La Familia Surrealista Xilitla, Mexico
30_6_2008
30_6_2008
Las Pozas
The main attraction in Xilitla is Las Pozas, built by Edward James, the man Salvador Dalí called the greatest of all the surrealists. If you are ever there, plan to stay at El Castillo, built by Plutarco Gastelum, and run by his daughter Gaby.
L’Observateur : Summer Solstice Edition
Sunday afternoon was the summer solstice and, being only a few kilometers north of the Tropic of Cancer, the sun was directly overhead. The night before at the bar, Ed(uardo) had the bright idea to spelunk a certain cave where the sunlight would shine through a hole at the surface and illuminate the entire inside. Karl(os) postulated off the top of his head that the approximate time of this happening would be about half past one in the afternoon – and as it turned out, he was exactly right. Only one day prior I had obtained a toney four-way Energizer head lamp at the Wal-Mart in Matehuala, so I was all in.We met at 12:30 and took off with two ropes, three dogs, and five men. After hiking about 30 minutes straight up, we dove about 50 meters down a spiraling cave hole, meandering our way through four-foot high holes and around abandoned mine shafts which are hundreds of feet deep – without safety lines. One misstep on the chalky cave floor and basically, you’re dead. Try it for the first time while carrying a 50-foot rope over your left shoulder and a camera bag over your right. Admittedly, I was terrified. No matter, we made it to the cavern and the light came through on cue, creating about an eight-foot wide beam of bright blue light on the cave floor.
It was like a scene from an Indiana Jones movie, except afterward we went to the art gallery and watched Karl(os)’s girlfriend perform an Octavio Paz poem about (metaphorically) dying in the desert – while scantily clad in some kind of weird Mexican Indian costume. It looked like a Day of the Dead celebration had thrown up all over her.
L’Observateur : Real de Catorce Edition
Darryl Doggins climbed with us up the Cerro Grande. To celebrate, he found and ate a donkey hoof.
In France, you can buy Activia yogurt in tasty flavors like prune and rhubarb. In the United States, you can’t. Luckily, Mexico also favors prune-flavored Activia while also adding a wild-card sabor: papaya.
A bottom-line Mexican business plan: Ice cream and internet.
Fireflies in the Mexican jungle burn a brighter green.
Beaux Neato would be a great name for a Mexican imports store in Paris. You can have it.
La Photo du Jour 271
Ethnic CareAisle 24: The Place to Be If You Happen to Be an
Incontinent Black Man in Need of a Hot Pocket
Austin, Texas, USA
14_6_2008
L’Observateur : Texraffic Edition
Traffic lights here take an incredibly long time to change in spite of the fact that vehicles are moving incredibly fast.
A lot of streets here have four or five lanes, while Parisians make do with two. Traffic lights in France run faster and the cars move slower, yet somehow their traffic flow is more efficient. Go figure.
I was nearly killed by a fast-moving vehicle four times in the first 24 hours I was here.
There are tons of potholes in the roads and in the bike lanes, evoking the image of a crumbling empire.
I now find huge cloverleaf overpasses strange and unsettling.
Right on red.
A lot of streets here have four or five lanes, while Parisians make do with two. Traffic lights in France run faster and the cars move slower, yet somehow their traffic flow is more efficient. Go figure.
I was nearly killed by a fast-moving vehicle four times in the first 24 hours I was here.
There are tons of potholes in the roads and in the bike lanes, evoking the image of a crumbling empire.
I now find huge cloverleaf overpasses strange and unsettling.
Right on red.
L’Observateur : Snowqueen of Texas Edition
Snowqueen of Texas, left Paris in a cloud of smoke
They say she may be beaten, but I know that she’s not broke
– Mamas and the Papas
They say she may be beaten, but I know that she’s not broke
– Mamas and the Papas
One of the first things I noticed about Texas was that the birds here sound different from those in France.
At the moment, it’s all about swimming, al pastor tacos, margs, ice cream sandwiches, bbq, and friends.
There are above-ground power lines everywhere.
Texans are sunburned.
Apparently, you can pop popcorn with cell phones. Leave it to the French:
L’Observateur : TX vs FR Edition
Texas and France love each other so much that there is a miniature Eiffel Tower in Austin at the corner of MLK and Lamar.
When the Texas state flag hangs limp, it looks quite a bit like France’s. Blue, white, red.
In France, citizens control the government. In the USA, the government controls the citizens.
Texas is bigger than France. Supposedly, everything is bigger here.
Texans like slogans, including: Everything’s Bigger in Texas, Texas: It’s Like a Whole Other Country, Don’t Mess With Texas, and Hook ’Em... and then there’s our favorite: Indulge Your Delusions of Grandeur, which works for both Texas and France.
When the Texas state flag hangs limp, it looks quite a bit like France’s. Blue, white, red.
In France, citizens control the government. In the USA, the government controls the citizens.
Texas is bigger than France. Supposedly, everything is bigger here.
Texans like slogans, including: Everything’s Bigger in Texas, Texas: It’s Like a Whole Other Country, Don’t Mess With Texas, and Hook ’Em... and then there’s our favorite: Indulge Your Delusions of Grandeur, which works for both Texas and France.
L’Observateur : Newark Airport Edition
The Newark airport code is EWR. There is no Taco Bell in EWR. I was really craving a taco supreme when I got off the plane.
I saw a kid wearing a crimson T-shirt with white lettering which read “Hahvahd.”
There is tons of Snapple, fried food, and ice cream for sale. I watched a fat man wipe McDonald’s french fry grease on his pants leg.
Being able to suddenly understand the witless banter of those around me is, like – ohmigod – totally annoying and stuff. I prefer the witless banter of French people which I can understand very little of, and I usually imagine they are talking about philosophy, art, or the upshot of socialist democracy.
I saw a kid wearing a crimson T-shirt with white lettering which read “Hahvahd.”
There is tons of Snapple, fried food, and ice cream for sale. I watched a fat man wipe McDonald’s french fry grease on his pants leg.
Being able to suddenly understand the witless banter of those around me is, like – ohmigod – totally annoying and stuff. I prefer the witless banter of French people which I can understand very little of, and I usually imagine they are talking about philosophy, art, or the upshot of socialist democracy.
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