Not So Secret Secrets

On Tuesday, Alrica and I took a "Secrets of Puebla" walking tour. The things we saw are so secret that anyone could do them whenever they want (well, during business hours at least.) I am going to reveal many of the secrets to you. And you're welcome to tell others. Let this be a lesson to Puebla, don't trust Erich with your secrets.

If it's on a wall on the street, it can't be that secret, right?

One of the oldest buildings in Puebla still around today is the Franciscan monastery. The first Spaniards to arrive in New Spain (as the colony was called then) were soldiers. The soldiers thought the best way to interact with the indigenous people was to kill them. The next set of Spaniards to arrive were the Franciscan monks and priests who strongly felt there were much better forms of interaction with the indigenous people. They built their monastery, called the Franciscan convent, in the 1530s, just east of a river that ran right through the heart of the valley where the new city was growing. That building still stands. Also, the priests named the river, unsurprisingly, the San Francisco River. Beside the river, they planted gardens and grew food.

As more Spanish colonists arrived, they starting building their city on the west side of the river. The east side was more prone to flooding. So a division occurred with the Spanish on the west side and the indigenous population living on the east side. But the convent was already built, so the Franciscan friars stayed on the east.

We went into the convent building. Here, among other relics, we saw this statuette of the Virgin Mary.

Is this the face that launched a lot of conquering?

In legend it is said that Hernán Cortez carried a small statue of the Madonna with him as he conquistadored his way through present day Mexico. (You're right, conquistador is not a verb, but English is pretty pliable. You understand me.) Our guide told us this statue is that statue. We were looking at the very statue carried by Cortez, and after the wars, he gave it to the Tlaxcalan people who had been his primary allies in the region. Eventually, they gave it to the Franciscan priests of Puebla.

A bit of research reveals that this may not be true. In Mexico City, there is a statue of the Madonna in the Basilica of the Gaudalupe. That is also purported to be the very one carried by Cortez. And maybe neither of them is the true statue.

Notice the double headed eagle with the crown surrounding the container for the madonna. That's the double headed eagle associated with the Hapsburgs. King Charles I of Spain was also King Charles V of the Austro-Hungarian empire (and he was Holy Roman Emporer. He had a lot going on.) The decoration honors that particular Charles.

The Church of San Francisco

Today there is a church in front of the convent. The church dates from the 1700s, which is impressively old, but a mere child beside the convent.

Remember how I mentioned the San Francisco River? Well, if you come to Puebla today, you won't find said river. But where did it go? Into pipes. Yes, I'm serious.

In the early days of Puebla, the big problem with the river was flooding. As time went on, they controlled the floods better (more on that later.) But the river was still a big problem. It was making people sick. The San Francisco River was terribly polluted. So in the 1960s, the city decided to entomb the river. The water all runs through pipes and a major boulevard was built on top of what had been the course of the river. It is called the Boulevard of the Heroes of May 5 (or Bulevar Heroes de 5 de Mayo.) Before the piping of the river, there had been five bridges which crossed it. Four were knocked down. One remains, but it is under the boulevard and today is a tourist site (one of the secrets, I guess because it's underground.) In fact, it was just buried when they build the road. But it was rediscovered in 1999 and then in 2014 it was restored for tourism.

Puente de Bubas

This remaining bridge is called Puente de Bubas. It has had other names in its long life, as it was the second bridge built to cross the river, way back in the 1550s. But the name that stuck, the Bubas Bridge refers to one of its important uses in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century. There was a hospital on the east side of the river and the bridge was used to transport sick people across the river to the hospital. The word "bubas" means boils or blisters or pox. They are some bumpy lesions on the skin of the infected. Some believe the bubas were caused by bubonic plague, others believe the disease involved was syphillis.

Water once flowed through this

The other "secret" we visited was Paseo de Cinco de Mayo. It's a tunnel, putting it underground, and thus making it part of the secret tour. Remember I mentioned the trouble of controlling water and floods. This was a pretty consistent problem. The indigenous people had dealt with it before the Spanish arrived. One of the main solutions the indigenous people used was to build canals, tunnels, culverts which would direct the water downhill in controlled channels. The Spanish liked this method and expanded on it. That was the origin of the Paseo de 5 de Mayo. (Cinco means 5.) But why is it named for May fifth? Mainly, marketing. There is evidence that the tunnel was used as an armory at various times, the military would store weapons and ammunition in it. But there are stories (without any evidence) of the tunnel being used by Zaragoza's troops during the battle with the French that I mentioned in my last post. That battle is the Battle of May Fifth or the Battle of Cinco de Mayo. Saying "come see an old tunnel for water" probably sells fewer tickets than saying "come see a tunnel used to defeat the French in the most famous battle in Puebla's history."

