Old Vox Blog

The Price of Nice...

Sometimes I feel like the love child of Rodney Dangerfield and the Rolling Stones - not only can I get no respect, I can't get no satisfaction.

I recently had a very disheartening conversation - after a long, tough week - that, instead of helping me resolve some of the issues I've been having within the fire department only succeeded in bringing my feelings of disgust and disillusionment to all new levels. There were a lot of things that were said that were disheartening, disappointing, and downright ill conceived and better left unsaid - but like in every worldview-changing conversation, there was what I like to call a Defining Moment. The defining moment last night was when one of the senior officers in our department, a man with decades of service under his belt, looked me in the eye and told me that he felt I should be a "kinder, gentler, nicer person."

Huh. Let's take a look at what that means. (Definitions provided by my favorite book ever - Merriam Webster's dictionary at www.m-w.com)

Kinder - of a sympathetic or helpful nature.  I don't have much sympathy, but I have plenty of empathy, and I've never failed to offer help or refused those who ask.  Ever.

Gentler - free from harshness, sternness, or violence.  You've kind of got me there.  I may at times be construed as harsh, as I don't believe in prevarication or artifice, but I would never consider myself to be stern, or particularly violent with anything other than my vocabulary.

Nicer - showing fastidious or finicky tastes : particular : exacting in requirements or standards.  Interesting that this definition comes before the ones that imply docility or virtue.  I think that I am VERY exacting in my requirements and standards, and particularly fastidious in most things I do. 

So, after I thought about it for a while, and failed to see how I lacked any of these qualities, I decided that what he must have meant is that he wants me to be more OBEDIENT. Interestingly enough, if you look obedient up in a thesaurus, this is what you get:

amenable, compliant, conformable, docile, acquiescent, agreeable, amiable, obliging, decorous, disciplined, mannerly, controllable, governable, manageable, gentle, meek, mild

Yeah, I'm pretty sure he meant obedient.  Who likes someone who points out your flaws, even when it's meant to help you grow?

{A side note for those just tuning in... that conversation pissed me off in the most incredible way - AND I AM STILL ANGRY.}

When did we become a people so focused on façade that we failed to see beneath the surface? I don't think that anyone should be a jerk just for the sake of being a jerk, but when did we become so shallow that a person's value is completely dependent on how they are perceived, instead of on who they are and what they do?  I may be barking up the completely wrong tree, and my people-value priorities may be completely fucked up, but I will judge you on the quality of your soul, not the prettiness of your paper wrapping.

After all, Ted Bundy was an awfully charming guy. 

Always had a friendly word for people. 

Described as a "very nice man" by most of the people he came in contact with.

He killed and raped 35 women and played sexual games with their corpses. 

I'm so tired of people epitomizing "nice". Nice is overrated.  Nice is overvalued.  Nice is how they describe the Stepford Wives.  Nice doesn't get things done.

Don't just take my word for it  - here's a small excerpt from a book called Don't be Nice, Be Real by Kelly Bryson.  Check it out:

The Price of Nice

Here are just a few of the costs:
1. Always being nice prevents people around you from receiving congruent feedback that would stimulate their growth. (By growth I mean gaining knowledge of oneself and others.)

2. "Nice" people often react with pain if anyone around them expresses uncomfortable feelings. They get angry, thinking others should have to be nice too. Or they feel hurt and confused if someone does not appreciate their niceness. Others often sense this and avoid giving them congruent feedback thereby effectively blocking the nice person’s emotional growth.

3. With “nice” people you never know where you really stand. The nice person allows others to accidentally oppress them. The “nice” person might be resenting you just for talking to them, because really they are needing to pee. But instead of saying so, they stand there nodding and smiling, with legs tightly crossed, pretending to listen (lights are on but nobody’s home).

4. You never know with a nice person if the relationship would survive a conflict or angry confrontation. This uncertainty of course greatly limits the depths of intimacy possible.

5. Do you really trust a “nice” person to back you up if confrontation were really needed?

6. Often people in relationship with nice people turn their irritation toward themselves because it is so confusing how they could be so upset with someone so “nice.” In intimate relationships this leads to guilt, self hate and depression.

7. “Nice” people frequently keep all the anger in until they find a safe place to dump it, i.e., a child, a federal building to blow up, a helpless dependent mate. (Timothy McVeigh, the suspect in the Oklahoma City bombing is described by acquaintances as a very, very nice guy, who would give you the shirt off his back.) Success in keeping the anger in will often manifest as psychosomatic illnesses (ulcers, back problems, heart disease, etc.).

So, really, it's important that I be NICER? 

I'll tell you what - I'm not malicious, I'm not spiteful, I'm not mean. I tell it like I see it, and I don't ever say anything just to be hurtful - I try and ensure that everything I say has a purpose.  I go out of my way to help those that need it, and I don't judge people - ever.  I'm definitely not the "nicest" person on the block - I've got a reputation for saying things that people don't want to hear - even if they need to.  I've found, however, that denying ugliness exists doesn't ever make it go away, and most of the time the longer something is ignored, the uglier it grows.  I prefer to nip it in the bud- I'm much better equipped to deal with a snowball than an avalanche. 

Sure, I can work on being more user friendly. Sure, I can work on trying to clean up my language. We all can use improvement - and that's a good thing, I think.  If everybody was perfect, I can't imagine that the world would be very interesting. 

But to the officer that missed all of my good points and made me feel like a jerk - I'll work on being nicer. You work on learning how to be a leader and how to talk to people constructively.  Hopefully one day we'll both be able to meet in the middle and acknowledge each other's strengths.  Failing that, maybe we'll just agree to disagree.

Life is Short... Share the Couch.

I like to think that I am a person that values life and works pretty hard at keeping it fun.  I get up every day and try to greet the day with a positive attitude and stay thankful for all of the blessings that I have in my life.  It doesn't always work - sometimes I get up, scare myself in the mirror with my anti-gravity hairdo, and refuse to open my eyes or turn my frown upside down until after I've had at least two cups of coffee.  >-<  But I try. 

Being a volunteer in the fire department, believe it or not, helps to keep me sane and in touch with life.  It keeps me cognizant of how many things I have to be thankful for, when I am called upon to help those who have little, of how valuable my health and my sanity are, when I am called to help those who lack them, and it keeps me grateful for the gift of life, when I am confronted with those who are losing or who have lost the fight. 

There is nothing so terrifying as being one of the few holding the line against the dark - of being the one kneeling on the asphalt, among the glass, and trying to stem the flow of someone's lifeblood seeping through your fingers - pleading, exhorting, encouraging, railing at them to hold on.  You meet this person's eyes - knowing that sometimes they see you, and look to you to make everything OK, clinging with desperate strength - and sometimes, the worst times, they do not, and their glassy stare makes your heart sink in your chest even as your hands are busy putting as much of them back together as fast as you can in a desperate effort to change their fate. 

And sometimes you do - and the reward is unimaginable.  Sometimes, you get the chance to shake a hand that was covered in blood and cold to the touch the last time you held it.  Sometimes you get a hug from someone who couldn't move at your first meeting, because they were trapped or hurt or unconscious. Sometimes, you get to hear a "thank you" from someone, and it sounds all the sweeter because they couldn't speak when last you saw them.  That - that possibility of shaking that hand, or getting that hug from a stranger who after everything is not really a stranger, or hearing that "thank you" and knowing that it's meant from the bottom of their hearts - that is what makes it all worthwhile.  That is what keeps you going, kneeling on the ground at 3 am in the winter, waiting to hear the helicopter.  And it's worth it.

