Thanksgiving

I woke up today and said "It's turkey-lurky day!" (admittedly not at my Sondheim best at that hour) to put Con and I in the mood for the holiday, but frankly, I don't hold out much hope for any turkey today, nor do I know if I'd want it if offered. Some things just don't travel well, and I expect that the traditional American Thanksgiving meal is one of them. Truth be told, I'm not that fond of turkey anyway, although I do love the stuffing and mashed potatoes with gravy. (Turkey sandwiches, on the other hand, are a favorite.) 

As I look out the window, I see trees filled with green leaves, including coconut trees. The weather remains warm, nothing more than a shirt and shorts are needed for dress. We're definitely not in Iowa anymore. This reminds me again of one thing that we miss: the change of seasons. By late fall, the best place to go for me was Kent Park on a Sunday late afternoon. Leaves having fallen, the structure of it all reveals itself. Heraclitus said that Nature loves to hide, but autumn reveals many of Nature's hidden structures. Trees without leaves reveal their bones against the chilled, blue sky. The colors of the prairie grasses glow a greenish gold in the twilight. The surrounding cornfields are no more than stubble now, revealing great expanses of fields and signaling completion another harvest. Under time's bending sickle's compass comes all. Autumn reminds us of this in Iowa. 

By at least Thanksgiving Day, I break out the seasonal music. I've just listened to George Winston's "Thanksgiving" from his December album. The title and tenor of the piece capture the mood and season, but it also has sentimental value to me. I remember dancing with the Glamorous Nomad to this and other Winston pieces when my dancing partner sat in the crook of my arm, happy to twirl to my rude dance in our small living room on 10th Street Place in Coralville. The remainder of the album includes many traditional Christmas pieces that help set the tone for the season. 

Christmas music, outside of the Muzak variety, remains a favorite. From my collection of medieval music to croon an' swoon, some pieces still resonate. The early music pieces speak of the primal celebration of Christmas: of hope, nativity, and new beginnings. I think my fascination with early music comes from the medieval history survey course I took from John Bell Henneman in the fall and early winter semester of 1974. Such a bleak and cold world marked by war, famine, and pestilence. Life so tenuous, yet the Christian culture seemed to provide some measure of hope and relief. Advent and Christmas seem especially to provide a sense of hope to the unimaginable uncertainty of life in that bleak time. So Thanksgiving marks a transition to the Advent season, a season of preparation. (Last night, through the miracle of iTunes, I listened to Sir Alec Guinness recite T.S. Eliot's "Journey of the Magi", a wonderful poem for the season.)

For this year, the transition will include a journey to a land new to us, Ethiopia, as we prepare to see our Africa girl and our China girl and explore more. These ancient lands, so exotic and strange to us, contain societies far older than ours. A land at once new and old.

We have a great deal to give thanks for. It's been an incredible year: Jaipur, Udaipur, Jodhpur, Ajmer, and the rest of Rajasthan. Nepal and the Himalayas. Meghalaya and the wettest place on earth above the Bangladeshi plain. Delhi with its monuments and history. Amritsar and the Golden Temple. Dalhousie in the cool and fog of the Himalayan hills. London: our first visit to the great seat of history and culture, where for us the sun shone with little interruption and St. Paul's called to my Protestant roots. Good ol' 345 Magowan in Iowa City: it doesn't seem to want to let us go. Delicious Puebla and grand Mexico City with the great volcano Popocatepetl between them spewing smoke and ash. The comfortable Chicago burbs. Rome--Rome! More incredible art and more living history than one can imagine. Tuscany: only a day, but we shall return because the postcard views proved real and the food and wine beyond words. Chengdu, China: an incredible city, vibrant and amazing; small noodle and dumpling shops and grand, new buildings; and wonderful month with the Glamorous Nomad and her terrific peeps. The Daoist mountain: all high-tech getting there and then a reprieve from it all with the Nature of traditional China. Trivandrum, our new home: lions and tigers for neighbors, ocean breezes and coconut trees below us, and the beach a short--albeit congested--drive away. Here in Chennai: another Indian city that somehow works despite itself. What a year! 

