Baby sea turtles

My favourite activity in Puerto Escondido was releasing endangered baby sea turtles safely into the ocean. Our hostess Adelina at our guesthouse, Quinta Lili, drove us and two other guests to where the turtle eggs are carefully protected (see white buckets) from their main predators (sea birds and stray dogs). The beach, which is not an official sanctuary, is about 15 minutes away from the guesthouse. The fenced area is on a stretch of beach between two beach houses.



After they hatch, the baby turtles are kept in the dark buckets until sunset so the turtles can scurry to the ocean unharmed. The darkness also keeps the turtles inactive so they can conserve energy for their long swim.



The release of the turtles (also called Liberacion de tortugas) is organized by the local environmental group, Selva Negra (or Black Jungle). This group
does not yet receive government funding. The government is also not involved in saving baby sea turtles in this area of Puerto. Adelina, seen with the blue bucket, is very involved with Selva Negra, and attends most turtle releases and is a passionate advocate for the turtles.



At sunset we lined up with a group of locals and tourists, washed our hands in seawater and stood to receive our turtle. Depending on the season, there are three types of turtles: black, green and leatherback. I'm holding a green sea turtles which is the smallest of the three.




Adelina carefully nudges the slowest turtles, including the one I held, into the surf.



Blayne and I enjoy a spectacular sunset (not sure what the spots are).

Beaches of Puerto Escondido

Some scenes from our exploration of Puerto Escondido's beaches.

Puerto Escondido

So Natasha and I spent Christmas week in beautiful Puerto Escondido, a small seaside town in southern Mexico. When your days consist of meandering down to the beach, swimming a bit, and ordering drinks (the mojitos at Rosarito’s on Zicatela beach were excellent), there’s not much to say. I managed to read a few heavy books: an unauthorized history of The Simpsons, Paul Shaffer’s thoroughly enjoyable memoir, and Ta-Nehisi Coates’ memoir of growing up as the son of a Black Panther in Baltimore (a very good, if not great, first book, though his blog sings). Natasha stuck to books on organized crime and the heroin trade. Your typical beach reads, in other words.

The nice thing about Puerto Escondido is the choice of beaches within a 30-minute walk. And even though it was the week before Christmas, they weren’t crowded at all. Zicatela beach is the most famous. Apparently it’s known as the “Mexican pipeline” for the good surfing, but we actually didn’t see many surfers, at least from the reclining chairs in front of Rosarito’s. Playa Principal is more like a working harbour (quite a few small fishing boats are moored there) than your typical resort beach, and is lined by many restaurants. We had a nice romantic dinner our first evening there at Pascale’s. I had the bouillabaisse and Natasha had what she says is the best tuna (seared) she’s ever tasted.

The other beaches are a bit away from these main ones, but are still pretty easy to get to and are much better for swimming and beginner surfers. Playa Manzanillo and Playa Carrizalillo are more like coves and seemed to be most popular with Mexican families. We had excellent fish tacos and fish quesadillas at one of the many beachside stalls at Manzanillo. Natasha particularly liked the fresh coconut: once you’re finished drinking it, they slice the coconut open (with a machete!) and serve the coconut fruit with hot salsa and lime.

And if you like seclusion, Playa Bachocho was long, windswept and practically deserted. It was my kind of seclusion, though, with two unobtrusive resorts within easy walking distance when your pale, pale skin starts to char.

Actually, the best part was our guest house, Quinta Lili. I’ve been known to lay on the superlatives a bit thick (a la Lionel Hutz), so I’ll quote Natasha, who says that Quinta Lili is, without exception, the best hotel/B&B/whatever we’ve ever stayed at. And we’ve been to Tokyo.

It’s a family operation (five rooms) run mainly by Luis and Adelina. Luis designed the place himself, based on a nautical theme, with each room having its own distinctive design. The rooms are ultra-comfortable, and there’s a small pool and Jacuzzi out front. Luis and Adelina took great care of us: within a few hours of arriving, Adelina had volunteered to drive us to help release some sea turtles. The highlight was a Christmas Eve dinner they hosted for the guests (an interesting, eclectic bunch themselves) at Quinta Lili and their brand new hotel. We didn't have turkey, but the prawns and sea bass were spectacular. The breakfasts were very tasty, and included fresh fruit and traditional Mexican breakfast food. Natasha's favourite was the potato tacos.