I'm a little introspective today.  Our community lost a young girl yesterday, the victim of a terrible accident that cut her life short much too young.  We won't have the opportunity to try and change her fate, and she has lost the fight to live her life to the fullest extent. I think of all the things she could have done with her life - the strides she might have made, the worlds she might have changed, the future that shined so brightly for her that now shines not at all - and I am angry, and I am saddened, and I am afraid. 

I am angry that this child lost her life - and for nothing.  A senseless, pointless, empty sacrifice - a victim of an accident that might have been avoided or a cruel twist of chance at the whim of Fate.  I am saddened that all of her potential was lost - she could have been a world leader who brokered peace, the scientist who cured cancer, or a mother with little ones that had her eyes and their father's nose.  All of those roads now end in front of a headstone inscribed with dates that are much too close together.  But most of all, I am afraid.  I am afraid that this could be my story, or the story of someone I love.  We could all, any one of us, be struck down at any moment, with no warning, with no recourse, and with no regard or respect for all that we might have been. That scares me. No, that TERRIFIES me.

But I am contrary by nature, and so I become ever more determined to live every day with vigor. To grasp the gift of life that is given to me with both hands, and to drag every second of joy out of it that I possibly can.  I intend to leave nail marks when it is at last taken from me.  I intend to leave heel marks in the street, where I put my whole weight against the pull and refused to follow into the dark.  I will laugh, and I will love, I will give affection freely and I will eat a second donut for breakfast, then curse myself when I am on the treadmill trying to work it off.  I will sometimes wake up early with a smile for the day, and I will sometimes hit the snooze button three or four times and dream of throwing my alarm clock out the window. I will appreciate my family, miss them when I am away, humor them when we disagree, and know that they have my back even when we are brawling in the driveway. I will love on my pups, take care of all their needs, curse the dog hair that shows up on my clothes 3,000 miles from home, and remind them frequently that life is short - share the couch.

Verizon and Their Monkey Nuts...

Sorry guys, no cute pictures today of my pups, or funny anecdotes about foreign countries.  Today I'm going to share my pain and disgust with you - the pain that comes when you let a dependence on technology creep into your life, and my disgust when I realize how much we've let our humanity seep away, bit by bit.  It's going to be a long post - fair warning - so you may want to grab a drink and settle in.

Today was a bit of a cluster.  I have a big job coming up on Friday, and about a million and three things to do in the meantime, so I didn't have time for today's catastrophe, but ain't that always the case? To give you a bit of prefacing information - I have been having enough technology problems over the last 6 weeks (and problems of magnitude, no less) that it has been suggested I seek out the gypsy who has obviously cursed me and make amends.  I think I've mentioned this before, but she struck again this morning, so bear with me.

The count is currently one dead Seagate backup drive (Seagate customer service blows, btw - I'm almost three weeks into waiting for their "48 hour warranty response"), one dead Cavalry 2TB RAID backup system, one dead Western digital drive, and 2 dead laptops, one of which has been resurrected and is basically functional but doomed.  We're not even going to go into dead cameras, because I'll end up under the bed, sobbing.

So, that's pretty much all the technology I own, all of it was fairly new, and none of it can I afford to replace.  I can't even afford (or find!) the cables to get the data off the drives I (think I) managed to salvage.  So when I got up and prepared for part one of my phone deposition this morning (my old boss is getting sued), and my Blackberry Storm zapped and completely died, to say I was not amused would be the understatement of the century. 

You could say I was astounded, and be fairly accurate.  You could say I was astonished, and be pretty close to right.  You could say I stood there like an idiot for about 4 whole minutes simply staring at the device in my hand in a state of, "Are you fucking KIDDING ME?" and you would be bulls eye dead on target.  I literally hit the state of disbelief, took a left, and decided to stay for a while.

But, in my typical carry-on fashion, I called in to the lawyer, explained about my phone, and geared up for a visit to the Verizon store.  The lawyer, bless his heart, was super genial, said he'd be there all day, and wished me luck in the "black hole" of the Verizon Store. Peachy.

Let me just tell you that my visit this morning to Verizon Store #02451 provoked quite a bit of thought.  On their best day, when everything goes smoothly, the Verizon customer service experience is a little bit like having thin bamboo slivers tapped in under your fingernails, then having your hands dipped in lemon juice and rinsed with salt water.  Today wasn't one of their best days.

Four employees on the floor.  Four customers in the store.  You'd think we'd all be out of there in a jiff, but you'd be wrong.  There was one woman helping us, three of us in line.  Luckily, I knew the procedure, and had signed in upon entering the store.  The poor woman in front of me wasn't so lucky, and we had been in line over twenty minutes when she finally got up to the front and tried to pay her bill, only to be told that she had to go sign in in the front and get to the back of the line. As you can imagine, that didn't go over well.  I told the Verizon person that I was OK with her helping the poor woman, though she had called my name as next in queue, as did the woman behind me.  No go - the Verizon rep sent her away to sign in.  Unsurprisingly, the woman chose not to sign in, and instead left the store.

Thought Provoked:  When did process become so important, and service so automated, that you are willing to sacrifice customer goodwill to preserve a queue? It would have cost the Verizon rep nothing to help the woman, who was obviously upset, and she had the permission of the only other two individuals who would have possibly objected.  And yet, not only did she send the woman away, she did so with no apology, no visible remorse, and an attitude of irritation. I hope to God that woman took her cell phone bill right over to T-Mobile or AT&T and got some humanity served up with her new cell phone provider's plan. 

So now it's my turn, and the woman asks me what my problem is.  Seriously.  Not, "how can I help you" - but "what is my problem."  Oh, we could be here for a while. I explain to her that my Storm is dead, and she tells me that she can't help me because they don't have any in the store.  Um. Nice try, but I called Verizon corporate on my way over, and they checked your stock.  I'd like a new phone please.  

She walks away.  

Uh, ok.  Should I wait?  Are you going to check? Are you flipping me off?  Did I just cause you to quit and vow never to work within the telecommunications industry ever again, sparking a fantastic career in fast food service?  Who knows?  So, since she's got my old phone, I wait.  And wait.  And wait, for what seems like forever.  In reality, it's only about 10 minutes, but holy cow when you've got nothing to do, no cell phone, and are trapped in a store with plenty of things for sale but nothing you need to buy, ten minutes is a loooong time. 

LO and behold, sweet baby Jesus at 8 lbs and 5 ounces, here she comes lackadaisically strolling back with a brand new Storm in the box.  She must have been manufacturing it in the back, and that's what took her so long. Since they didn't have any. She tells me it will take a half an hour to set it up, and calls the next person in line.

Uh, ok.  I guess I'll wait over here (though I don't see how you're going to set up my phone when you're helping someone else...but OK, I'll play along).  I also was a bit peeved that she kept addressing me as "Meldy."  I entered my last name in the system.  You have my account in front of you, with my last name on it.  If you can't be bothered to address me by my last name out of respect, could you at least not completely mangle my first name? I know that this is petty, but it's a matter of respect - something that was in extremely short supply at Verizon this morning.

So I sit in the front of the store, and settle back for some people watching. AND HOW.  I learned alot this morning - the biggest lesson was that I learned how little Verizon actually cares about the people who sendtheir money to the big red checkmark. 

The first big wake up call came when an older Hispanic gentleman came in and tried to report his phone stolen.  He wanted to cut off his service until he could afford to buy a new phone - in effect, put his phone bill on hold.  There was a teeny bit of a language barrier, but not much, and the manager did suspend his account.  The fun came when she explained to him that suspending his account did nothing more than prevent the person who stole the phone from making calls - he was still responsible for the charges on the phone, still responsible for paying the monthly bill, and they would still charge him for his plan.  There was no compassionin the manager's voice - not one drop.  She didn't offer to waive the monthly bill for 30 days and charge a simple maintenance fee - she didn't talk to him about low cost phones (and maybe waive the activation fee), nothing.  She simply told him he could pay his regular bill (but not have a phone, so pay for having nothing, basically) , or he could pay an early termination fee of $175.  OUCH. The gentleman got so frustrated after going back and forth with her for easily 15 minutes that he simply canceled his service and left. 