It's a long tunnel

We walked about half a kilometer through the tunnel and came out near a high viewpoint. Here we could see much of Puebla below us. Also, beside the park was a stadium. We asked our guide what sport was played there. He told us it's main use was for the military lottery. In Mexico, not every male has to serve in the military. Instead, they have a lottery. They bring 8000 eligible men into the stadium and then choose 1500 of them by lottery. Those chosen have to serve, the other 6500 do not.

1500 out of 8000 is 18.75%

After the tour we visited the Biblioteca Palafoxiana. It is a public library (now a museum) that was founded in the 1646. It is the first public library in the Americas. Naturally, one cannot touch the books in there anymore. Still, Alrica was very interested in the techniques they would have used to make them and bind them. There were signs to tell you which subject areas were in which stacks, all in Latin. The woodwork in that room was amazing.

Old books! Very very old books!

Across the street from the library is the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception, usually called the Cathedral of Puebla. This was a pretty interesting stop. Not only because we were allowed to take pictures (without flash.) Like many cathedrals we've visited, this one was in the shape of a cross. But there were some key differences.

The High Altar of the Cathedral of Puebla

Imagine a cross like you would see on the top of a church. The vertical piece has the base at the bottom and the apex at the top. The horizontal piece is shorter with a left side and right side. In most cathedrals, the doors where you enter are at the base. But here, we entered from the right end of the horizontal piece. Possibly during mass they have people enter from the base, I'm not sure. But the fact that there were even doors on the right side was an interesting change.

The organ in the Cathedral of Puebla

Another major difference is that the part corresponding to the "vertical" piece was much wider than the part corresponding to the horizontal piece. It was probably four times wider. And it was built into two aisles for walking. Near the base, the center was taken up by the massive organ. In the intersection of the vertical and horizontal pieces, there were pews. Just beyond that was something called the high altar. It's literally high, bring on a raised cylinder above the level of the main floor. It was intricately decorated with arches and statues and all the pieces you would need to preach from an altar. But this wasn't the end of the church.

The Altar of the Kings

Usually, when you enter at the base of the cross, you can see the main altar which is at the apex of the cross. But here you cannot. You see the high altar, but there is another gorgeous altar beyond that. To see that one, you must walk around the high altar. Then you reach the Altar of the Kings, dedicated to the kings of Spain who were considered the patrons of the cathedral.

This put me in a bit of a philosophical frame of mind. If I had not previously visited other cathedrals, I wouldn't realize this one was built so differently. You know the saying "Ignorance is bliss." Well, I'm not sure about that. But I do think ignorance can breed certainty. When you've had a narrow experience of the world, it is easy to conclude that your experience is what is normal or best and to assume that things that contradict your experience either don't exist or are just bad. Like when I tell Alrica she is my best wife, as sweet as that is, she does realize that the set of all wives I've ever had has a cardinality of one. So maybe it isn't as complimentary as it comes across.

Do you think this is Jesus gesturing "Whatevs?"

I was talking to a man from Britain and he was telling me a story. He was in the United States and someone said to him, "Oh, you speak British English." And he was offended, because, from his point of view, English is British English. American English is the oddity. I disagreed. American English, British English, Australian English, any English is just as old and original as any other. They all started being spoken at the same time. Yes, they evolved to have their differences, but they were all spoken by English language speakers in a continuous trail from the early days of Vikings conquering Germanic tribes and the Normans conquering their descendants in turn. Is the true English dependent on which plot of land it is being spoken on? i don't see how that could matter.

Delaware Punch. Delaware? That's not normal, am I right?

Everyone's normal is as normal, to them, as everyone else's normal is to those people. Every normal is equally normal. It's hard to wrap your head around. No matter how strange a custom or language or way of life may seem to me or you, it is normal to the people who have always had that custom or language or way of life.

And that may be one of the secret of the world. Except, like Puebla's secrets, it's accessible to anyone.