Have a look:

Stray cats and Parliament

I always thought that stray cats were a special feature of the Canadian Parliament. (Parliament Hill is home to a colony of stray cats: Insert Canadian Senate joke here.)

However, on the grounds of the Palacio Nacional (which is sort of like the Mexican White House), we found over a dozen well-fed but skittish stray cats living amongst the plants. Everyone talks about the Diego Rivera murals in the Palacio Nacional, but for us, the cats and the cactus garden (how cool is it that the Mexican President's official residence contains a cactus garden that is open to tourists?) was a highlight.

Winterlude with fake snow

I didn't expect to see snowmobiles and children sledding in the heart of Mexico City, not only because it was twenty-five degrees but also because I had deliberately escaped Ottawa to avoid the snow. Blayne thought it was a Christmas parade until we heard the roar of snowmobiles and saw children flying down the icy ramp of a fake toboggan hill. Suddenly all the people wearing heavy sweaters, coats, mittens and matching earmuffs made sense--we were at a winter festival sponsored by Pepsi and Blackberry.

The second picture shows children packing snow into snowman sculptures. Note the presence of official volunteers assisting the children unfamiliar with snow.

Templo Mayor

In Mexico City, Blayne and I wandered around Templo Mayor which was one of the main Aztec temple sites (near
the Zocalo) when Mexico City was Tenochtitlan. The temples were destroyed when the Spanish conquerors took over the city. In 1978, city workers discovered parts of the ruin and eventually the excavation site widened to uncover the ruins of the temples.

Given that this was a series of Aztec temples, blood was a reoccurring theme. My favourite part is the large collection of obsidian knives that people used for 'auto-sacrifice' or as the museum explained 'devotees cut into themselves or cut fleshy bits off themselves to fill an offering bowl or soak fabric to offer to the gods.' I also liked this bat-faced god.

Christmas poinsettias -- Mexican style

Friday night, December 18th, we walked through Coyoacan, a charming area with a laid-back atmosphere. We wandered through Jardin Centenario at the centre of old Coyoacan. For those more familiar with poinsettias sitting indoors during the Christmas season, here are poinsettias Mexican style--outside and alive. It's the first time I actually liked poinsettias!

After wandering through the park we headed to dinner at a local restaurant recommended by Blayne's neighbour Hugo. It was packed with groups celebrating Christmas, including a group of women in a private room we heard chanting what sounded like cheerleader songs. Great food--a perfect beginning to an escape from icy Ottawa.

In Mexico

For those of you who are still subscribed to the blog, Natasha and I are at the start of a three-week vacation in Mexico. We're here in Mexico City until Sunday, then it's off to Puerto Escondido (beach and sun) and Oaxaca (culture) before returning here on Dec. 30. Stories and photos to follow. We hope you enjoy them.

B&N

Downgraded from economy class (an Air Canada horror story)

This is a bit of a rant about Air Canada. Because of my trip to Australia last year, Air Canada gave me a book of upgrade coupons. Since it was Air Canada, I fully expected the coupons to be invalid and completely worthless under normal circumstances. So I was pleasantly surprised yesterday when I was upgraded from economy to executive class for the first leg (Ottawa to Toronto) of my 6:00 am flight to Mexico City. It was pretty exciting, being my first time among the privileged few. I savoured the larger seat, the leg room (even though I'm short) and the fresh orange juice, yoghurt and fruit.

I didn't really expect to be upgraded again for my flight from Toronto to Mexico City, but I certainly didn't expect I'd end up where I did. In Toronto, I joined the general queue to board the aircraft. When I handed my passport and e-ticket to the Air Canada attendant, he scanned the ticket, frowned, and then kept typing and sighing. He then handed my ticket to another woman who said, "Oh, that's her." This isn't good, I thought. The Air Canada woman explained: "We really tried to upgrade you but there was a problem and we couldn't, but by that time we had given away your original seat. So we've downgraded you."

I didn't even know such a thing was possible. What's lower than economy? Steerage?