What I found so disturbing about all this is that the entire time this exchange was happening, a Verizon sales agent was standing on the other side of the counter, behind the Hispanic gentleman, laughing and rolling his eyes.  He glanced over at me several times as if to share the joke, but I don't think he appreciated the fact that I wasn't laughing - at all.

I think this is something we unconsciously do as human beings - we are so uncomfortable with other people's misfortune that the majority of us look for humor.  We look for something to laugh at, so that we can distance ourselves from their circumstance, and have a solid wall of "glad that's not me!" in between us. 

Case in point - I ran a call at the fire department several months ago for a woman that was sick - she called 911 because she had a fever and was nauseous. We showed up, the medic and the ambulance both, and found that the woman was indeed quite ill - her fever was fairly high, she'd been sick for about a week, and she smelled of vomit and unwashed body odor, indicating that it had been a few days since she'd been able to pull herself together.  This woman stands out in my mind because we walked into a house that was almost squalid, it was so dirty, and she had SEVEN children under the age of 10.  We cared for her, got her straightened out, and got family members involved to care for her.

The minute we all convened back at the station - the jokes came out.  We joked about disinfecting our equipment - we joked about the doritos ground into the carpet - we joked about the sandwiches on the counter that looked as if they might get up and walk on their own.

My friend Shawn was riding in the captain's buggy that day, and had not gone on the call, but we included him in the jokes after giving him a brief rundown of what we found on the call. Do you know what his reaction was? He didn't even crack a smile, but looked at all of us, and said "It's obvious she needs help.  Did any of you offer to help her?  Did any of you offer to come back off duty and vacuum her carpet?  Feed her kids?  Clean her kitchen? Let me know her address and I'll swing by tomorrow to see if she needs anything and if she feels better."

I have never felt so small as I did in that moment.

I didn't even realize until he said something that my compassion had taken a backseat to my discomfort at her circumstances, or that my humanity had been overwritten by ridicule.  It was a big wake up moment for me, one I have tried very hard not to lose, and one that I wish I could have passed on to the Verizon store clerk today who found such humor in an old man who couldn't afford to replace his phone.

I eventually got my phone back from the Customer Service Agent Who Couldn't - although she "couldn't" get any of my contacts, "couldn't" sync my phonebook or calendar (though I saw the phone work in the machine) and couldn't switch out the memory cards, until I showed her how.  And wouldn't you know that my backup for my phonebook is on the drive that died?  It's been interesting today to relive what life was like before caller ID - every phone call is a surprise caller.

Anyway, I could go on for days, but at the end of the day - it's the little, human things that count.  Addressing a stranger with a "Mr." or "Ms." and their last name out of respect.  Not making light of someone in circumstances more unfortunate than yours.  Being willing to help a stranger who needs it, without them having to ask.  And most importantly, and for me this is the hardest one of all, not losing that human compassion that makes us care about the well being of those around us, whether we know them or not.  I know that there are days when I need it badly, and I'd like to be able to say that I've done unto others as I'd have them do unto me, and have it be true.

È Finito La Musica...

If I’d known ahead of time that leaving Mexico would be such a debacle, I’d have tried much harder to stay much longer.

Our stay at the Westin Club Regina wasn’t the greatest (OK – not even close), but a week at the beach, even if you have to stay in a grass roof shack, is still better than a week at home in 26 degree weather.  I will say that had the weather not been gorgeous and the tours stupendous, the crappy rooms and less than stellar property would have been much more irksome.  In the end, though, even though they made us check out at 10 am and hang in the lobby with our luggage for a few hours, the trip to Mexico was still a blast.

I had originally thought that the day was going to go well, though every indication was to the contrary.  I woke up at 6.45 am due to the noise from the staff cleaning the pool – UGH.  That’s ok though – silver lining is that the alarm clock had been set wrong by my overtired brain the night before – better to get up too early than too late, right?  No problem – I’m up, I’ll pack and get everything ready.  I make coffee – the coffee maker has an identity crisis and brews espresso.  Ok – no worries – I’ll microwave some water and dilute it.  I pack everything up except what I’m going to wear, and take a shower.  I go to get dressed, and realize that I packed ALL of my underwear. Not caring to go commando for the next 18 hours and two countries, I discover that my underwear is at the BOTTOM of the last suitcase I check. Hey, at least I have some that are clean!

But whatever, I got it together - we checked out, we made our way to the airport.  And when I say "made it to the airport", what I mean is: "barely survived the ride in an automobile obviously driven by someone hopped up on amphetamines."  I don't know how many of you have had the pleasure of foreign cab rides, but they are usually a thrill a minute.  Don't get me wrong - I'm not a white knuckle rider by any stretch of the imagination, and behind the wheel I have often been accused of trying to Mario Andretti every square inch of asphalt under my wheels.  However - however - however - I R-E-S-P-E-C-T the Lug Nut Rule.  (Lug nuts are what hold your tires on your rims, and the rules of the road are that he who has the most lug nuts, and thus the biggest tires, rules.)  Our driver this morning held a different opinion entirely, viewed every stop sign we passed as "stoptional", and yielded only reluctantly and at the very last second to some very large vehicles.  I felt certain we'd be sheared in half before ever arriving at the airport.  I don't think Mom breathed once on the entire ride.

The fact that we arrived at the airport in approximately 34.6 seconds from our hotel made me doubly glad that we arrived to the longest lines we'd ever seen, an hour and 20 minute wait to get our boarding passes, and a plane that was delayed for 3 hours.  Considering we only had an hour layover in Dallas, the day was already looking like one for the history books.

Really, it was just a ploy to get us to explore the new and improved PV airport - they have done a TON of work since we last came through, and the whole place is now a shopper's paradise.  We stopped and had lunch, and I tried to take a picture of a FANTASTIC mural on the wall - but got reprimanded by security, while a guy stood 10 feet from me, snapping away on his instant camera.  I must have a sign - "I <3 authority!"  But I was sneakier than they thought, and at full zoom from our lunch table, managed to get a crappy picture that in no way demonstrates the awesomeness of the artwork. So there.

 

I did manage to get a cool shot of the Absolut display - they put out a bottle for the holidays that had a red sequined sheath that zippered up the back.  Too cool.  I haven't seen these in the States, but I hang out in bars, not in liquor stores, so it's entirely possible I missed them.  I might have missed them consciously though - I can only imagine the coordination nightmare one might face trying to extract the bottle from it's sleeve in a state of intense inebriation...not pretty, although an effective way to prevent excessive consumption. After a good number of drinks, anything requiring my thumbs to work in conjunction with the rest of my fingers is strictly off my list of things to do.  

 

So, the new PV airport is nice.  I got both new issues of Nat'l Geographic and NG Traveler for less than they cost in the States (irony), and found a new pottery artist that I can in no way, shape or form afford, but whose work I really like - Cristina Riveroll.

 

She's got this gorgeously organic pottery that kind of reminds me of coral pieces - the ones that wash up on shore - but it's almost translucently fragile, so wafer thin as to look like paper that she molded into these wonderfully odd shapes.  As my boy Scooby Doo would say - I rike it... I rike it rots.

AND THANK GOD I ENJOYED MY STAY IN THE PV AIRPORT, cause DFW (Dallas Fort Worth, to you non-cowboys and girls) was a cluster wrapped in a debacle and tied off in a fat disaster bow. 

