First Day of Snowboarding

After a week's delay due to lack of snow, Sundance Resort opened its lifts yesterday. Well, they technically opened A lift yesterday. Still, despite the fact that only one run was open, and despite the fact that all but about half an inch of the snow had been made by snow blowers, some friends and I made the lengthy drive (15 minutes!) to welcome in the now-underway snowboarding and skiing season. We were not disappointed. 

The only run open was a beginner-level "green square," and the only ridable snow was man made. But we rode that run a good half a dozen times before calling it quits. Even on such a "tame" run, I got my share of thrills pointing the nose of my board downhill and letting gravity do what it does best.

To help everyone get stoked for the season, I have included a short snowboarding film, shot and edited by yours truly. Enjoy. 

My New Job

Having been unemployed for a while now (since July), I have been checking the classifieds in the BYU Daily Universe every day for decent jobs. Most ads are for pretty lame gigs like yard work or warehouse help. But last week I found an ad that I just couldn't pass up: Hot Air Balloon Crew. I called, spoke to the guy, and set up an interview for today at noon. Apparently this guy has just purchased a nine-man balloon for $80,000, and he needs a crew of helpers so he can take people for rides commercially. He will be the pilot, and the four-man crew will help him unpack, inflate the balloon, and get it in the air. Once airborne, the crew will chase the balloon in a truck, with the goal of being there (wherever "there" happens to be) when they land. Then the crew deflates the balloon and packs it up. 

The interview went well-well enough that I got an email from the guy a few hours later offering me a job!

La Carniceria

August 2008

Mitla, Oaxaca, Mexico

The Hammock Lady, August 2008

Juchitan, Oaxaca, Mexico

This lady has been selling her hammocks in the town square of downtown Juchitan for years. I've bought hammocks from her on three seperate occasions. She can spot a tourist (ie, a potential customer) from blocks away.

A family in Oaxaca City

BYU Triathlon

Today I ran the first ever BYU Triathlon. It was a shorty- a 200yard swim, a 6.2 mile bike, and a 1.8 mile run. I've done other triathlons before, but it had been a long, long time. Because it was so short, I didn't actually train. Ever. I do ride my bike around a lot, and I try to run a couple of days per week, so I wasn't too out of shape.
Check in was from 8:30-9:00am. After checking in a getting my number written on my calves and arms, I set up my bike, shoes, and other stuff in the transition area just outside the pool (on campus). After some stretching, a few warm up laps, and a pre-race meeting, it was time to start. Instead of starting us all at the same time or in heats, one person was allowed to start every 10 seconds. All 154 of us lined up on the pool deck according to our own assessment of our swimming abilities (we had filled out a survey before hand, and were assigned a number). I was assigned to start fourth. After a round of loud cheers, the first swimmer started. Forty seconds later, I pushed off the wall and was off. I had set the goal not to get passed on the swim, and I didn't. Two minutes and thirty seconds later, I climbed out of the pool and ran out the door to the transition area. I couldn't get a road bike for the race, so I was on my mountain bike. So even though I passed two guys in the transition area, they quickly caught up to me on their road bikes.
My goal on the bike was to not push myself too hard. That way, I could still feel okay on the run. It was really tempting to try to hold pace with some of the faster guys on the bike, but I was able to remind myself to run my own race and not to worry about anybody else. When it came time to leave the bikes behind, this self restrain paid off. I quickly caught up to several of the guys who had passed me before.
I finished with a total time of 43 minutes and 15 seconds. I met my only two goals-to run my own race without worrying about anybody else, and to enjoy myself.                                                      