"What does that mean?" I asked. "Do I still have a seat?" "Oh, yes," she said, "but now it's an aisle seat in the last row." I had paid an extra $20.00 for window seats -- I always travel in window seats.

What's so much worse than seat 12A (window)? Thanks to Air Canada's new downgrading program (pay $20 to choose your seat, be tempted with an upgrade, lose your original seat), I now know the answer: seat 29C (aisle). I pushed my way to the back of the aircraft and to my irritation found that 29C is actually a crew seat. That can't recline. And that is right next to the bathrooms.

To make matters more surreal, for some reason my presence in Downgrade Section upset the flight crew. The flight attendants were annoyed that I got their seat, apparently believing that I had somehow demanded this prime location. Demanded their seat? Like any sane Canadian I didn't even really want to be on their plane. If I had had an option I would have chosen a Soviet-era Aeroflot flight over Canada's national airliner.

This isn't to say it wasn't an educational experience, it was just I learned some things I didn't really want to know. When you're sitting with the blue-noses in Economy class you don't think much about airplane bathrooms. I, for one, had no idea that so many people continue to ignore their parents' advice to go before you leave home. As soon as the pilot turned off the seatbelt sign, the stampede for the bathrooms began and didn't let up for the entire flight. Almost immediately, the area around 29C (so prized by a certain type of flight attendant) was enveloped by the not-so-fragrant odours of human sewage -- unfiltered even by the sickly chemical smell that would be familiar to anyone who's ever taken a long-distance bus trip. At some points even the flight attendants were gagging. Throughout the five-hour flight, there was a constant stream of people bumping my seat in their haste to get to the bathroom. This crowd was exacerbated by the flight attendants shoving the drink carts through the throng.

I also learned quite a bit about an Air Canada flight attendant's duties. When they're not expressing barely concealed envy and contempt for the fortunate few in Downgrade Class, they seem to spend most of their time cursing the various storage units that won't properly open, broken chairs and roast-beef sandwich shortages. Actually, I guess this prickly attitude won't come as a surprise to anyone who's ever tried to complain about Air Canada's subpar customer service (their numbers are legion).

In the time-honoured retail-industry tradition that the flight attendant is always right, they even managed to get my seat in the end. Near the end of the flight, as I was attempting to escape my odoriferous present through the magic of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: The Motion Picture, a flight attendant told me that I would have to give up my seat to a crew member. But where would I go? I was half-expecting to be told, "We're just over Mexico City, here's a parachute," before being herded toward the back exit and charged a $20 early-exit fee.

Instead (fortunately or unfortunately, I'm not sure), they moved me to the middle seat (29B, for those of you keeping track at home). But there was already a guy sitting there, who they moved -- I am not making this up -- to an empty seat... in economy class.

I can't wait for the flight back. Maybe I'll get to see where they stow the animals.

Why we went

More not-so-live blogging still to come, but first a quick story followed by a longish essay:

Last week, on our way to the Inauguration, the American customs officer asked Natasha and I why we were traveling to the U.S. He seemed a bit puzzled when we told him. “You’re Canadians. Why are you interested in it? I mean, I know why we’re interested, but why are you?”

His question caught me by surprise. I had to think a bit before lamely coming up with something about how it was an inspiring moment in world history. Natasha was more to the point: she wanted to see the back of Bush. 

The guard wasn’t the first person to ask us that question. When a clerk at an Inauguration-souvenir store a few blocks from the Capitol hit us with the same question, I fell back on platitudes, despite having had several hours to come up with a decent answer to an obvious question.

This question bugged me for the rest of the trip. At first, I didn't have a good answer to why we'd dropped a couple thousand dollars on airfare, hotel rooms and souvenirs (so many buttons!) to stand in the cold and witness, via Jumbotron, the inauguration of the 44th American President? There's the whole Bush-is-gone thing but it’s not like we’d worked on Obama's campaign or anything. 

I don't think it was a case of celebrity worship: we watch the Oscars to see who won, not who’s wearing what. I also don't think it was simply a matter of wanting to watch History Being Made. The Inauguration, as stirring as it was, wasn’t the world’s victory party; it was an American moment. Talking with Americans during the Inaugural celebrations, it became obvious to me that although everyone in the world understands that Obama’s inauguration is Important, non-Americans really can’t get just how much a President Obama means to so many Americans. 