We ended up on the 8 pm flight out of DFW, since our plane was so late from PV, and the lovely lovely agent Sue in PV moved us to the 8pm no charge, AND upgraded us to first class.  We like Sue, she's money. Except that our flight coming in was made to taxi, then had a 15 min gate hold, so we landed at 7.48 for an 8 pm departing flight, and still had to go through security, baggage claim, rechecking the luggage, and then customs, and THEN on to the next terminal over on the train.  Oh. Mah. Goodness.

Yes, kids, we pulled an OJ.  Flat out, shirt tails flapping, taking off our shoes and hopping through the sensors all at the same time flat out run across the airport.  To the three guys that let us in front of them at the security checkpoint - you all are gentlemen.  We wouldn't have made it without your generosity.  To the lovely lady in customs who told everyone in front that we were in a hurry and cleared the path - you're a gem and I hope you win the lottery.  You deserve it.  To the completely uninterested Federal agent who was holding a conversation with a fellow agent over the wall and took 6 minutes to look at our passports, even when we told you we had 30 seconds to catch our connecting flight - I'm pretty sure there's a voodoo doll somewhere in the world with your picture tacked on it's face.  No thanks for you. And lastly, to the lovely, lovely, supercalifragilisticexpialidociosly delicious Alecia and Jenny and the captain of our flight - thanks very  much for bringing the jetway BACK TO THE PLANE so that we could get on.  I've never seen that done before, and I am pretty sure I will be eternally grateful that you performed miracles so that we didn't have to sleep on the airport floor.

Yeah, that's how it happened.  OJ sprint aside, Mom lost her passport somewhere along the way - neither of us noticed it fall out, and we got to the gate after the doors were closed, the plane sealed up, and the people all ready to go. Mom, me, Dan the Marine, and Fletcher the MPD cop - about to be stranded.  Alecia called the captain, he gave her the no go, and we had already started the reticketing process for the morning flight and were making plans to go out drinking with our two new handsome friends when the magic phone rang, and the captain changed his mind.  I love a man who's flexible.

WEEEEEE-HAW! (As they say in Dallas.)

Our frenzied boarding down a partially retracted walkway into a plane with everyone else on board already belted was followed by the loveliest sight I have seen in a long time...an aerial view of Dallas Fort Worth from the window of a seat in first class. Succulent and delicious.

 

Thankfully, the flight home was largely uneventful, with only minor turbulence, an incredibly irritated stewardess (sorry, doll, but we made the flight! YAY!) and a complete hard drive failure of my mom's brand new laptop with all of our vacation pictures on it.  *sigh*  By the time we got into DCA and down to the baggage area, I didn't even care that our bags hadn't made the flight with us.  I'm home, we filed a claim to have the bags delivered (18 hours later and they're still not here) and I've almost got the laptop back to where I can recover data.  Life is good.

SO - it's been a busy week, with a tumultuous ending, but we're home, we're safe, and my puppies' tails haven't stopped wagging yet. In a way, I'm kind of glad that everything eventually comes to an end, otherwise there'd be no room for new beginnings, right? 

Adios, Amigos...

It’s our last full day in Mexico – tomorrow morning will be spent packing and getting everything settled on the way to the airport.  Boo.

I’m always a little down when travel ends – I don’t think I’ve ever had that “ready to go home” feeling that people talk about.  I’ve definitely had trips where I was ready to leave where I was, but none that I’ve had a longing for home specifically. I’m pretty much a nomad at heart, and I could travel for the rest of my days and never get bored.

I took one last trip out with Oscar and crew today, and it was marvelous.  We went out to Las Marietas islands, which is a marine park at the mouth of the bay. Nothing spectacular at first glance, just a bunch of rocks inhabited by birds, but when you look more closely – it becomes a different world.

The day started out beautifully – like every day here so far.  I knew that it was going to be hot – there was that weight to the air, like you can feel the heat pressing down on you, but the temperature hasn’t quite kicked in.  I called a cab to get to the marina, and even though my first cab got stolen by a guy and his son (even the bellboys tried to call him out on his rudeness, but hey – some people just wake up with their asshole hat already on), the second cabby was super friendly and we had a great chat on the way to the pier.  Thank God I speak enough Spanish to have a decent conversation – everyone here has an opinion and no hesitation in sharing it.  I love it.

So, in deference to my anal retentiveness and my excitement in taking another whale watching cruise, I was about 45 minutes early to the pier. :-\

Oh well, at least I won't miss the boat!  I decided to walk along the pier to see what I could see and kill some time - it turns out that the iguana brothers were still hanging out on the Miss Stephanie, but this time they had a feathered friend. (I don't know whether he was invited for breakfast or invited to BE breakfast, but they all looked pretty chill.)

 

I noticed that this time there were quite a few hanging in the trees - last time I had only seen one solitary iguana stretched out.  I will say that I am very glad that they choose to hang on the branches over the water - if I was walking underneath a tree and one of these bad boys lost their grip and fell on my head, I'm pretty sure that someone in my immediate vicinity would need to know CPR, 'cause I'd have a heart attack.

 

One of the other things I noted in my walk was that the national love of salvaging things can be taken a bit too far. Seriously dude, when it's dead, it's DEAD.  Time to let her go to the big truck graveyard in the sky.

(I was concerned that this was still on the road, and I thought that there might be some rule marking this as a hazard to other motorists, but no such luck.  EEK.)

Thank God the boat we went out on is well maintained and fairly new - I wouldn't trust something in this condition on the road, and I damn sure wouldn't trust a boat in this condition out on the water! I do a decent doggy paddle, but I'd be feeding the fishes in the bay before long if something were ever to happen.

Luckily, I went out again with Oscar and Flor de Maria, with Captain Lucio at the helm.  These guys really know their stuff, and this time there was another guest on board - the head of the local whale watching forum, Keith - who turned out to be a really nice guy who escaped to PV from Old Town Alexandria.  Small world - two of the other guests on the boat were from Fredericksburg, VA, and two were from New York.  What are the odds?   It was pretty fun to bitch about the traffic and weather back home while laying back and enjoying the 85 degree sunny day on the Bay of Banderas - that's what I call quality.

 

Another fabulous day - the ride out to Las Marietas marine park was a bit long - it's all the way at the mouth of the bay, probably 45 minutes at 7-8 knots.  Luckily, I had nowhere to be but where I was! :-D

Oscar has radar when it comes to whales, I swear.  He says that he can feel the lower notes of whalesong in his diaphragm, a kind of instinct developed over decades of whale watching -  I can't argue with his instincts, since we saw an incredible number of whales again today. 

 

We actually detoured a bit at one point on our way out to the island to follow some whales that we spotted - we ended up becoming almost a part of their pod and traveling a ways with them.

However, a slew of other whale watching boats soon came along, and began to crowd the whales, so Lucio turned us back around and we resumed our journey to Las Marietas.  I did learn, however, that when whales are trying to get away from boats and noise they will often seek out the "Rial del sol", which is the path the sun makes on the water:

Sweet!  I love the fact that whales have auditory sonar (and humpbacks have the largest range of vocalizations of any marine mammal, per Oscar), they have sight (unlike bats), and can and do react to things both in the water, on the water, and in the air.  Can you imagine living in 3 dimensions instead of the 2 that we live in now?  How groovy would that be?  (I am sure that there are some individuals that think they live in 3 dimensions, but I'm also pretty sure they are chemically enhanced by something illegal.)

We finally arrived at Las Marietas, and I don't know why I thought we'd be landing there, but OH. My. GOODNESS. I had to pee like a racehorse, and was SO not going to use the semi-public WC on the boat, where you only have privacy from the neck down and it's right in the middle of the boat. No thank you! (I had seen other tour companies talk about landing out there - and there were some that were moored so that people could swim...granted, the water was beautifully crystalline, but there were pretty fierce currents and about 3,000 birds with no voluntary bowel control....uh, I'll pass. I'm not a fabulous swimmer, and my luck would have every bird on the island aiming at my head.  It would be like a re-enactment of The Birds, with me and Tippi Hedren playing the same part.)