A City Called "Town"

Imagine you founded a town and everyone called it Town. Super creative, right? Like naming your dog "dog" or your daughter "girl child" or refusing to name your car forcing your family members to refer to it as The Car That Shall Not Be Named.

The trees are cut in the shapes of birdhouses!

Now, further imagine that you built in a halfway spot that was between the main port of a colony and the capital city of the colony, giving goods caravans a place to stop, stay, sell, buy, and rest. Good spot, right? But because it is so excellently placed, the town grows. People move in, new colonists, indigenous people, people from smaller nearby villages. The town grows until it becomes a city. But what do you do about the name? Everyone still calls it Town. Do you tell everyone, "Hey! Stop that! We're changing the name to City." You know, an Istanbul, Not Constantinople moment. Or do you just shrug and say, "Okay, call it what you want. It's fine, it's all fine."

Pretty colors

This isn't just some hypothetical, dreamed up scenario. This is a vastly simplified sketch of the history of Puebla, Mexico. It starts, according to legend, with a dream. The year is 1530. The place is New Spain (which is present day Mexico.) A bishop wakes from a dream. He writes a letter to the Queen of Spain about his dream. She needs to start a new town in New Spain, halfway between the port city of Veracruz and the main city, Mexico City. But the good bishop has had a dream in which he saw the place, exactly where the new town should be. How did he know this was the place? Because in his dream he saw angels descend from heaven and trace out the major roads of the town.

Chickens for sale in the market

The queen agrees about the need for the town. (Did she agree that probably angels showed the bishop where to put it? That's not as clear.) So she says, go forth, my bishop, find this place and start this new town. He does, setting out from his monastery with several other priests and monks. And around 15 miles later, he finds the very spot, or so he says, in his dream. And because the angels guided him to it, the new town is named Puebla de los Ángeles, because puebla means town and you can figure out what the rest of the words mean. It is Town of the Angels. (This is about 250 years before Los Angeles, California is founded. So the good bishop didn't steal the name from the north.)

I don't know what kind of business Karmona is, but they have a beautiful mural.

The town was founded in 1531, and a year later, it was doing so well that the queen designates it a city! Hooray! But she didn't change the name. It doesn't become the City of the Angels, but rather, the City of the Town of the Angels. And most people just call it Puebla, so it is the city of Town.

Decorative Arch along Calle de Los Dulces or Sweets Street

Let's fast forward a few centuries. In the 1860s, France invades Mexico, you know, like you do when your an imperial power. There's a major battle in Puebla in which the French forces are defeated by the Mexican defenders. The Mexicans are led by Ignacio Zaragoza and they win this decisive battle on May 5, 1862. In honor of the victory, Benito Juárez declares Cinco de Mayo a Mexican holiday. What's more, he changes the name of the city, dropping those angels and substituting a human. It is now Puebla de Zaragoza, which is still its name today. But like before, everyone just calls it Puebla. (And now it has over three million people in it. That's a big town.)

Church of St. Christopher

Alrica and I had a lot of fun exploring the Historic Center of Puebla, which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Some of its architecture goes back to the 16th century, not too long after it was founded.

Entrance to Capillo del Rosario

We visited the Capillo del Rosario, which is the chapel of the Virgin of the Rosary. The interior is covered in gold. There are all these amazing statues. Normally, I don't take picture inside of places of worship, unless they indicate it is okay. Here the rule was "just don't use the flash," so I didn't use the flash.

Wall behind the main altar

Arches and Gold (but not the Golden Arches)

We visited a market that was both unsurprising and surprising. The unsurprising parts: You could buy fruits, beans, meats, vegetables, bread, and even a few home goods. The surprising parts: There were two different shrines inside the marketplace. If you need to pray to the Virgin Mary to improve your haggling, you don't have far to go. Another surprise, there was an internet cafe inside the market.

I can buy and pray in the same place? Talk about convenience!

We went by the Barrio del Artista, the Artist's neighborhood. Here there are studios/galleries of several local sculptors and painters. There is also a nearby Market for Artisans called El Parián. There we saw a snake in the street! Okay, it was painted cobblestones, but it sounds more dramatic if I leave that part out.

Hiss, hiss

In the Artist's Neighborhood, we also came across this statue of three naked people. But we came from the backside first. I wondered, "Why do I see a man's bare bottom but also a face?"

