Globe Corner Blogs

Tourista! - photo by Sarah

When I returned to the 7-11, Stosh was just returning from getting the car fixed. He had met a local college student who spoke English. He was eager to help get the car fixed in return for a ride to Cascada Cola de Caballo, a local tourist destination that featuring hiking, waterfalls, and – yes – bungee jumping.

Cola de Caballo is Spanish for “Horse Tail” and describes a waterfall that sits above the forest canopy an hour outside of Monterrey. The place reads like Disneyland: families, resorts, stalls selling knick-knacks and food – all in a way that seemed utterly foreign and strange. The concept of taking a natural landscape and creating this kind of tourist attraction seemed odd to me; In America, we build roller coasters and ferris wheels for this kind of enjoyment. Nature is held in a forced state of pristine beauty, in reserves and national parks. Here, the peacocks were drinking piña coladas the size of my head, and a midget ticket-taker was sitting on a donkey.

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Monterrey Mural - photo by Sarah

Monterrey, Mexico is a geodesic prism of youth culture that lies under the radar of foreign tourists. I arrived after three ten-hour days of driving in the desert in a van with no air conditioning. My glasses had broken at the onset of the trip when the van broke down in New Mexico. Rather, I broke my glasses in the broken van and it all seemed so fitting – Murphy’s Law or some other idea that can be referenced in situations where everything is spiraling in a direction you’d rather not see it go.

Two hours into a month-long trip through seven countries, the van broke down. Parked at the closed mechanic’s shop, I practiced yoga in the back of the van. When I got up from a shoulder stand, my glasses were absurdly looking back at me in two pieces. Like a pug whose eyes look in two different directions. Maybe I shouted, or maybe I laughed, but in either case I was frustrated, and continued to be playfully frustrated for the next three days as I wrestled my broken glasses onto my face with duct tape.

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Woodcarvings in Oaxaca--photo by Lisa

Of of the major reasons I went to Oaxaca in Southern Mexico was that I had heard so much about the amazing craft markets and the many surrounding villages that are dedicated to the production of handicrafts. Most tourist agencies and hotels offer day tours to visit weavers in Teotitlan del Valle, potters in San Bartolo Coyotepec, and wood carvers in San Martin Tilcajete. It is also possible to go to all of these towns on your own, which would have been preferable so I could have spent more time exploring the shops, but I don’t really drive and I was a bit too lazy to figure out how to do it by myself on public transportation.

Woodcarving in Oaxaca--photo by Lisa

Every village also has a market day, and I happened to go to the Friday Market in Ocotlan. The Friday Market is one of the larger ones in the area and is an endless maze of rows offering anything that you might want to acquire: mountains of chilis, live turkeys (who may have also been shopping as they were wandering around quite a bit), fresh produce, handicrafts for the gringos, medicinal herbs, and tons of household goods.

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Playa Zicatela--photo by Lisa

Having endured several cold and harsh winters in Boston, I have begun to understand the appeal of heading south for the winter. After a particularly freezing walk home I booked my ticket to Oaxaca, Mexico. Oaxaca is a beautiful city in the southern part of Mexico and I have always wanted to go there. It is a well known culinary capital and is also home to lots of folk artists. After researching more about the region I decided that I also wanted to go to the coast for a couple of days and Puerto Escondido seemed like the perfect destination to soak up the sun and get away from it all. Puerto Escondido means “hidden port” in Spanish. These days, though, it is becoming more of a destination even though it can be kind of treacherous to get there.

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Liberacion de Tortugas--photo by Lisa

While walking along the main drag in Puerto Escondido in Southern Mexico, I started to see notices in a lot of the hotel windows proclaiming “Ahora Liberación de tortugas 5:45″.  I am not a Spanish speaker, but after reading this my imagination started to run wild. I pictured poor little turtles being held against their will in shackles by evil tyrants. They are actually being “liberated” by an organization called Fundación Selva Negra that is dedicated to helping protect the survival of three types of turtles: Tortuga Golfina, Tortuga Laud, and Tortuga Prieta. Continue Reading »

Okay, so some people blog about things of greater consequence — vacations or…beer — but unfortunately I lead a relatively boring life, so here are some of the places in Boston to get that ultimate cheap street food: the humble burrito. This is more for the newcomer or visitor to Boston than a resident, so I will not be listing any of the national chains (eat local folks). A further note, if you’re from the West Coast or elsewhere you may have the idea that Mexican food on the East Coast is terrible, which might or might not be true, you’re just going to have to deal either way. Also be warned, these are my picks, no one else’s.

1) El Pelon: El Pelon Taqueria, 92 Peterborough St. (between Jersey and Kilmarnock Sts.), in the Fenway is one of my all-time favorite burrito places outside of the West Coast or Southwest. Nothing is better on a summer afternoon than hitting up El Pelon before heading over to Fenway Park to watch the Sox. Lines can be long, especially on game days, but they move fast, and if you move faster you can snag a seat. Very good salsa and fresh ingredients. I’ve been told the fish tacos are very good, and they’re on my list for next time. Pelon has the added benefit of being significantly cheaper (and more filling) than anything comparable you’ll find inside the Park or on the nearby Yawkey Way, so you have more cash for beer and peanuts.

2) Anna’s Taqueria: Anna’s, at various locations throughout the city, is right behind Fenway Park on the list of places I consider my church.

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Like involuntary cocaine-fueled drinking binges with heavily armed Mexican cops?  Mountain gorges deeper and longer than the Grand Canyon that you’ve never even heard of just a hop, skip, and a jump from the US? Psychopathic hillbillies out to restore their clan honor by killing anyone remotely related to/in the drug business with their family enemies?  Hospitable people willing to share what little they have in an unearthly natural setting?   Indigenous tribal rituals crossed with Roman Catholicism that lead to extremely drunken men in devil masks beating equally drunk passersby with giant penises during Holy Week? Continue Reading »