The Flag

It is the week before Independence Day.  Each morning in the zocalo, the city holds a large flag-raising ceremony, featuring the 60 members of the police band .  At night, dance bands rule the plaza.

Habits

For anyone seeking improvement in any endeavour, I'd like to recommend the book Atomic Habits, by James Clear.  Its logical reasoning and practical advice, prompted me to change my habits.
The book makes the case that small changes, implemented over a long period, can lead to large transformations, and that habits are the tools to accomplish this task.  The author suggests four rules for forming a habit:
1.  Make it Obvious
2.  Make it Attractive
3.  Make it Easy
4.  Make it Satisfying
The list almost seems trivial, but each rule is followed by research and anecdotes.  Those help clarify the rule, and provide guidance on how to implement it.

After completing this portion of the book, I was enthused, and started using the method.  However, I faced a dilemma.  For years, I have tried to practice the Buddhist concept of  Mindfulness'.  Now, it occured to me that mindfulness and habit are exact opposites.  I wondered whether I have to choose  between the two.  The 'advanced' portion of the book dispelled my concern.  It clarified, that the application of the two concepts are separated by space and time.  Some activities may not be worth the effort of mindfulness (1), and can be safely done as a habit.   In other, more important activities, after a habit forms, it serves as a stepping stone, freeing mental resources for mindful improvements.

I decided to focus on a small number of habits that I would like to promote: Meditation, Music, and Muscle.  Over the last two weeks, I have been consistently meditating morning AND evening, practicing my sax daily, and exercising regularly.

Note :
1.  Buddhists are often instructed to be mindful of trivial activities, such as chewing.  In my unlearned opinion, this is only a training tool.

Around America in 80 Days

Every few Saturdays, Oaxaca's Teatro Macedonia Alcalá, projects a live (via satelite) performance of the New York Metropolitan Opera.  Heard in the splendor of the historic theater, the music is an exciting experience.   We became devout opera fans.  Even while travelling, we try to find the local Met transmissions.
Three years ago, we planned a coast-to-coast drive, aiming to sit in the Met for a real performance.  Life had a different idea, and we had to cancel.  The following year, Adi was weak from the effects of chemotherapy, and could not endure such a task.  A year later, still too weak to drive, we flew from Oaxaca to New York, and enjoyed a wonderful Aida.
This year, Adi challenged herself, 'Will I have the stamina for a transcontinental trip?'
We decided to go, with one condition in mind, 'If in doubt, we head back to Oaxaca.'
Back in California after visiting Korea and Israel, we liberated Dino out of storage, and set out on our adventure.

Driving route summary:
California, Utah, Colorado, Illinois, Massachusetts, Maine, New-York (Too early for the Met season), Tennessee, Louisiana, Texas, Oaxaca.
Trip duration:  80 days.

The Plazas of Potosi

On this trip, we took a different route than our usual migration.  San Luis Potosi was the second location we discovered.  If Monterrey is a sophisticated young woman, San Luis is a conservative lady.  While Monterrey flaunts her skyscrapers, San Luis takes pride in her colonial core.  San Luis' charm, stems largely from its many well tended plazas, where people gather to play or relax.  Connecting the plazas are pleasant pedestrian alleys which we loved to stroll.  As we entered one plaza, we heard loud angry voices emanating from a group of young men.
'Did we walk-in on a gang rumble?'
Perhaps contrary to common sense, we moved closer and saw, surrounded by the group, two fiercely emotional boys, yelling and gesturing at each other.  It took a minute longer to realize that they are engaged in a rap duel.  Each boy, improvised a rhymed response to his opponents taunts.  After a few such exchanges, a whistle blew, the two combatants embraced, and the coach announced the winner.  Cheers by all, then, the next pair came on.
In another square, familiar music.  Five teenage girls, were rehearsing the dance moves of  BTS, Korea's world-famous singing group.  Needless to say that both the girls and Adi were delighted with the encounter.
Like any grand dame, San Luis has a weird side, such as a collection of bronze heads strewn on the sidewalk.  Yet, on our last night, she graciously treated us to a fireworks display.