Freedom Peak

Any adventure that involves getting up before four am is bound to be epic. And this one was. 
This morning's trip began when Michael knocked on my door at 4am. We had planned on bagging some peaks up above rock canyon. Because of the recent snow on the mountain tops, I had rented an ice ax from BYU's Outdoors Unlimited. Neither one of us has a car, so we rode our bikes. The ride up to Rock Canyon is long and steep. Despite temperatures in the low thirties, I was sweating by the time we made it to the parking lot. From there, we locked our bikes and started hiking up the canyon. After about three miles, we found ourselves in the Rock Canyon campground, which was completely abandoned. We had a little trouble trying to find our trail on the other side of the campground. While searching in the dark, we saw headlights in the trees about three or four hundred yards away. We bushwacked our way up the mountainside to where the lights had been, and found ourselves on a dirt road we hadn't know about. We were finally able to find our trail, and we continued upward and onward. Pretty soon it started snowing. Just a few small flakes at first, then a bit more, until it was coming down hard all around us. Thick clouds rolled in, obscuring our view of the mountains. We lost the trail, but the route was obvious. With a shallow layer of snow on the loose rock hillside, the going was tough. The ground got so steep that climbing further would have been nearly impossible without an ice ax.
Micheal had an interview to be to at 1pm, which meant we had to have him home by noon-ish. Unfortunately, this meant turning around only half an hour or so from the summit. But mountaineering isn't really about summits anyways. All in all, it was a good 6 miles or so each way, with more than 5000 ft of elevation gain.
The descent was fairly straightforward, and we were able to get back to our bikes and ride home just a few minutes after noon. I slept through the BYU football game without any shame.

Trilogy Butress

In one of my previous posts ("My First Multi-Pitch") I told you about the adventure Jeff and I had on our attempt to climb Trilogy Buttress, a four pitch tower in Rock Canyon. If you read that post, you'll remember that, not only did we fail to make it up the thing, we actually got stuck, and had to spend considerable time figuring out how to get down. Last week, after talking to the guy who made the route, I decided to give it another try. My partner for the climb was Micheal Davidson, a guy I recently met in my new ward here at BYU. After examining pictures and reading descriptions of the Buttress, we decided to take a different route for the 

first pitch. It was rated only 5.6 (really, really easy), but our info showed that although it was a full rope's length (60 meters) long, there were only four bolts on the whole thing. If you do the math, that's one bolt every fifty feet or so. When I asked the guy whole put the bolts in about it, he said that you could definitely bring some trad gear (cam's, nuts, chock, etc), but the rope drag would be awful. 

Nonetheless, 50 ft between bolts is too much for me, so w

e did bring some trad gear, and the rope drag was indeed horrendous. 

Micheal led the first and third pitches, and I led the second and fourth. When we got to where Jeff and I had gotten stuck, we found that we had been literally ten feet from the anchors we had looked for but never found. This time, we found them without trouble, and were able to continue upward and onward without any problems. The climbing was lots of fun, the view was spectacular, and the exposure was dizzying. The last pitch was only a 5.8, but let 

me assure you that 5.8 climbing on top rope, 20ft above the ground is one thing, and 5.8 climbing on lead, 10 ft above your last bolt with 500ft of air below you is 

an entirely 

different thing altogether. Fortunately, I was able to keep my head together, and both Micheal and I made it to the top without any problems. In

stead of rappelling, we were able to hike down the back side and make it to the car just after 

dark. 

But the story doesn't end there. Three days later, I was on Trilogy Buttress again, this time with Jeff Belnap and Jason Webb. We got started just before dark, and made sure to bring headlamps. 

Partly because it was getting dark, but mostly because they are wimps, both Jason and Jeff decided that they weren't going to lead climb at all. Of course, they didn't decide this until we were already at the top of the first pitch. So I got to lead all four pitches (Okay, so maybe leading a new route, in the dark, hundreds of feet off the ground would be a bit scary). In the dark, I didn't get the same 

sense of height that I did in the day-my attention was primarily confined to the small bubble of light from my headlamp.

The highlight of the climb came on the fourth pitch. A few feet above the first bolt, the handhold I was using broke loose, and I suddenly found myself falling through the air. When the rope jerked me to a stop I was a good ten or twelve feet lower than where I had started. When I regained my composure I was able to finish the climb without any more falls. The view from the top was just as amazing at night as it was in the daylight. 

Check this out

stillfree.com

Watch the top left of the four videos first.

Round Two

Yesterday I went back to American Fork Canyon to work on Reaching For Razors, the 5.11d I mentioned in my previous post. I had been feeling a little sick, and I didn't have any expectations of climbing the thing. After warming up on a couple of easier routes, I jumped on RFR. My first attempt was less than whole hearted. I was feeling weak, cold, and clammy. I fell at the the crux of the route, three bolts up. When I fell, my right foot got tangled up in the rope, and I was jerked upside down before coming to an abrupt stop. I didn't care, I just felt like crap and wanted down. On my second try, I stuck the move, and was able to clip the next bolt. Now I had forgotten I was sick. I had to rest at the bolt, but I got up the route again, and with much less trouble than last week. I'm sure I'll be able to send it free and clean soon. I'll keep you posted. 