After the Inauguration, we chatted with an African-American woman from South Carolina. As a student, she had lived through the integration of the schools. On top of the black-white tensions, the texts in black schools were several years behind those of white schools. While the smart students did fine in their new schools, others weren’t able to keep up. She, and so many others, could hardly believe that this day had come. 

Tom, a UPS worker from New Jersey, white, who we met during the festivities, told us that he’d previously been to Washington twice: in 1963, where he witnessed King’s “I Have a Dream” speech; and in 1968, when he had been “detained” while protesting the Vietnam War.

These stories were humbling to listen to and gave us, as outsiders, a brief glimpse of the massive social forces Americans have overcome. You can’t help but admire the millions of Americans who worked to make this day possible, on the campaign trail and during the preceding years of struggle. This was their day: a chance to celebrate how far they’d come, even if they still have far to go. 

Theirs, and Obama’s, stories are intensely American, reflecting the possibility of renewal inherent in the idea of the United States, an idea realized not just in Obama’s presidency, but, more importantly, in the grassroots campaign that got him elected. 

But it’s not a uniquely American story, or it need not be. 

Which brings me, in an incredibly roundabout, overthought way, to why we went to Washington. 

I think part of the reason that I became so invested in Obama’s campaign was because I wanted to witness the triumph, if just this once, of millions of anonymous citizens working to elect a worthy man with honourable priorities. To see what it’s like when people come together in support of a good cause, to change their society for the better. 

And then to bring this American spirit of optimism back to Canada. 

Canada has been very lucky in its history. While we have never produced an Obama, neither have we had to: with the exception of Canada’s ongoing inexcusable treatment of the First Nations peoples, no original sin blots Canada’s soul as slavery does the Americans’. 

Still, we have many challenges to overcome. The stillbirth of our last Parliament demonstrated that we are no longer served well by our current leaders or our outdated system of government. Our Parliament is listing toward a fully realized “friendly dictatorship,” demonstrated by the Prime Minister’s success at suspending Parliament, with the acquiescence of a figurehead Governor General who has yet to justify her actions to Canadians. 

Our leaders have yet to come to grips with the seismic changes that will continue to rock our economy, to say nothing of the reality of climate change. Despite the current absence of a national-unity crisis, the country seems held together more by inertia than any positive sense of we-feeling. 

For me, the hope inherent in Obama’s victory is not that everything will be fine with the right leader. It’s that if millions of Americans can work together to overcome hundreds of years of racism and slavery, surely we can create a more just, prosperous and representative Canada.

There’s a lot to do, and if Canada is to deal with these crises – if Canada is to change for the better – much of the burden is going to fall on ordinary Canadians becoming involved in the life of their city, their province and their country. 

For Americans, Obama’s election was, at the very least, a giant downpayment on King’s dream. For this Canadian, it's more like a starter’s pistol at the beginning of a marathon: there’s a long way to go, and it’s time to get started.

A not-so-live blogging of Inauguration Day, Part I: How Not to Plan an Inauguration

As early as the DNC in August, we had been toying with the idea of going down to Washington to witness Barack Obama's inauguration: it was sure to be a seminal moment in American history and we wanted to experience it first hand. After a few weeks of consideration, on September 27, confident (or maybe just hoping) that Obama would beat John McCain, we booked a hotel room and plane reservations. Already, over a month to go before the election, the city was filling up. The only room we could find anywhere near DC for less than $600 anight was at the Four Points Sheraton in New Carrollton. 

New Carrollton, if you don't know your DC suburbs (and why would anyone want to?) is the easternmost stop on the DC metro line, 45 minutes from the Capitol; the hotel itself is a five-minute cab ride from the metro stop. Still, we had a place to stay. We paid for everything in advance, so we were doubly happy when Obama won on November 4. We were heading to Washington!

January 20, 2009

3 a.m.: We don't have tickets to the parade or the Inauguration itself, so our plan is to get to the National Mall as early as possible and join the throngs. The metro station opens at 4 a.m., so we're up at 3. Our hotel room's plumbing leaves something to desired: the tub's tap hangs loosely from the wall, and getting the hot water to flow requires a complex pagan ritual involving a wrench and lots of cursing. 