Munching in Monterrey

Having completed our tour of the US, we were anxious to get home.  Although the Laredo border crossing was on the direct path to Oaxaca, it was rumored that this section of the border is controlled by the Zeta cartel.  With some trepidation, we decided to risk it.  To my pleasant surprise, we were in Mexico without any problems.  Our first night was Monterrey, Nuevo Leon.  We climbed to our thirteenth-floor hotel room, and looked out of the full-wall window.  As we stood, admiring the jagged  mountains surrounding the city, an angelic voice softly intoned "Welcome to Mexico.  Let go of your stress."   We looked at each other, and hardly exchanging a word, we extended our stay in the city.

Monterrey's prosperity is due in large part to the many foreign factories based here.  It proudly displays tall modern architecture, and it also boasts a fine culinary landscape.  With a large Korean expat population, I anticipated dinner in a good Korean restaurant.  However, 'good' was not on Adi's mind.  On the third floor of a busy shopping mall, in the far corner of the food court, a small Korean booth served the dish Adi craved.  Tokpoki, Korea's most popular street food, are elongated rice cakes, served in a warm and spicy chili paste..  As she took the first bite, Adi's apprehension broke into a happy smile.  She fed me a sample, and even I could tell that it rivaled the best of Seoul's street stalls.  Su-Ni, the Korean owner, joined our table, and was so overjoyed with Adi's ravenous appetite, that she plied us with additional spicy dishes, some, were off the menu.  Adi, with my help, demolished it all.  The two quickly bonded.  Su-Ni was glad to have a friend that was busy chewing while she did the talking, and Adi was happy to enjoy her excellent cooking.

Thus, our routine for the following days was established.  Light tourist activity in the morning, and Su-Ni's food in the afternoon.  When we finally said goodbye, she insisted that we take with us more dishes, for the drive.

Postscript
Comfort food consumed for three consecutive days, will cause gastric discomfort for the following three.

Party Street Revisited

After publishing my previous post,  I realized that our next stop will be New Orleans, and since Bourbon Street is perhaps the world's most famous party destination, I wondered whether my conclusion was premature.  Now, I am afraid that I need to revise my opinion.  Without doubt, Bourbon street is a blast.  Like Nashville, the stretch  is stocked with many live-music bars, and it even has the advantage of being a pedestrian walkway.  Like Nashville, the crowds are cheerful and energetic, however, in my observation,  Nashville visitors come to enjoy music and to drink while doing so, while on Bourbon street, the priorities are reversed.  I prefer the former.

But not so fast.  New Orleans being the wonderful city that it is, also offers a saner alternative.  The active stretch of Frenchmen Street is only a couple of blocks, but within it are many live-music bars.  The crowds are slightly older, and are not there to get drunk.  I enjoyed Snug Harbor where the performance area is adjacent to, but separate from, the bar.  In that space, jazz is appreciated quietly.  We listened to a young Jazz group which exhibited remarkable skill.   They played modern Jazz, but it was close to my comfort zone, thus allowing me to appreciate the music and enjoy it immensely.

In conclusion, for me, Frenchmen Street, though not exactly a "party" street, is more attractive than Nashville.

Party Street in Music City

Fifteen thousand attended the Isagenix convention in Nashville, and we met them all on Broadway street.  With a smile on their face and a plastic cup in their hands, it was clear that they are anticipating fun, and had plenty of energy to make sure they get it.  It was afternoon,  yet music  already poured onto the sidewalk from the many honky tonks that line the street.  Strolling to the captivating rhythms, it didn't take us long to join the general mood.  Often, enthusiastic singing overpowered the background music.  It emanated from party bicycles cruising the street.  These contraptions, allows a group of a dozen or so (usually women), to pedal a stocked bar while singing, cheering, and hooting.  Louder music still, accompanies the open-decked buses which blast the beat to ecstatic dancers on board.  Once inside the famous Legends Corner, the sound and energy level climbed even higher.  The band may not have been the best, but good enough to fill the dance floor, and convert Adi and I into country music fans.  We tried our Danzon steps, then we tried our Salsa moves, neither quite worked, but soon we got into the groove, and had great time.