Agonizing death by beak aside, the islands were beautiful - the water was GORGEOUSLY clear...

   

...the birds were plentiful and cool (some were bright blue, some had bright yellow feet, and we even saw turkey vultures!)...

We spent about an hour sailing around the islands, and since Oscar took us out at high tide we could actually get pretty close without getting torn apart by the drag and currents.  I got some good shots of the islands, most of which were covered by birds (no one - no exceptions - is allowed to step foot on the islands.  It's that kind of protected marine park!) but once again, I miss the crap out of my Nikon and my zoom lenses.  We were close enough that I could have gotten the birdmites on the bird's butts, and looked eyeball to (figurative) eyeball with some of the more beautiful birds. *sigh* Well, at least my Olympus is waterproof, so when I'm not paying attention and get a wave to the face I don't ruin $2,000 worth of camera equipment.  (Nikon, why won't you make a digital SLR that's waterproof?  WHY ARE YOU LETTING OLYMPUS CORNER THIS NICHE???)

ANYWAY, the islands were cool.  There were two at the end (called Los Moros) that I think look a bit like humpbacks popping their heads out of the water:

...but they're actually called "the Twins" in English. Pah. Unimaginative!

The end of the day came too soon - we were out for longer than anticipated, but I don't know if anyone is ever ready to end a really good thing.  It's such a awesome feeling to be out in the middle of this enormous bay - the only boat for miles, and see whales not 30 feet of the bow.  Oscar had found a singer on our way back, and so we stopped to enjoy the song for a while.  We had turned off the engines, the mike was down in the water, and you could hear this whale singing in 3/4 time - it was amazing how accurately he kept time.  His song had four movements, and Flor and Oscar pointed out to us his "signature" - every whale in the bay sings the same song - they just change one part of a note to add their own flourish, which becomes their signature.  It was the coolest thing - you could put your ear to the hull of the boat (which acted as an amplifier) and hear and FEEL him singing - the low notes sounded almost like purrs and vibrated through your sternum.  There was a dolphin singing with him (the mosquitoes of the ocean apparently, and they often annoy the whales), and you could hear his really high pitched whistling weaving in and out of the whalesong.  It was simply phenomenal.

Although I was never quite ready for it to end, all good things, etc. etc., and now it's time to return to the daily grind.  At least now I'll have even more to work for, if only to get enough to come back down and join in the song. :)

Easy Peasy Limón Squeezy...

I love easy days.  I like days with no plan but to walk around, enjoy the sun, and maybe talk to some locals and hang out.  Yesterday was one of those days.

Mom decided she wanted to explore the Marina, since she's stayed here a few times and never really walked around, so we walked down there in the morning and spent a few hours strolling around.  It actually turned out quite nice, since everything was closed for the 1st of the year, but all the residents were out getting their boats ready to enjoy the weekend.  

We stopped at the OXXO (Like a WaWa or a 7-11) to get refreshments, and I picked up my new favorite treat:  Bimbuñuelos. SOOOOO DELICIOUS!!!  They are like little funnel cakes covered in crystallized sugar.  I could eat them all day long, and I have sampled enough while I'm here to last me for the next few months until I come again.  I have come to the conclusion that Mexico is a terrible, terrible, terrible place for me to consider living - they have gorgeous cheeses, alcohol every where you go, and even the 7-11 packaged snacks are addictive. I'm bad enough about watching my diet in the States - the only place I would watch it go here is straight to Hell in a handbasket.  I'd die with a smile on my face, but I'd definitely die fat as a house. Good thing I hate guacamole, or I would have gone into a food coma three days ago. 

The marina was interesting - there are a lot of boats here from the US - Oregon and Washington in particular.  My favorite was this guy:

   

I like the fact that the boat is named "Skinny Girl", I like the fact that every square inch of her is painted bright yellow, and I LOVE the fact that the owner had the balls to park next to the biggest boat in the marina.  Holla.

  

That's my kind of guy.  Subtle, humorous, and prone to fly the figurative bird in the face of respectability.  This guy was funny, but much more crass and not nearly as subtle:

 

I'm also not sure it's doing anything for his business...I've been meaning to get fishing floats for my camera, and I must have walked by this shop three times - but I was so focused on the sign that it never occurred to me to shop there.  Hmm.  Then again, maybe that's just me being a dummy.  It happens.

One of the things that I realized in the marina is that I really like the Mexican mentality.  They have this eye for form and beauty that is incredible - there is really great architecture here, and you can often come upon random art built into the city, for no particular purpose other than to enjoy.  There are random sculptures...

 

..back alleys that dead end but are inlaid with gorgeous tile work...

 

...and even the doors are gorgeous.

 

(I will admit that I also have a VERY soft spot for Mexican folk art - I collect alebrijes like a fiend, though they are ridonkulously expensive, and I found a new artist that I like here in Puerto Vallarta - Rodo Padilla.  He has an enormously fat and jolly mermaid that I LOVE.)

 

However, the things that really endears Mexico to my heart is the practical nature of it's people.  Recyclers at heart, there is a always a use for something.  There is an ingenuity here that I love, an ability to "make do" that spawns the most interesting situations. Love of life, love of beauty, love of art, but devotion to the practical.  I saw an example earlier, with an older couple trying to get their luggage to the car.  When one is short a bellboy and a luggage cart, but there's a grocery basket nearby...

 

I couldn't have put it better myself.

Notwithstanding the things that endear this place to me, I do not like the prevalence of small dogs.   EVERYONE has a little dog!  (And almost no one uses leashes)

Don't get me wrong, I like little dogs, they're cute, but where is the love for the BIG KIDS?  This little pup was gorgeous, and will probably weigh about 35-40 lbs when he's full grown, but he's still a SNACK.

 

I think I am just spoiled by my big kids at home - it's been quite a few days for me with no puppy love, and I think I am going into withdrawal.  My brother says that the dogs are fine, sleeping 23 hours a day as usual, but Mexico would be so much more fun if they were here.  Homer would go nuts, putting his nose into everything and probably contracting the puppy version of hepatitis from his curiosity. Dora would go nuts because she'd have about a million things to bark at, and she wouldn't know where to start!

I may not like little Mexican dogs, but I definitely like little Mexican people.  The kids here are very friendly, not really wary like kids at home.  They are definitely street smart, and have pretty good radar to protect them from those meaning ill, but in general they're very chatty.  I mentioned the other day about the little boy that was going to save me from the man-eating sea crocodiles, and when I was in the marina I met a little girl walking her dog that asked me to help her pick flowers for her mother while her puppy stood guard. 

 

Fiona, named after the princess in Shrek, was sporting a pink nylon scarf that doubled as a leash, and I was told that even though her listening skills weren't very good yet, she was very good at eating things her owner didn't like and that she didn't snore.  Mine have the eating part down, but we're still working on the snoring.

Anyway, we picked the flowers for her mom (who was sad that she was working all day), and after they were delivered she and Fiona were off, pell mell and willy nilly, looking for another adventure.

 

 

The marina was nice, the day low key and relaxing.  I'm off on another whale and bird watching expedition on Friday with the Oscar and the folks at Ocean Friendly, and it's going to be FABULOUS!

Another Year Bites the Dust...

Another year draws to a close. Once again I am away from home, this time in sunny, sunny Mexico.  Ironically, today has been the warmest day since our arrival – blue skies, burning sun, and crashing surf all the way.  Delicious.