On the way back from AF Canyon, I got a call from my new friend Mike. I met Mike just a couple of weeks ago, and just thi

s Sunday we found out we both climb. He's more into alpine climbing, mountaineering, and trad, which is what I really want to get into as well. He was calling to see if I wanted to do a night trad climb up in Rock Canyon. I have wanted to learn to trad climb for a long, long time.

 So I said that of course I did. Half an hour later we were driving to Rock Canyon. We headed up to the very popular and often climbed Red Slab. I led the first pitch, a bolted 5.7 that I had climbed many times before. Pitch 1.5 wasn't really a pitch at all, just a scramble up 75 vertical feet or so that we did unbelayed. The second pitch was our real goal-a 35-40 metercrack up the

 face of Ed and Terry Wall, also rated 5.7. Before Mike got started climbing, 

I got to fool around a bit placing cams in the crack and testing their strength. I belayed Mike while he climbed and placed his gear. He got a little over halfway up the route before the crack widened out to the point that he just didn't have gear that would fit. Rather than risking a big fall, he decided to back off. I lowered him to the ground, pulled the rope down, and hiked around the backside of the crag to the top. I set an anchor on the bolts on the top of the route, lowered one end of the rope to Mike, and belayed him as he climbed the crack up to me. Then we switched spots, he lowered me to the ground, and I did the same climb. I should mention that it had gotten dark before we got 

the the bottom of the second pitch, and we were doing all this climbing in the dark, with only our headlamps to light the way. After I climbed, we took a few minutes to admire the view with our lights off. On one side of us was the cliff, the mouth of the canyon, and the glowing lights of the city. On the other side were the sillouettes of the mountain and the darker, starry sky.

We rappelled down into the darkness, downclimbed to the top of the first pitch, and rappelled again. Then we packed up, hiked down to the cars, and got home around 10:00 pm. This morning my mild cold was far, far, worst, and I still feel aweful writing this now. Maybe climbing for eight hours straight while I'm sick isn't the best idea I've ever had. 

Yesterday I climbed the hardest route I've ever done-a 5.11d. I didn't do it without falling, but I led the whole thing. Just thought I'd brag about that.

Zion and Behunin Canyon

Last weekend I got to go with some friends down to Zion National Park. We drove down Friday afternoon, and got back late Saturday night (actually, it was Sunday morning). Friday evening, after the four hour drive to get to our campsite, we ventured into the park to hike Angel's Landing. I had done the same hike back in March, with the whole thing under a few feet of snow. This time there was no snow, and the hike was just as spectacular. We got to the top half an hour or so after sunset. We didn't stay long because it was getting so dark. In fact the descent back to the valley floor was rather treacherous-we had only one flashlight between the five of us. It was very hard to see, and any real slip would have resulted in a fast, airy trip to the bottom, some 1488ft straight down.
We spent the night at a FREE campsite just outside the park. We met three other carloads of people I didn't know, but who soon became my friends, and the night was a blast.
Saturday morning, the whole group started up the trail to Angel's Landing. Four of us split off onto the West Rim Trail, and continued on for another hour and a half or so to the top of Behunin Canyon. We spent the day navigating the 2000 vertical feet between the top of the canyon and the valley floor. The descent included 9 rappels, including several over one hundred feet (the tallest was 165ft), sketchy downclimbs, a short swim, lots of scrambling, and, in my case, a dip in a pool of the most foul, putrid, disgustingly stale water imaginable. In other words, everything you could want from a canyon.