I have been to the Vegas strip, and I have been to Memphis' Beale street, but the experience on Nashville's Broadway, topped them both.

Mornings in Berlin

"Sorry, but we are fully booked on Friday"
At the Berlin Grande, the receptionist's cheeks are as pink as the peaches I purchased from a local farmer, and her smile is as sweet as the ubiquitous peach pie.  I was not upset.  Perhaps it is time to move on.  Friday would have been the sixth extension of our planned two-night stay.  Yet, the relaxed atmosphere of this Amish region in Iowa, kept us asking for more.

 On my morning walk, the clip-clap sounds of horse-drawn buggies, make me happy to be here.  As they pass, the driver, be it a long-bearded man, a woman donning a white bonnet, or a young boy sporting a straw hat, smile and nod.  This is not the wide, almost artificial, smile of Salt Lake City, but a gentle one, which unconsciously, elicits a similar response from me.  After a light rain, the smell of fresh horseshit permeates the air, and surprisingly, it reinforces my feeling of comfort.  The Amish are shy, and wary of tourists, but once talking, they are as curious as anyone about other ways of life.  Amish tradition rejects technology.  However, to adapt to the modern age, they do not resort to prophets and their celestial revelations, nor do they seek the rulings of wise old men. In my opinion, they have a much better method.  Each congregation, which is usually a dozen-or-so families, can define new regulations to govern their daily life.  There are seven or nine (depending on who I asked), levels of permissiveness among the many congregations.   Electricity in the home is generally forbidden, and a clear sign of an Amish home is colorful laundry drying on a neat front lawn.  However, if you operate a home workshop, depending on the congregation's level, you may use electricity to light it up.  No tractors, but there is something childishly lovable about a noisy motor-driven grass mower, mounted on a horse-drawn cart.

We liked Amish country, with one exception.  Despite the widely advertised claim, Amish cooking is seriously not tasty.  We tried several of the restaurants, and found exactly the same menu, and similar, barely edible, food.  Perhaps it was time to move on.

A Skeptic in Salt Lake

As we traverse the continent eastward from Reno, we are encountering a variety of landscapes, both geographic, and human.

In Elko we met the buckaroo/vaquero/cowboy culture.

At Arches National Park, we were amazed by nature's art.

In Salt Lake City, we mused about religion.

The city is clean, spacious and hospitable.  Even more so, are its people.  Mormons, or officially, members of the Church of Jesus of Latter Day Saints, are always ready to help, and do so with a big smile.  However, many days after the visit, I am still wondering what makes them believe such a far-fetched story.

Early in the 19th century, Joseph Smith, an uneducated young man, has doubts about the church teachings. While meditating in the forest, God and Jesus appear, and appoint him a prophet.  Eventually, an angel leads him to discover gold plates inscribed in an unknown language.  Through divine inspiration he translates the plates, which describe Jesus' resurrection in America.  Over time, Smith has many heavenly revelations which shape the church doctrine and strategy. To this day, church prophets receive revelations regarding current affairs.

My "far-fetched" comment notwithstanding, I have nothing against the Mormon church. As far as I know, it never started a war, nor killed any heretics. The lifestyle it recommends is wholesome, and even includes time-restricted-eating. (Unfortunately, polygamy is gone) My dilemma is that, what I have learned, doesn't fit the simple theories I held regarding religion.  I assumed that, people need to believe in an afterlife because of our universal fear of death.  Furthermore, most religious organizations build on that fear by providing Heaven for those that follow the rules, and Hell for those that don't.  In contrast, according to the mormon faith, almost everyone goes to Heaven, and there is almost no Hell.  It seems to me that if you abandon a christian sect to become a mormon, you gain very little, but risk a lot.

So why every year, hundreds of thousands of converts, do just that?
Is the mormon Heaven better?
Is it the wish to belong to a tight community? (Adi's theory)

Any comments that help solve this dilemma would be appreciated.

Surfing Reno

My driver's license was waiting for me in Reno.  We left the comfort of Vegas, and headed North.
Nevada is considered a 'weird' state, and true to type, the first thing I saw in Reno, 400 Km from the Ocean, was a surfer.  The Truckee river runs through downtown, and its bottom was contoured for fun.