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2008 has been a difficult year – for everyone, I think.  It’s been a year of significant global economic change, not for the better; a year of significant loss in the entertainment industry – many famous faces and fond memories of days gone by passing into history; and a year of environmental unpredictability – storms, floods, fires and other disasters that seem to edge us ever closer to the edge of chaos.  2008 was a time to grab yourself a life raft and a beverage, and try to ride out the worst while working to make the best come your way.

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Most of my friends are eager to usher the new year in…and assist the old one out, with a boot to the rear if necessary.  I can’t say that 2008 has been all that great to me, but I am grateful that I survived it, and optimistic about what the next 12 months will bring.  I think 2009 will be a banner year – those of us in America are beginning auspiciously with our new President, and I’m pretty excited.  Hallelujah!

 

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We spent the end of 2008 in downtown Puerto Vallarta, and though it’s a bit different than the last time we were here, it’s really not much different.  We did hardly any shopping (except for cold medicine for Mom at the pharmacy, where I got to see the Ugly American in action…eek), but mostly just walked around the Malecón, which is the Boardwalk of downtown PV.  One of the things that actually surprised me this time was the sheer number of pelicans.  They are EVERYWHERE.  I don’t know if it’s because of the time of year, or because they finally got a hold of some Barry White CDs and are breeding like crazy every time the sun goes down, but there are crazy numbers of these big ass brown birds everywhere you look. 

 

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I saw them on the bronze sculpture that begins the Malecón (and it looked like the nymph was offering the bird up as a gift, which I thought was groovy)…

 

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…I saw them gathering on the roof of the fish market (my estimation of these bird’s intelligence keeps going up…)…

 

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…and on the beach itself, moseying amongst the tourists. (Ok, so maybe they’re not that smart, after all.)

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One of the things I like most about the Malecón is that is filled with art – there are over a dozen permanent bronze sculptures on display there, there are always painters (albeit mediocre ones catering to tourists) lined up on the sidewalk with their wares, and the middle section of the beach is often sculpted into fantastic figures 10 or 12 feet high.

Though one of my favorite super famous Mexican artists, Sergio Bustamante, has a very cool bronze ladder statue on the Malecón, which really foolish tourists insist on climbing, his contribution to the boardwalk is not my favorite.  I love this one – though I have no idea who it’s by or what the “deeper meaning” is behind it (did you ever notice all Art has a “deeper meaning”?  Why can’t it just be beautiful?), but I like the way it looks.

 

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I also like that enough people have given in to the temptation to sit with them that they have worn the patina off their laps.  (Not surprisingly, the bare breasted mermaid on the other end of the Malecón also has her patina worn off…and no, it’s not her scales that are shiny.)

My other favorite is Fr. Pascual, who has a long and varied history, which culminates in him being the favored saint of chefs.  I love to eat, ergo I like chefs, ergo I like the guy they pray to in order to make their food yummy.  Although it surprises me a little that he’s skinny – “Never trust a skinny cook” does have some value…

 

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The sand sculptures this time were a bit of a departure from the usual lizards and such (though not totally), with nativity scenes and the Three Kings that are a large part of the Mexican Christmas tradition – the 12 days of Christmas end here on January 6th, “Three Kings Day.”

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Funnily enough, there were also a few rock formations up and down the beach that were really cool – very Easter Island.  They didn’t appear to have any purpose, and several had a spraypainted redhead on a rock – WEIRD.

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I wondered about it, asked a couple locals about it, and got no answers, but a few hours later on the marina… mystery solved.  Two little boys that were playing balancing games!  Funnily enough, the rocks were still standing like that several hours later on a windy day, so they were pretty good at it!

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I thought that we would stroll around some of the original Puerto Vallarta today, but instead we spent quite a while looking for the tattoo shop where Mom had her first tattoo done when she was here with Jody.  Do you know how HARD it is to find a tattoo shop that has no awning, is unmarked, has no posted hours and where no one seems to remember the address?  We walked around and around and around (oh my God and around) looking for this tattoo shop, and finally (thank God I speak Spanish or we would have been walking until I’m old) we found a taxi driver that knew Pinky (the tattoo artist) and told us that he had moved to Cancún.  Mom was still determined to have her tattoo, so we found another tattoo shop, and a heavily tattooed man named Pepe drew out my nephew’s initials for my mom’s ink.  It was a bit of a wait, since there was a couple from the Carnival Prince cruise ship getting their ink done, so Mom went next door to get herself a pedicure, and I went out to walk around and look at the shops nearby. 

I was only gone a half an hour, but I am SO GLAD that I went out – it was only about another ten minutes after I got back that I sat with Mom while she finished her pedicure, but the woman who ran the “spa” was very chatty, and while the conversation we had about how materialism affects parenting values and the future of children both in the US and in Mexico was interesting, it was a bit too heavy for early afternoon on a Wednesday.  She did tell me that I had a beautiful nose, though, and I loved the compliment – even when it started another conversation about pop stars and plastic surgery.  o_O

In any event, we went back to the tattoo place after Mom’s feet were done, and the Carnival couple was still there.  The wife had finished her tattoo (also on her wrist, like Mom’s) and had been indulging in tequila shots downstairs in the café with some of the local guys, so she was a leeetle beeet happy, and also very chatty.  (Luckily, she focused on Mom, who didn’t mind at all, but started to happily chat about tattoos and the pain of childbirth vs. the pain of tattooing. Oy vey.)

So after a few hours of searching, a manhunt for Pinky, a spiritual pedicure and two American drunks in a tattoo shop, Mom now has her grandson’s initials tattooed on her wrist. 

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I feel like the only thing missing to turn this into a fantastic joke is a Franciscan priest, a Rabbi, and a bar.  Although the tattoo shop WAS right in front of the cathedral and there was a soda shop downstairs with a couple of cases of Dos Equis in the cooler…and my mom IS Jewish…

Lunch was even more fun – I had some FANTASTIC panela with guajillo, which is a delicious fried cheese with spicy sauce that I am super glad they don’t have in the States because I would be fat as a HOUSE.  They served it in a hockey puck sized wedge, and I, uh…ate the whole thing.  Really.  It was that good.  Mom was also thrilled with her shrimp tacos (ew) but she WAS not thrilled when the traveling mariachis came to sing for us (see what happens when you make eye contact with strangers?) and I had them sing her an old Spanish love song, “Sabor a Mi.”  The lead guitar player had really long fingernails, which was a bit gross to look at, but he played guitar beautifully, and they were so dapper looking in their perfectly pressed white pants and dark blue shirts!  The guys were good singers, great sports about me trying to videotape it, and perfect gentlemen, since we ran into them later on in the afternoon and they thanked us for giving them a tip for singing. 

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We finished up our walk after lunch – but took a little time to observe all of the work being done to prepare the Malecón for the festivities later in the evening.  There were piles of fireworks EVERYWHERE, around the fountains, near the statues, on the promenade…

 

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…by the arches…

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…even on the beach!

 

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I also noted the presence of the PV fire department everywhere – I thought it was funny that their helmets and gear were the same as ours back home, even down to the stickers that say “Firefighter” on the helmets, though “firefighter” in Spanish is bombero. 

 

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I also like their notion of “drafting” a water source – using a historic fountain for drafting when there is a giant pool of water (AKA the ocean) only a hundred yards away. (Just kidding – I know that ocean water is buoyant and too hard to filter – I gotcha – I just got a kick out of seeing them draft out of a fountain.)

 

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Mom got really tired from walking around in the sun all day, so even though it was still early, we decided against staying downtown for New Year’s – according to the locals there are usually a gazillion drunk people on the boardwalk and the local bars charge an arm and a leg for drinks it takes four hours to get.  So, we decided to head back to the resort and catch the fireworks from the beach.