My First Multi-Pitch Climb

About a week and a half ago, before all this business with school and homework started, my good friend Jeff and I decided we were going to attempt a multi-pitch climb in Rock Canyon, located a whole five minutes from my apartment in Provo, Utah. I had never attempted any kind of multi-pitch route. Jeff had been on a couple, and had never lead climbed on one before. Needless to say, we were pushing ourselves a bit. We decided on a three pitch route on a tower called the Trilogy Butress. We got some pretty good info on the route from an excellent website-mountainproject.com, as well as a dude at the local mountaineering shop.
Knowing that the heat was going to be our biggest challenge, we got an early start-11:30am. In other words, we ended up climbing in the sun during the hottest hours of the day.
I led the first pitch, an easy 5.6, to a ledge about 70 feet up the wall. I belayed Jeff up to my position, and he continued up the wall past me onto the second pitch, a 5.7. As he climbed up, the route took him around a corner and out of my sight. After a few minute, he shouted down that he could not find the anchors, only a single bolt with a rappell ring on it. What was worse, he couldn't see a single bolt anywhere on the rock above him. At his discretion, we decided to call it quits. I tried to lower him back to my level, but we found that with the rope running around a corner, there was simply too much friction. I could not lower Jeff at all. Still clipped in safely at my anchors, I untied from my end of the rope and let Jeff pull the whole thing up to him so he could rig a better rappell, which he did. With both of us at the bottom of the second pitch (remember, we're still seventy feet in the air), it was time to pull the rope. But friction had plans of its own. Try as we might, there was just no pulling the rope. It just would not budge. So we were stuck. We could not go up (no bolts), and we could not go down (the rope was stuck!). For an hour and a half we tried everything we could to get that dang rope unstuck. Finally, I ended up "reverse rappelling" the rope. That is, pushing off the rock with my feet while pulling myself up on the rope, then pulling the slack out through my belay device. So I ascended up the rope, eight inches at a time. I was able to free the rope and anchor it in a better spot (the next bolt down). I rappelled back to Jeff, and we pulled the rope without a problem. We were then able to rappell down to the ground. We hiked back to the car safe, sunburnt, and satisfied. It was a first rate adventure if I ever had one.

Wednesday, August 20th, 2008- Homeward

My flight home left the Oaxaca City airport at just after noon. My flights were routine and uneventful. After stops in Mexico City and Phoenix, my brother was kind enough to pick me up from the Salt Lake airport and drive me back to Provo, safe and sound.
It was really great to visit Oaxaca, but it was also great to come home. I guess I really missed it.

Tuesday, August 19th, 2008 El Istmo

At the invitation of Belen, I dragged my butt out of the hammock at around 5:30am so I could attend seminary, a scripture-study class for high school-aged youth. Even at that early hour the heat was ridiculous, although bearable. The class was held at the local chapel, and we were among the first to arrive. I got to see Bishop Marin, who supervised, but did not teach, the class. As the class got underway the late-comers straggled in, and it was great to see some familiar faces, even if most of them didn't recognize me.
After the class let out at seven Belen went to work, and I walked back to the house, crawled into the hammock, and fell asleep until about 11 am. When I woke up Belen's mom prepared an excellent breakfast. I had planned on taking the bus about half an hour to the town of Tehuantapec, but I ended up spending the day in downtown Juchitan, seeing the sights and doing a bit of shopping-I bought a HUGE hammock to take home.
Before getting back on the bus to Oaxaca, I headed back to Belen's house for lunch with her family. Them I got my pack together and hiked over to the bus terminal. The ride was torturous. I was moderatly carsick the whole time (those curves are killer), and both of the movies played were exceptionally bad. I arrived in Oaxaca City at around ten and took a taxi to the missionaries' house. They were kind enough to let me stay another night instead of having to pay for a hotel room.

Monday Travels

A relatively (sp?) uneventful day. I got up late again (hey, I'm on vacation), packed my things, and said goodbye to the missionaries. Then I stood on their doorstep for about 15 minutes while I waited for the bus to come. I took the city bus to the down town ADO bus station. No, I don't know what ADO stands for. I had about an hour until the noon bus would leave, so I took advantage of the time to find an internet cafe. The bus ride to Juchitán lasted five hours. It was a ride I had taken a few times before, and the view from the mountain roads was just as beautiful as remember. I also got just as car sick as I remember. I did get to watch a couple of movies during the ride. But "Raise Your Voice" starring Hilary Duff wasn't all that much fun to watch in Spanish.
I arrived in Juchitán at about 5pm. As I stepped down from the bus I was hit by a wave of hot, humid air. I'd forgotten just how how the Istmo area can be. I immediatly started sweating, and I haven't stopped yet. After finding another internet cafe, I called a member family who I had helped teach and baptized. They met me back at the bus terminal, and we walked the half a block to the taco stand they help their grandmother to run in the evenings. We spent the evening talking and eating tlayudas. I met a guy named Fernando, from Guadalajara, who spoke english. His accent was very thick, but he could carry on a conversation without any problem. He said he had travelled quite a bit when he was younger, and had spent quite a bit of time in London, where he had learned english. He had also lived in Paris, where he learned french. Now he was in Juchitán for a few months, and he hoped to learn Zapoteco, one of the local dialects.
After our late dinner, we headed to the family's house where I got to spend the night in a hammock that was slightly too small for my larger-than-the-average-Oaxacan body.