Bathed, and dressed in layers suitable for either an unusually cold January day in Washington or a warm January day in Ottawa, we embark on our journey.

3:55 a.m.: As we drive up to the New Carrollton station, we get our first glimpse of how massive today is gong to be. The trains don't start running for a few more minutes, and it's six hours until the festivities start, but there's already a massive line of hundreds of people waiting for the metro station to open. Everyone is glittering with Obama paraphernalia -- buttons, hats, t-shirts, scarves. Some are dressed in heavy coats and mittens, others wrapped in colourful blankets. 

4:02 a.m.: We catch the second train downtown; it's crowded but nothing like the crush that we would see later in the day. The mood on the subway, despite the early hour, is upbeat.  

4:40 a.m.: We get off at the L'Enfant Plaza stop, the closest to the Mall's 7th Avenue entrance, and join the massive line snaking down the block. While we wait for the Mall to open, we listen to the people around us talking about where they'd traveled from, why they are there and what the day means to them. There's a lot of "I never thought this would happen in my lifetime" going on.

Like the people on the subway, the crowd's mood is excited, but remarkably peaceful and mellow. When a group of folks try to cut in line and push their way to the front, they're rebuked with an indignant: "There's a line here, everyone's waiting, don't push to the front." When some other people tried to squeeze between the line and the fence, one woman shouts, "Obama doesn't want you to push; he wants everybody to get in." This invocation of Obama works, and the crowd calms down. 

5:15 a.m.: The street is filled not just with people, but with several large, idling buses filled with (warm) police officers.

Even though the Mall isn't supposed to open for almost two hours, the line starts to move, which we think is a good thing.

5:45 a.m.: We're very close to 7th Avenue when things get weird. The line has stopped moving, but no one's quite sure why. Eventually we overhear a volunteer on the other side of the fence, and later a single police officer, tell someone on our side of the fence that the area on the Mall up to 7th Avenue is already full, and that we should all move down to the 12th Avenue entrance. But most people don't hear this, and so everyone for the most part just stands there, waiting. Oh, except for several red-toqued Girl Guide volunteers, who have to get inside and are reduced to trying to shove their way through this tightly packed throng.  Apparently, security had not thought about how volunteers would be able to use this entrance. Security incompetence would become a recurring theme throughout the day.

Volunteer leaders try vainly to push through the crowd, leading Boy and Girl Scout volunteers, all holding hands and wearing red volunteer hats. The leaders plead with the crowd to let them through but there's nowhere for us to move.

At this point the crowd starts getting a bit agitated, or as agitated as blissed-out Obama supporters can get. No information is forthcoming from security and no one but a few volunteers are getting through the gate. With all the confusion -- is the entrance open? What's going on at the front of the line? -- we began to worry that the situation may become dangerous. It would only take a few people shoving toward the entrance to cause a panic and to crush people.

Keystone Kops to the rescue

So. You're in charge of a really big security operation. You know that millions of people will be descending on the city, but you've had months to prepare. It's a scheduled event in a known location. You know that crowds are going to show up early. Obviously, you're going to have a plan that involves the orderly entrance and exit from the area. You're going to have your officers in place before people show up, ready to go when the crowds start gathering.

Ah, but Bush is still in power, and systematic incompetence is still the order of the day. 

Exhibit A: While everyone's trying to figure out what's up with the 7th Avenue entrance, and we're all packed together like the proverbial sardines, the crowd suddenly surges backward, and we're all crushed together, even tighter than before. Natasha can't breathe and the two of us are pushed apart.

It turns out that the police decided that right that moment would be the perfect time to drive several police cars through the crowd. They then establish a corridor so dozens of police officers (one of them, hand to God, carrying a box of donuts) could march into the area where they probably should have already been. People all around us are crying out that they're being hurt and are yelling at the police to stop moving through the crowd.

The police continue their march, oblivious.

It would have been nice if they had helped the volunteers into the site, but I guess that never occurred to them.

As the police officers finish their march through the crowd, the two of us are finally able to push through, on our way to the fabled 12th Avenue entrance. Several people, still unaware that the 7th Avenue entrance is "closed," ask us why we're leaving. As we flee the scene, thousands of people are still crushed around the entrance. 