He was not alone. Two others were waiting their turn.
On the other side of the Island, the city engineered a slalom course for kayaks.
Reno may not become a surfing destination, but it sure looks cool.

A forty-seconds video of this event is available here https://vimeo.com/343148428

Stranded on the Strip

I came to Las Vegas to renew my driver's license.  After a certain age, you  have to do so in person.   I thought a couple of days, but eleven have already passed, and I am still waiting for the document.  It's not bad.  There are worse places then Vegas to be stranded.  I don't mind the 43 degree (110F) heat.  It is certainly better than the freezing air-conditioned interiors.

However, there are alternatives to the heat.  Less than an hour's drive from the city, the road climbs to 2,000 meters, the peaks above are still snowy, and the temperature drops below 30 (C).  From there, a trail leads higher and cooler.  The smell of the pine forest disconnects me from the glittering city, and replaces it with a relaxed contemplative mood.  A few kilometers further up, we encounter a small bubbly stream.  The stream is playful, and as the canyon narrows, it asks us to hop over it back and forth from one bank to the other.  Wearing Teva sandals, a slight undershoot adds to the fun by cooling my feet.  Soon we reach a miniature waterfall.  The shady canyon and the sound of splashing water provide a perfect setting for breakfast.  A few drops of rain, signal that it is time to return to the heat.

Product review:
Thanks to a recommendation from my friend Danny Edelshtein, I loaded an application called
"Mapy.cz"   The application added to the fun by providing an accurate topo map of the trail, a track of what we already covered, as well as some statistics.  I like it.

Jealousy

This year, on the first of April, as in every year in folk memory, Spring came to Seoul.  The cherry trees were the first to notice, and transformed the city from winter grey to sparkling pink.  However, within a week, the freezing cold returned.  I suspect that the Weather-God noticed our arrival at the airport and decided to show us a real winter.  The dismayed cherries laid a faded white carpet on the wet sidewalks.

We appeased the jealous God by borrowing winter coats, and eventually, the sun came out.  A bit late for the cherries, but good enough for a trip to Sokcho, a harbor town not far from the border.  In the North, the trees were smarter, they waited out the cold and were now in full bloom.  I dipped my feet in the sea, and with full appetite, set to work on the town's famous dish.  It's hard to beat sashimi caught just hours before, especially when  taken with copious amount of ice-cold soju.  BTW, the water was much colder than the California coast. 

Hans

My dear friend Hans, has gone.  

Hans was a free spirit, an adventurer.  He was my role model.  He did not set out to be an example, he just did his best, and he did it well.  He was a good athlete, a good sailor, a good musician, and a good aviator.  I followed his footsteps in several of these endeavours, but never managed to catch up.  I was not jealous, I viewed him as an older brother. Over the years, we shared many adventures, and he loved to chide me for the dangers my recklessness has put him through, yet that did not deter him from embarking on our next adventure.   However, sometimes it felt like he was the younger, impetuous sibling.  He took chances that would make me cringe, and always came out ok.

Most people are either afraid of death, or try to ignore it.  Hans did not philosophize, but his actions demonstrated his feelings.  Fear was not in his vocabulary, nor did he ignore death.  He challenged, and often mocked it.  Rather than contemplate potential disasters, he focused on extracting fun from life.  Not always was it easy, but he managed to do so, and always with a smile.  Hans remained my role model till the end.  His smile, even on his last day, said, "I am not afraid"

I miss him. 

It's not what you wear

Danzon is a traditional dance, with dramatic music, elegant steps, and lavishly dressed fans.  Wednesday evenings, in the Zocalo, Oaxaca has a  danzon event, yet Mexico City is on a different level.  There, danzon can be enjoyed, on good dance floors, every day of the week.   We like the dance, and naturally, one priority for our trip to the capital was to participate in the danzon scene.  (The other was to visit selected museums and art galleries)

However, before leaving, we faced the dilemma of what to pack.  We agonized over it, and finally decided to forego the almost-mandatory evening dress, rely on us being considered ignorant foreigners, and hope to be forgiven.   It was a good decision.  We attended an outdoor dance in the Ciudadela Plaza,  an evening in Salon Angeles, and another in Salon Romo.  In all cases, as the music started, our discomfort faded, and we were absorbed by the rhythm.  Despite our travel-wear and Teva sandals, the fashionable dancers around us, greeted us warmly.  We even got a few compliments on our dance style, even though those were much fewer than what we get when we are properly dressed.