Sunday!

All around, a good day. I slept in til about nine, only to find that the missionaries (at least a couple of them) were still asleep (they're supposed to get up at 6:30). Oh well.
Church services for the Guelagutza ward started at 11 am. I could have taken the bus, but I chose to walk the 15 minutes to the chapel. I didn´t recognize everybody, but I did see a lot of familiar faces, even if they didn't recognize me. I only stayed for the first hour, and it was great to see the people who i had served. After the first hour I took a taxi to another chapel about ten minutes away to attend the services of the La Joya ward. I recognized even fewer people here, and even fewer still recognized me. But I got a very warm welcome from Bishop Raciel, who I was good friends with.
After church ended, I hung around for about half an hour talking with the missionaries before taking off to pay some visits. I had to hike about twenty minutes up the side of the mountains to find the house of the Santiago Ramirez family's house. I only met them once, and had introduced them to the church, but later all but the youngest child were baptized. The parents weren't home, but most of the seven kids were, and I was suprised to find that they remembered me. The next visit was to a member family who I had been friends with. After chatting for a few minutes, we all piled into their car and drove to another member's house. Paco, the old ward mission leader, had gotten married the day before, and the family had invited just about anybody who wanted to come and eat leftovers. Basically a second reception. I got to eat some dang good food, and also catch up with some good friends.
My last stop was to visit a VERY old couple who I had baptized. Celerino, 95 years old, and his wife Isabel, age unkown! (somewhere in her late eighties) Celerino was sleeping, and I wasn't about to wake him up, but Isabel actually recognized me! We couldn't exactly have a conversation because she is mostly deaf, and just talks more to make up for it. Come to think about it, we never actually have had a real conversation.
I decided to call it a day, and headed back down the hill to the highway to take a bus to la central, and from there back to the missionaries' house, where I stayed the night once more.

Alone in the City-Saturday, Aug 16

Mayra and I had planned to leave Mitla on the 10am bus, but we didn`t even get out of the house til about 11:30, and had to wait about 20 minutes for another bus to pass. After sleeping for most of the ride, Mayra and I said goodbye, and I headed for the Zòcalo, or town square in the middle of downtown Oaxaca. The place was packed with people-local Oaxacans, tourist, and various musicians, dancers, other performers. After taking in the scene for a while, I made my way across to the Catholic church/cathedral that looked like it had been build by the spanish back in the colonial days. I was able to go inside and take a look at the amazing architecture, paintings, and sculptures.
From there I made my way about 8 blocks north to the Catherdral of Santo Domingo. As I approached I could here a band playing, and soon I found myself watching about thirty local children wearing their traditional Oaxacan outfits and dancing to the 10-or-so piece brass band in front of the church. As the music stopped the dancers began making their way through the large front doors of the church. I decided to follow. The inside of the church was far more impressive than the first. Every inch of it was adorned with painted carvings and depictions of various dead saints. I sat down in the back row to rest and to watch the mass that was starting. I had never been to a mass before. My general impression was one of bordom, to be quite honest. Even the priest sounded bored.
Leaving the church, I continued heading north. After a block or so I came to an obviously temporary market set up on a side street. I could hear loud hip hop music. The market turned out not to be a market at all, but a few street venders set up around a live local rap/hip hop concert going on. Of course I stopped to watch. I watched two different groups rap about the political and social situation in Oaxaca, but the highlight was difinitely the two beat-boxers accompanied by an accordian.
I walked back to the zocalo where I watched some more dancers and musical groups, including two guys absolutely rocking out on a marimba. When I had had enough I began walking back toward the central, where I took a bus to the missionaries' house near where I had been staying. I had promised to take the six that live there to get tacos, something I could only afford because tacos are like 4 pesos each. Only two of the missionaries showed up, and the three of us ate our fill for a grand total of about nine bucks. Not bad.
And don't tell anybody, but I spent the night on the missionary's floor.