6 a.m.: Keystone Kops Exhibit B: Several blocks away, we find a walkway to the Mall through the grounds of one of the Smithsonian buildings. We've arrived. There are already thousands of people here, mostly gathered around the many Jumbotrons, but the place is nowhere close to capacity. And there are no security guards, no checkpoints to be seen. We still have no idea why they had a checkpoint at 7th Avenue.

Some people have evidently been on the Mall for a while, and are curled up in sleeping bags, barely visible in the dim light. We carefully step over their bodies, heading toward the Capitol. We cross 7th Avenue and get a great spot near the second-closest Jumbotron to the Capitol and settle in for the five-hour wait for the festivities to begin.

More to come...

 

For some excellent pictures of the inauguration, see this link. And here.

Video at Great Barrier Reef

This video was taken when we were snorkeling at the Great Barrier Reef. The fish were amazingly bright and beautiful. The striped fish you see in the beginning is a clownfish. 

Shark video

I know Blayne promised sharks during our vacation and this video delivers! Sadly a man was killed by a shark (in Perth) while we were in Australia but we were assured that despite many reports, shark deaths are extremely rare in Australia. 

I took this video with our rented underwater camera during our excursion to the Great Barrier Reef off Port Douglas. This is a reef shark: a relatively small shark compared to the great while sharks of the Jaws movies. But sharks nonetheless.  I know that sharks can't back up (thanks to the Discovery Channel) and I was hoping while I was swimming after the shark in this film that it wouldn't suddenly turn and attack me.  I don't think it was even aware of me. 

Spiders

[Hunstman spider photographed in Bob and Jenny's bathroom. This spider is defined as "low-risk, non-aggressive with a painful bite"]

I should state that I'm quite scared of spiders. I don't like the idea of spiders anywhere near me, particularly if they might scuttle over my body or lurk unseen while I'm sleeping. But I was fascinated by the spiders in Australia. It could be that so many of them are so toxic and deadly. It could be the enormous size and hairiness of so many of the spiders. I was a little horrified how large the above Huntsman spider was and how hairy. 

[Golden orb-weaving spider from brave Internet photographer]

In Bob and Jenny's front garden they showed me another enormous spider: the golden orb-weaving spider. True to its name, the silk of the web had a golden sheen in the sunlight. Luckily its bite is also non-toxic to humans though its size would make me avoid going anywhere near it. My pictures of it didn't turn out as a slight breeze made the web sway and I certainly didn't want to get too close or hold it! 

Family pictures in Brisbane

[Jillian and Lesley at Chrissie]

[Lesley, Jenny, Bob and myself in their beautiful yard in Morayfield, Brisbane]

[Blayne holding Spirot who refused to be held by me but whistled to me]

[Bob holding Spirot: the bird prefers men!]

Beaches

[Manly beach, Sydney]

[Manly beach]

We preferred Manly beach to the crowds of Bondi who were mostly sunbathing. Manly was filled with surfers the day we were there including a number of surfing schools.  And there's lots of room to stretch out without laying on someone else's towel!

[Protected ocean pool between Manly and Shelly beaches]

[View of Shelly beach in distance from walkway between beaches]

[Walkway to Shelly beach from Manly beach]

[Shelly Beach]

Dad used to spearfish with his brothers at Shelly beach so we wanted to visit. To our surprise, this area has been transformed into a marine reserve. I'm not sure if it's because Dad and his brothers were such successful fisherman or whether they had wounded so much sea life! It's a pretty little beach that is protected by the surf and filled with snorkelers. 

[Bondi Beach in Sydney]

[Bondi Beach in Sydney]

Darling Harbour

These pictures are of Darling Harbour in Sydney. It's what Toronto's waterfront could be if it wasn't all condo developments. It's a mixture of museums, aquariums, shopping, restaurants, hotels and condos all surrounded by walkways and fountains. I particularly like the circular fountain pictured here: it was very popular with children. Although these pictures don't capture his performance, there was a busker juggling a running chainsaw, knives and a flaming baton while balancing on a bicycle on a pole near the fountain.