It didn’t quite turn out that way – Mom didn’t feel well and fell asleep, and I ended up out on the beach taking pictures of about a million fireworks while an 8 year old Mexican boy flirted with me and told me all about the dangers of the crocodiles who wander the beach at night.  He was super cute, very serious, and quite solemn when I told him that I was glad he was there to protect me from the crocodiles.  (Of course, if there were such a thing as giant saltwater crocodiles that dragged people into ocean and ate them, I’m not sure they’d want to eat a bunch of drunks covered in sand. Who knows? It could be their version of flossing.)

The resort is in the middle of the bay, so I had the pleasure of seeing all of the fireworks in the entire bay – the ones in the front of the hotel were too close to get any great pictures – the smoke obscured everything.  The night was gorgeous though – the sky was clear, the stars in Orion’s belt were crystalline above me, and the tide was fully in, so the fireworks reflected off the water for the whole show.

 

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Another year has ended, and the new one has begun.  I’m glad the old is through, and though I am looking forward to the new – I saw something today while I was downtown that stuck with me.  Someone had painted the side of a building in one of the residential areas that fronted an abandoned lot – and it’s actually great advice:

 

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[No matter what has passed or what is to come] “Remember who you are.”

Bird Brains...

One of the things that I find hardest to deal with is the lack of animal stewardship in many countries.  Living in America for most of my life has given me a sense of entitlement to the many human rights I am afforded, and set my standards very high when it comes to the care and stewardship of animals. I forget, sometimes, that it’s different elsewhere, and I forget how privileged we are in the States.

Many times in my travels I have seen animals exploited in tourist shows, used for profit or for their labor, and some just flat out abused for no particular gain.  The concept of “pet” is intrinsically American, I think, and we spoil our pets – spending on their care and wellbeing what people in other countries would like to be able to spend on their children.
There are exceptions, of course – the whale watching tour that I went out on a few days ago had staff that were exceptional in their care for the animals and the environment, and I’m looking forward to going out with them again on Friday.  There are also horrific abuse and exploitation cases that happen in the US, although all are illegal and accompanied by heavy penalties. 

Mexico has come a long way since I first visited over 20 years ago, but I still see things that leave me appalled.  There is a bullring here in Puerto Vallarta that has incredible lines outside when it is open – many tourists find out the hard way that the bull always loses, and sometimes 4 or 5 bulls will die in a day.

There are other examples of the lower standards of animal care, but the ones that I find most tragic are those that are subtle enough to evoke pity, but not egregious enough to invoke outrage.  Those are the animals that suffer the longest, the ones that people shake their heads over, the ones that usually live months in captivity before dying and quickly being replaced.

I saw a bird show today, at the resort.  I’m staying at a Westin property – a big name, with hotels all over the world.  I believe that the majority interest in the Westin group is American, which makes today even more shameful.  I went to check on Mom by the pool, and was coming back from an errand to get her tangerines when I heard birds screeching.  (My grandmother had large birds for many years, and once you hear a three foot bird scream, you don’t ever forget it.  I was actually surprised that the birds at the Westin could only say “Hola”…my grandmother’s African Grays hardly ever shut up.)

I walked over to see four large birds on metal perches near the pools, with two trainers.

 

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They were beautiful birds at first glance, and quite calm given the large crowd by the pool.  I was able to use the macro function on my camera within a foot of several of the birds, and not once did they attempt to bite me. (Did I mention how smart they are?)

 

I am imagining that this is your head...

I stopped to watch for a few minutes, and I noted that the birds were in somewhat ragged condition.  Most were nothing obvious – ragged pinions, missing feathers, broken or twisted beaks.

 

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One poor bird, a beautiful peach color, was so nervous and sick many of his feathers were gone.  He repeatedly tried to fly off his perch, but since his wings were clipped, he would fall.  He also could not be coaxed to perform many of his tricks, and was just in general lethargic.  My heart hurt for the poor thing.

 

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I will say that the trainers seemed to care for the birds, praising them generously, protecting them from the crowd, and not pushing the birds to perform past what they were willing to do, but the condition of the birds themselves concerned me.  Especially when the trainers said they were raising money for the conservation of birds!  I don’t know if these birds were rescues, if they were raised in captivity, or if they were purchased, but what I do know is that I am disappointed in the Westin for allowing the show without ensuring that the animals are being cared for appropriately.

 

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It’s too easy, I think, for large companies to perform to the standards set without maintaining their own.  A Westin property in the States would not be able to get away with having animals in that condition in a show, whether or not it’s free – the people at PETA would be picketing their doorstep in seconds.  But here, in Mexico, the standards are not yet so high, and so they don’t hold to the standards set on their properties in the US – a shame, in my opinion.  Then again, I’ve been told that I expect too much, that I hold to standards too high that are difficult to meet.  But really, if we don’t set our standards high, what can we ever hope to achieve other than mediocrity?

 

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Exploring Some More...

Today was mostly a day of reflection for me. 

 

I’ve been working in the nonprofit industry for a few years now, and though I remain dedicated to helping improve the sector, I find myself lacking focus.  Somehow I need to refine the services that I offer to not only build capacity in the sector, but to add more value to the help that I provide.

 

The problem is that I *want* to help nonprofits, but how can I *best* help them?  I’m a great problem solver – I collect information like people accumulate dryer lint, and I am the one everyone turns to with questions, because (as a friend of mine once put it) I know “a lot of weird shit, and can probably answer [any] question.”  How do I turn that into a tool to help resolve the issues that plague philanthropy?  I haven’t quite figured that out yet.

 

I’ve got some details to figure out, some marketing to do, and a direction to define.  In the end, I’m just a girl with too much education, not enough direction, too much adventure and not enough sense to stay out of trouble.  All I really want is to make a difference, and the only thing I need is to figure out how best to do that.  Wish me luck – I seem to be in a sort of Mexican standoff, appropriately enough.

 

Mexican Standoff

 

In the meantime, let’s look at some crabs!

 

 

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In all seriousness, I love crabs – they come in all different sizes, and they are the masters of camouflage.  They’re extremely good at sensing when you’re trying to take a picture, and masters at hiding behind the one object you can’t maneuver around.  They’re cunning and sly, and fairly awesome at disappearing in that one moment between when you see them and when your finger depresses the camera button.  I have more shots of sand, and rock and fallen leaves that were formerly occupied by crabs than I can shake a stick at.  Although I have done plenty of stick (and camera) shaking at those empty spots, sometimes accompanied by choice crab-oriented cusswords.

 

They are simply amazing – they can survive underwater or on land, on rock or on sand, and they can cling to any surface through pounding surf and rushing water.

 

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I know a lot of people who can say the same about their exes, actually.  Crabs tend to cause injury when threatened, some crabs steal their houses from other creatures, and crabs sometimes feed on the rotting corpses of their brethren…hmmm.  I wonder if we’re descended from crabs, instead of apes.  Could happen.

 

On the other hand, they have pretty colors and are super hard to get a hold of, so maybe it’s only Paris Hilton and lawyers that share their gene pool.

 

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These little guys were fascinating too – I have no idea what they’re actually called, but I think they are some sort of clam, or barnacle.  They have a little creature that lives inside, but wouldn’t come out for the camera.  They kind of look like a bunch of eyes to me, but they’re pretty shy, so I tried not to traumatize them too much.

 

 

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Speaking of traumatizing, PV has a pirate show.  I knew this.  For some reason, I equated it to the Pirates show in Vegas, which is a lot of sound and fury, but in the end signifies nothing. (Bonus points if you can identify the paraphrased quote).  For some reason it never occurred to me that Vegas is a DESERT, and PV is OCEANFRONT, and that the Pirate ship would actually sail.  Although it was a magnificent sight, the first cannon shot from the bow of this ship almost killed me, since I was hanging like a monkey off the side of some barnacle and slime covered rocks, trying to avoid bashing my head on said rocks while trickily photographing some crabs.  Imagine all that, then add a REALLY LOUD BOOM that sounds like it’s about 10 feet from your ear, followed by an “Argh! Surrender, ye scurvy bastards!” and you’ll have the almost-cause of my death by accidental drowning after I lost my grip and bounced my head off the rocks into the ocean.  I was OK once I noticed the giant wooden prow silhouetted against the sunset and the smoke from the cannons, but as I hadn’t been paying all that much attention to the goings-on in the bay, it gave me a little bit of a start. 