 

Music Street

Looking for a harmonica in Mexico City?  Where do you go?
The answer is: Calle Bolivar.  Apparently, Jerusalem's old town is not unique in having streets dedicated to commodities.   My quest led me along  Hardware Street (Vizcainas), to Music Street (Bolivar), where my eyes opened wide.  Four blocks of uninterrupted music stores.  Most had similar formats, displaying mainly guitars and piano keyboards, yet some stood out for their large size and wide selection.  Holocaust Music caught my attention, but none of the store's personnel could explain the origin of the unusual name.  Helpful workers in each store were happy to direct me to the next one, but alas, the model I wanted was not to be found.

In consolation, we rested on the sidewalk, and listened to a band composed of four saxophones (soprano, alto, tenor, baritone), a clarinet, a keyboard, a full size electric base, and drums.  The group played an energetic selection of pop and jazz standards.  The wind-instrument (including the wheel-chaired clarinet player), entertained the large crowd by dancing back and forth along the pavement, and occasionally even across the street.  They did so without loosing their precision or tone quality.  This constant motion may explain why I could not capture all of the band in one frame.  A more likely explanation would be the large mug of pulque I consumed shortly before.

Pulque Para Dos (A danzon tune)

Pulque is an alcoholic drink,which was considered sacred in pre-hispanic Mexico, and allowed only to the upper class.  It is produced by excavating the center of an agave plant, then twice daily, over a period of weeks, collecting the sap that forms in the cavity. Fermentation takes a week or two, and results in alcohol contents of  6-8%.

The arrival of the spaniards and the introduction of distillation, caused a slow decline in the prestige and popularity of the drink.  Tequila and beer took its place.  That was then.  Nowadays, pulque is gaining popularity, especially among the young crowd.  Las Duelistas, the pulqueria we visited in Mexico City, is covered, ceiling to floor, with indigenous-styled murals, and packed with happy drinkers of all ages.  Pulque is served either as 'Natural', which is milky-white, and like other fermented drinks, a bit fizzy and sour,  or as 'Curado'  a sweeter mix of fruit juices.  Although I usually aim for authenticity, I have to admit that Adi's pink guava-curado tasted great.

An order of pulque can vary in volume between a glass and a bucket.  The couple sharing our table ordered a bucket containing a blend of curados.  They generously let us taste their creation, and share their snacks.  We made do with a large mug, which provided a nice buzz, and eliminated the need for lunch.

Mardi Gras

Despite the shiny eyes, these are not Zombies.  Last weekend, this blues band, brought an early Mardi Gras to Oaxaca.  It is a diverse group, hailing from the US, Mexico, El Salvador, and Israel.  (It's nice to have another Israeli in town.)  The cover included a bowl of gumbo, cooked by the band leader Eric (in brown), and some mezcal to wash it down. The mixed crowd of young Oaxaquenos and elderly expats, had a very good time.

The link below is a short video from the event.  A surprise comes at about one minute into the clip.
      Click to watch video

The Baker's Son

A new bakery opened in town. I was thrilled by their breads,
befriended the baker, and renewed my dormant baking practice.

My emphasis was on whole-wheat, sourdough, bread.  It is dark, dense, and has a tangy flavor.  The challenge is to increase the fluffiness of this tasty loaf, and I was making a slow and steady progress toward that goal.  However yesterday, Doron provided me with Zen moment.  He sent a photo (Left) of his beautifully crafted loaf, which is mostly white flour.  It looked so good, and sounded so yummy, that I had to copy it.   My loaf (below) lacks Doron's artistic scoring and decoration, but I am not ashamed.  It came out nice and airy, note the holes in the crumb.  It has a thin but crispy crust, and an hunger-inducing aroma.  Can't wait for tomorrow's breakfast.