But most of all, it's all worthwhile because of family and friends. Without those we share with, nothing would count. So here's wishing everyone a Happy Thanksgiving, and thanks to you.

Reflections on Puebla, Mexico

C and I arrived in Puebla late at night about 10 days ago, and after hitting the bed early, we awoke to explore Puebla, a city of about 4 million located about 2 hours drive from Mexico City. We stayed in a monastery converted into a hotel (common on Latin America) in the old town, the centro. Walking down narrow stone streets and sidewalks, we quickly found the zocolo, or town square, with the cathedral on one side and the palacio municipal on the other as one expects in old colonial cities so that the sacred and secular authorities could keep an eye on each other.

But the traditional look and architecture, at once familiar and yet still new to us, did not make so great an impression as the liveliness of the city and its people. We spent a good time in and around the zocolo, from late morning to late at night, and it teemed with people virtually all hours of the day: children playing with balloons or balls, families strolling, players performing, and young couples huddling. The public space seemed ideal. The police were present, but not obtrusive, and never in our time did we see or hear of any violence or disturbance. (Persons using loudspeakers, especially during what appeared to be a political protest, we’re the greatest bother that we encounter. Few, if any, should be ever granted access to a loudspeaker.) Around the zocolo restaurants and shops pulled people in for daily needs and more opportunities to talk, eat, and hang out. The side streets contained small shops and well as street vendors (everything from books to shawls to paintings to old everythings). We even found a Woolworth(‘s) store, from which C picked up some items. How could we resist? (We both have primal memories of the wood-floored Woolworth’s of our youth on main street in Shenandoah).

C, who has been to Puebla twice before, tantalized me in advance with the claim that it is the gastronomical capital of Mexico. Based on what she brought back in the way of new recipes from her cooking classes there last year, I was an easy sell. Puebla lived up to its billing. In fact, our hotel in the centro, Maison de Sacristia, includes the restaurant where she took her lessons. The food there was out of sight. Muy rico, muy sobroso, muy delicioso! We enjoyed another couple of high-end places as well (including an Argentinian steak house to mix it up a bit), but on the other end of the spectrum, we went to a small tacqueria arrabe near the zocolo filled with locals. Wow! For a few bucks we had some great tacos, a side of onions (for me only,) and carne en queso. Yum! If Puebla has a challenger for better food in Mexico, please don’t take me there, I’m afraid I’d blow-up a la Monty Python.

After about three days staying in the centro at Sacristia, we moved to the edge of town, which was deemed better for getting C to and from her workshops. It was a modern hotel with nice amenities, but perhaps the best amenity was that on the 7th floor we could see the world around us, which included mountains and volcano s.(As perhaps a remnant of when our remotest ancestors evolved on the African savannah, one thing that bothers me about old cities such as those of Latin America are the narrow streets and uniform buildings that cut off views of the horizon and other signals of place, leaving one a sense of uncertainty about one’s greater surroundings, ameliorated somewhat by the careful grid upon which the streets are laid out.)  

As mornings in Puebla were clear, crisp, and sunny, we had excellent view of the volcano Popocatepetl (Popo), a  magnificent site, similar to Mt. Rainier near  Seattle (which can prove a real phantom for occasional visitors like me.) During our trip to nearby Chalupa on Saturday, and on our trip here to Metepec, Popo put on a show. Saturday it raised a huge plume of smoke and ash into the air, and on Sunday as we traveled past it we saw clouds and ash shrouding the peak in a manner that I imagine Mt. Sinai was shrouded when Moses went there to meet with God. As a sight it awesome and magnificent.

Puebla lies at about 7,000 feet above sea level on a plain. The crisp, sunny early mornings are followed in the afternoon by a build up of clouds (which we could see rolling in from our 7th story room) that resulted in some rain in the later afternoon or evening. Interestingly, it never seemed to empty the centro or zocolo, which remained vibrant regardless. The streets were clean and well-maintained. This part of Mexico, at least, seems reasonably prosperous and well-governed.

I’ll have more to report in further posts, but I can say that Puebla was a real treat, and if you have a chance to visit, do it.