Las Ruinas de Mitla

I woke up this morning with plans to visit the ancient Zapoteco ruins found in Mitla. I had planned to go by myself, but Hermana Angela, Mayra, and Madaì decided that they wanted to come with me. We were just getting ready to leave when I heard one of the kids screaming across the courtyard. I turned to see Madaì (she`s 4 years old, by the way) biting Sergio (3 years old?) on the arm. Sergio's mom came running and, overreacting to the threat to her son, pushed/hit Madaì off of Sergio. Although she stayed on her feet, Madaì stumbled backwards, lost one of her shoes, and began screaming herself. Then all hell broke loose. I got to sit in the middle of a screaming match between the two mothers, each accusing the other of abusing the other's kid. After trying to sit still and let them work things out, I finally stood up from my seat and retreated to my room. I could still hear the shouting, but at least it wasn´t as loud.
Even when things had quieted down, I decided to give it a few minutes before I cautiously left my room. We got our things together and headed towards the ruins, all pretending that nothing had happened.
The ruins, although much smaller than Monte Alban, were definitly worth the visit. The entire grounds only covered a couple of acres, but there were several large buildings you were allowed to enter. The main palace had no roof, but the walls were made of intricately cut stone bricks, arranged into the most amazing designs. Another building had two underground chambers open to explore a bit. In one there was a stone seat that the Zapoteco priest would use for his ceremonies. He would sit down and stand up three times on the seat before making his requests to the gods. As nobody else was around, I hopped the guardrail and repeated the ceremony. And took pictures.
After the ruins we stopped for some nieves (ice cream). I ordered piña colada, and as soon as I had it in my hands I found out that it actually contained alcohol. Who puts liquer in ice cream? So I got another flavor. We walked around the numerous stands and stalls that were selling all kinds of locally made art and clothing. I didn´t buy anything.
We walked home and I fell asleep for a good while before leaving again to find an internet cafe. Later in the evening we walked back to el centro of the town were two teams from the local basketball team were facing off. The outdoor court had quite a bit of sand on it, and watching the players slide around and fall all over the place was very entertaining. These guys were really pretty bad at basketball, but they were obviously having a good time. Egan picked us up in his car halfway through the game, and we all went for a drive before going back to the house and to bed.

Thursday, Aug 18th.

To be honest, I´m a bit homesick. At least I think I am. At least that would explain the weight on my chest that feels like something close to guilt, but I know is not. It´s either that, or something I ate. More likely, travelling to a foreign country by my self and with out any fixed plans is farther outside of my comfort zone than I thought.
The day began slowly. I woke up around 8:30 with plans to pay a visit to some friends in another part of town, then travel about an hour and a half to a town called Mitla to visit other friends. After breakfast courtesy of the Che family, I packed my bag and headed out the door (a dangerous thing, according to Mr. Bilbo Baggins. Sorry I couldn´t resist a Lord of the Rings reference.). I hiked the half mile or so down the hill on which the Che family live and caught a bus to La Central to get some cash, and then to a colonia (barrio) called Pueblo Nuevo. I had made the same bus trip probably dozens of times as a missionary, and it was strange how similar it was this time. Actually, it is strange how similar everything is. Everything, with the exception of children who have grown, is just how I remember it. It feels like I'm in the middle of having a dream that I have had many times before.
I first found my way to Bishop Raciel´s house. He wasn`t home, but I had a good chat with his mother-in-law, with whom I was also well acquainted. I was glad to hear that she has become much more active in the church since I last saw her. I left the Bishop's house and walked only about a block to the home of the Vasquez Bueno family. I was again well recieved, even invited to stay for lunch. Eddy, the oldest son, had just returned from his mission when I knew him. Now he is married with a baby boy, and another kid on the way. His wife, who I vaguely remember meeting (she lived only a few blocks away), had quite a bit to say about the length of my hair. In fact, she was quite addimant that my general appearence was not at all appropriate for a returned missionary such as myself, and that I had some major repenting to do. I of course defended myself, and I think I did a rather good job of it. However, she would not back down, and the debate stretched on for most of the meal. I left felt significantly less welcome than when I arrived. ¡A la goma con ella!
I had planned to travel to Mitla in the early afternoon, but as I hadn´t gotten to visit everyone I wanted to, I decided to spend another night in Oaxaca and go to Mitla in the morning. I called my friends to let them know, only to find that they had already rearranged their plans around my visit. So I dropped my plans, caught a bus to La Central, and, after a half-hour wait and a spectacular rain storm, caught another bus to Mitla.
Mitla is about an hour and a half out of Oaxaca, if you take the cheap bus, which of course I did. The ride was uneventful, and the scenery beautiful. Having never been to Mitla, I was a little worried that I'd miss my stop, but, as the bus only went as far as Mitla, I had nothing to worry about. A short ride in one of the three-wheeled mototaxis took me to the front door of the house of Mayra, Angela, Osmar, and Mataì, a family I had the privledge of helping to teach and baptize while serving as a missionary. Many hugs later, I was invited to sit down to a dinner of Oaxacan Mole con arroz. I don´t like mole at all, and the piece of meat I was given was quite disgusting. I think it was chicken. But I was greatful all the same.
I was exausted and just wanted to sleep, but Mayra (who had to go to Oaxaca for the night) had asked her cousin Egan to come pick me up and show me around the town. I had an hour before he was coming, so I decided to take a bit of a nap. It was while laying on the bed, stairing at the ceiling that the homesickness started setting in. I got as far as halfheartedly deciding to see if I could get my return flight changed to an earlier date before I fell asleep. I woke up at about nine to the sounds of someone (I correctly guessed Egan) talking in a loud voice outside my door. I was feeling much, much better. Egan turned out to be a very friendly 18 year old guy who was born and raised in the small, but growing, town of Mitla. We drove around for about two hours, stopping at the gas station, the Palacio Municipal (town hall), and a small food stand on the sidewalk where he bought an eskite (creamed corn) and I got a Platano Frito (deep fried banana!). We had an excellent conversation as we drove through the maze of streets that make up the town. Everywhere we went there were people sitting on porches, steps, and benches talking and enjoying the evening, or playing fùtbol in the streets. Before Egan dropped me off, a spectacular storm rolled in with spectacular displays of lightning. The town lost power, and was just coming on again when I fell asleep again, this time in a much more peaceful state of mind.