 

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But in the end, like always, everything turned out A-OK.  I’ve learned (slowly) over the last few years that no matter how low things get, and how dark the road ahead, if I keep my head on straight and try not to lose sight of the things that truly matter to me, everything will eventually be fine.  I’m not a religious person, but for me – this is what faith is.  It’s what comes when no matter how much you may think that things won’t go quite so well, you believe that everything in the end will turn out just fine, and it does.  

 

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Maritime Majesty in Mexico (Say THAT Five Times Fast!)

Did you ever have a day that was just so fantastic as to be almost unreal?  Today was one of those days for me.  A perfect juxtaposition of weather, company, and fate. 

The dawn was gorgeous.  The beaches weren’t as extensive as I’d anticipated, or even as pretty as those out in Nuevo Vallarta, but who can be mad at a view like this?

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Even if you were inclined to start the day with a frown, THIS would make you turn it upside down, don’t you think?

 

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Yeah, me too.  We went out whale watching today, with a company called Ocean Friendly.  Let me preface this post by saying that I am VERY particular about the tour companies I use – I won’t contribute my hard earned dollars to those companies that operate irresponsibly, that damage the environment, or that don’t enjoy the experience as much as I do.  The point, after all, is to go and experience something, to revel in the things that make whatever you’re doing different from the everyday, to taste and touch and smell and feel everything about this thing that you’re trying to experience.  The purpose is not to check off boxes, to collect flair or to gather points in a global competition.  I don’t like to be rushed, I like to be able to ask questions to feed my brain, and I like to learn everything about what I’m seeing or doing purely for personal edification.  That just doesn’t happen in a group tour of a 100 people who cover 30 miles in 4 hours. 

I’m even more wary about ocean tours – I’m not a fan of the ocean, and the ocean is not a fan of me. I got extraordinarily lucky in Australia with the tour companies I went with – they were both excellent – but I still had some small mishaps while out in the waters of Oz.  Not today!

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Today Mom and I went out with Oscar, to explore the Bahía de Banderas, which is a breeding ground for Humpback whales.  I have to hand it to him, Oscar knew his stuff, so the day was off to a good start already that he turned out to be more than just a (very) pretty face.  Then to find out that half of the 12 people on board were marine biologists, marine archeologists, and scientists studying the whale population and recording for a documentary?  MONEY.  I was in heaven.  I must have asked a million questions, and taken a million pictures.  As a side note, I have never missed my Nikon more.  There were multiple once in a lifetime shots, such as a tandem breach, where two whales come up and jump simultaneously, that I simply couldn’t capture with my little point and shoot Olympus.  I did, however, by the time it pointed and shot, capture the whitecaps left behind by their jump. H-e-double hockey sticks. o_O

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There was so much to learn – Oscar was a font of information, sharing not only his knowledge but all of his theories built on studying the whales here for over 14 years.  I was fascinated by the genetic differences in the whales here in Puerto Vallarta, the changing migratory patterns and the evolutionary changes the whales have made in recent years.  Though all of the extra information given was super cool, it was ultimately Oscar’s instincts and knowledge that paid off – he predicted what the whales would do, judged by their behaviors what parts of the bay they would seek out, and explained to us what they were doing so that we too could (sort of) anticipate what they might do next rather than rushing from one side of the boat to the other like a bunch of blue-footed boobies.  Even better, very few of the other tour companies have any sort of experts on board, so not only were we able to see a phenomenal number of whales (even Oscar admitted it was unusual to see this many), but we were often the only boat in the area, and so the whales took VERY little notice of us, and went about their business as normal. 

 

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I will say the only dark spot on today was the illegal boats that TWICE ruined our watching – they held no permits, paid no attention to other boats, and got so close to the whales as to put both the whales and the boats in danger. (Seriously, do YOU want to be 10 yards from something that is 50 feet long, weighs 40 tons, and can leave you swimming in debris 20 miles from shore? Not me!)

But, as Mother Nature had her children well in hand today, even the interruption by the picture poachers was short lived – the whales were there to mate, and nothing short of a sudden evaporation of the bay was going to stop them.  We followed a large mob of whales for a few hours, then broke off to follow the female.  The crew of the Twin Dolphins (our boat) had intended to try and get recordings of whale song, since they had sung quite a bit the previous day, but we had no such luck, and didn’t hear any singing.

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We did follow the courting, the posturing, and the mating.  The courtship dance was neat to watch, with multiple males pursuing the lone female (yay) and the males showing off their tails, showing off their fins, and expanding their throats to make them look bigger. (Looks like male behavior is not limited by species.)

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Once the female chose a male, they went deep underwater to mate, as apparently humpbacks are shy, and don’t mate on the surface (unlike the gray whales, those pervs).  They were down for quite a few minutes, which started quite a round of jokes.  My mother, of course, started it by saying if she knew males, it wouldn’t take very long, and they’d be back shortly.  O_O  (Then again, I opened my mouth and said that if we didn’t catch them mating, we could always catch them when they came up for a cigarette after, so I can’t throw too many stones…)

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I’m totally glad that we caught the mating spot though, since the females will breach and jump after mating to express their joy.  I guess afterglow is different for every species, and there probably aren’t very many places to roll over and sleep on the ocean floor. 

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All jokes aside, it was magnificent.  Here we are, this very small boat bobbing on the surface on one of the deepest bays in the world (5,200 feet at it’s deepest point), with some of the largest mammals in the world leaping through the air not 100 feet away.  Absolutely magnificent. There were moments today when we came so close it was almost as if you could reach out and run your hand along the grooves of their jaw.  Whales are highly intelligent creatures, and when you look at their size, their grace, and the sheer synchronicity they have with their environment, it really makes you wonder if humans are as high up on the evolutionary ladder as we think we are.  What is the yardstick that superiority is measured by?  Harmony with your environment? Whales:1 – Humans:0.  Functional community and peaceable interaction with other species around us?  Whales:2 – Humans:0.  I was amazed, after listening to Oscar and the other scientists on board, that whales have adapted so well to the damage we’ve caused to their environment, and how well they’ve done through evolution to adapt to the changes wrought by time, as well as humanity.  I was also really impressed by how unconscious their respect for the environment was – how it was ingrained, and every action taken today and every consequence was considered in the light of the bigger picture.  I didn’t see a single shortcut, a single compromise, not a single thought that would harm the inhabitants of the bay for the gain of the company.  Indeed, I saw that many times we went out of our way to make the whales comfortable, to respect their space, and to subject ourselves to their forbearance, which in the end paid off handsomely.

Everything today had gilded edges – the lunch that Oscar’s mom made us (she was a very lovely woman), the conversation I had with one of the visiting scientists (that ended with an invitation to the Caribbean – yay!), the crew that answered every question, and the whales that shared their joy with us.  I have to give respect to Oscar, to the captain Lucio, and to the crew as well, though – they were extremely careful to give the whales the space they needed to feel unthreatened, and still managed to provide us with a fabulous experience.   They even took a special trip to drop us off on the other side of the marina so that we didn’t have to take a cab back – now that’s service. 

We didn’t do much else today, there really was just no way to top the experience we had on the water – truly once in a lifetime.  I’m a little sad I didn’t have the equipment I needed to record it, but I’m so very glad I had the chance to live it.