to her tip jar and snapped a photo.

Miniature Catrinas, such as this one, and their male counterparts are created to sell to people who don't have have room, or the money, to buy a big one. Many are quite beautifully made with fine attention to detail.

Miniature Catrinas, such as this one— and their male counterparts, are created to sell to people who don’t have the room or money to buy a big one. Many are quite beautifully made with fine attention to detail.

The Puerto Vallarta airport featured a number of Catrina's, including this one.

This gal greeted us at the Puerto Vallarta airport as we were flying back to Oregon.

NEXT BLOG: “Want to buy some junk? Almost free.” words of a vendor as we passed his booth. The markets of Puerto Vallarta carry everything from tourist trinkets to valuable folk art.

A miracle of the modern culinary arts: the self stuffing turkey. Happy Thanksgiving. The turkey above is from one of the cards I used to create before writing and blogging took over my life. While we celebrate family and friends here in the US, I also want my friends in Europe and other parts of the world who have suffered so much recently to know that my thoughts are with you. Every day. –Curt

Wandering through Time and Place

Exploring the world with Curtis and Peggy Mekemson