Monte Alban, hitchhiking, etc

Having been invited by Hermana Hilaria, Stella and I made our way downtown to El Centro this morning for breakfast. We found Hilaria working at her small food stand on the sidewalk just outside of an elementary school. Every morning she is there making memelas to sell. Memelas are small (but thick) corn tortillas topped with beans, cheese, vegetable, meat, etc. We sat on plastic chairs on the sidewalk while Hilaria prepared the meal. The food was delicious, but Hilaria was perhaps a bit to generous-I was hard pressed to finish all six memelas she put on my plate.
After breakfast Stella and parted ways and I made my way to see the ruins of Monte Alban. The ruins are on top of a very large hill in the middle of the valley, and just getting there can be expensive. Since I didn´t want to pay 20 dollars for a five minute car ride (and of course the same to get back), I decided to find another way to get there. I took a bus that serves the neighborhoods on the side of the hill, and when it turned around I got off and started walking. I had only gone about a hundred metersm or so when a car approached me from behind. I stuck out my thumb, the car stopped, I got in, and my new friend Abner gave me a ride the rest of the way. So instead of 20 dollars I paid about 5 cents!
The ruins themselves were fascinating. The entire hill top (a space the size of a few football fields) was levelled by the ancient people who lived there, and there they build many, many pyramids, buildings, and tombs, mostly for religious ceremonies and the observation of the sun and stars. I spent several hours exploring the grounds, climbing on pyramids, and taking pictures. At the back of the property, behind one of the big pyramids, was a small trail that led down the hill. I decided to follow it. It led across the ridge of the hill and past several small hills that, upon closer inspection, turned out to be small pyramids or buildings that have yet to be excavated. I also found a small marker designating "Monte Alban Tomb 50." The only thing I saw was a few rocks on the ground.
I left Monte Alban on foot with the intent to hitchhike back to town. Once again the first car that passed picked me up. I spent what was left of the afternoon in an internet cafe, buying a new white shirt, tie, and pants, and I attended the 7 pm session at the Oaxaca Temple. On my way back to the Che´s house I stopped by the missionaries house where I had lived when I was in the Guelaguetza Ward. I spent a good hour and a half, maybe more, talking with the 6 missionaries that live there. It turns out that two of them were my "grandchildren." That is, I trained the missionaries that had trained them. They even let me use their shower. (There is always a water shortage in Oaxaca, I hadn´t bathed in too many days. But you didn´t need to know that.) I finally arrived at the Che residence at about 11pm to find a very worried family. Apparently 11 is incredibly late in Oaxaca.

Old Friends

Tuesday, August 12. My second day in Oaxaca
After a breakfast of two more tortas de quesillo, Stella, sister Che, and I drove about 10 minutes to visit Brenda, the Che's oldest daughter who had just returned from serving a mission herself when I was in Oaxaca. Now she is married and has a year old baby boy. As most of the Che family don't know how to drive, their Dodge Stratus usually sits un-used on the street. So I was the driver. I had never driven as a missionary, but I knew how most people drive in Oaxaca. So I was a little nervous. After seeing more insanely dangerous maneouvers in 10 minutes than in the rest of my life, I fell into the mindset of "If everyone else is going to drive like locos, then so am I!" When in Rome, right?
After seeing Brenda and her kid, I drove with Stella, who also just got back from her mission a week ago, and who I a pretty sure has a huge crush on me, to find an internet cafe. We were invited to eat lunch with the owner of the cafe, who also happened to be a member of the church. This particular member (an old lady who´s name escapes me) had introduced us to one of her renters named Hilaria, and her two teenage kids, claudia and Jesus. We (the missionaries) taught all three of them and all three of them had been baptized. Unfortunatly they no longer rented there, but did live quite close, we were told. We managed to find the place and were well recieved by Hermana Hilaria and Claudia. We had a pleasant visit, and were invited to breakfast the next morning. We happily accepted.
From there I dropped of Stella and, quite relieved to be on my own, drove to visit the Barragan family. Once again, a great visit and an invitation to return, this time to stay the night if I needed.
For dinner I found a taqueria I remembered and feasted on a huge plate of tacos al pastor, made even tastier knowing that it was two for one night and I was paying about twenty cents per taco!
I made it to the Che´s house at twilight and took a short hike to the top the the hill they live on before ending the day with a terrible movie called Fragile.

¡Estoy en Oaxaca!

After having been gone for one year and nine months, I have finally made it back to Oaxaca, Mexico! In case you don't know, Oaxaca is on the southwestern coast of Mexico, is one of the poorest states in the country, and is also where I served as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for nearly two years. Es la tierra de mi corazón. I had been wanting to come visit ever since I got back to the states, and now I'm finally here.
In order to make my 6am flight out of San Fransisco, I had to wake up at three-in-the-freakin'-morning. Going to bed at midnight didn't help things much. I flew from San Fransisco to Pheonix, from Pheonix to Mexico City, and from Mexico City to Oaxaca, arriving at about 7pm local time. As the plane made its descent into the valley of Oaxaca city, I was able to look out across the cloud-capped mountains and get my first glimpse of the place I had been looking forward to so much. This time of year the mountains that surround the city are green, lush, and absolutely gorgeous. As I stared out the window the feet of a large hill came into view. As I was thinking that it might be a good hill to hike, the top came into view, and I found myself face to face with the ruins of Monte Alban. I stared, transfixed, until the plane banked and the ruins dissapeared from view. What a welcome to Oaxaca.
I got through customs without a problem. In Mexico, customs consists of pushing a button and waiting for a red light or a green light. Green means go ahead, red means "we are going to search you and look for excuses to take your stuff so we can have it." I got green and got to keep all of my stuff. I had called ahead, and a family I knew said they would put me up in their house, all I had to do was get there. The taxis at the airport have a complete monopoly on transportation and wanted 300 pesos for a trip that should have cost 50. Instead of getting robbed, I paid 100 pesos for a ride down town, and caught a 5 peso bus. The Che family is very, very poor. They live high up on the side of a large hill, and usually have to walk all the way up. I got lucky and caught the bus that dropped me off a mere quater mile away from their door. I climbed the concrete step, dirt road, and steep path to their house. Although I had not walked that path in more than two years, it was still familiar and I found the house without a problem. The Che's house is made of rough cinderblock walls and a corrugated aluminium roof. There are two rooms, with part of a sheet for a door between them. One room is the kitchen, dining room, and master bedroom. The other is the living room (with TV!) and bedroom. The bathroom is a seperate "building" altogether. A total of four people live there now. I arrived at twilight and called out a "¡buenas noches!" to grey, unpainted building from the edge of the property. Immediatly the outline of a very short individual appeared at the door.
"¡Hermana Che!"
"¡Elder Hoggan!"
Two others, Brother Che and their daughter Stella, appeared on the front step, and hugs were given all around. I was fighting, not very hard, to hold back the tears.
I was treated to a dinner of two delicious tortas de quesillo. Simple but delicioso. After much conversation, it was time for bed.