You see butts and a face, right?

Walking around the front side, I discovered the "face" is a mask being held by the central figure, the woman, who is also holding a serpentine monster in her other hand. Don't mess with her.

It makes more sense now. Not much more.

Many of the homes and businesses in the Historic Center are brightly colored, streets lined with a spectrum of row homes. One of the most brightly colored is Callejón de los Sapos, meaning the Alley of the Frogs. (It's also called South Sixth Street, but where's the fun in that?) It's an open air market with lovely buildings and crafts. And yes, there is frog decor going on too. Yes, there are frogs in its history too. When the river would flood, this street would be full of frogs.

One end of the Alley of the Frogs

Frog on a Wall

Frog Fountain

For lunch we had famous, traditional foods of Puebla. Perhaps the most famous in Puebla and throughout Mexico is mole poblano. I should note, poblano means "of Puebla". Like someone from New York is a New Yorker and someone from Venice is a Venetian and someone from Reno is, I don't know. Are we Renoites? Renovians? Renovators? The point is that someone or something from Puebla is Poblano. This includes poblano peppers and mole poblano. Mole (pronounced MO-lay, not MOHL) is renown for including chocolate as part of the sauce. You can taste the chocolate, though it isn't sweet. But the taste of the peppers is even stronger than the chocolate. The other traditional food we had was pipian verde. Pipian is a sauce also made with poblano peppers, but it includes ground pumpkin seeds. There are two traditional varieties: verde (green) and roja (red). We chose the green. Each was served over a seasoned chicken thigh and leg. I know Alrica found them too spicy, because I ended up eating one and a half lunches. There are worse problems that one and a half delicious lunches.

Mole poblano

Pipian Verde

Outside of the Historic Center, we passed by an advertisement for a McFlurry at McDonalds with which we were unfamiliar. McFlurry Sponch! What word sounds like a more appetizing foodstuff than "sponch?" This is up there with schmaltz and headcheese. Way to make me hesitate, ad!

Now you get your Golden Arches

We will definitely have to return. There is still a lot left in the Historic Center we didn't see, including the oldest library in the New World (which is much cooler sounding than the newest library in the Old World.) As you might guess, that's a big draw for Alrica. So we will have to go back.

Reminded me of Buddhist prayer flags, except they are not Buddhist prayer flags.

But truthfully, we have to go back anyway. Because the Historic Center of Puebla is beautiful, fun, and extremely cool. And it doesn't have any ego about all of its wonders. You know, it's just the Town.

Celebrating Transitions

If you are reading this, you're welcome to do so. But in my heart, as I write this, I know this post is meant for my son.

We just enjoyed our second wedding of the summer. It was a fantastic affair. My favorite part was the vows which were heartfelt, emotional, indicative of a deep love, and in one case, quite funny.

The wedding got me thinking. You see, our son came to attend the wedding of his cousin. (Like me, he has a lot of cousins, though he has only seven first cousins to my eight, but when you expand beyond that, he has all of mine and all of his mother's side. So he's got me beat.) This made me contemplative, perhaps even philosophical. I was trying to explain to my son why having these happy occasions matter, why we want to attend them, what they really represent.

My son with his mother at the wedding. (It was very informal.)

Of course, he's not a parent, he doesn't see it the same way I do. To him, a graduation ceremony is a long, arduous process. In his words, "boring." And I admit that most of the graduation ceremony is watching other people cross the stage, hearing names of people I don't know, seeing them shake the hands of deans and provosts that I don't know. But for those seven seconds that it is my child crossing the stage, that his name (or her name) is announced, and when he is shaking the hands of strangers, that makes it all worth it to me. The entire proceeding seems wonderful.

Of course a wedding is even more eventful to a parent. That is an entire ceremony (and party afterward) dedicated to your child (and one other person, but still a lot more concentrated than a graduation.)

Why are these events so important to us? I think it is about our shared human experience. We all have finite lives. We grow, first up, and then old. And along the way we have other people who mean so much to us. We want to celebrate our shared experience of growth.

When my kids were living at home, I saw them growing everyday. But it was incremental, such a tiny change from one day to the next. Then you look at your kids one day and marvel that they are so different than they were a year ago, or a decade ago, or since they were babies. But special moments make us take note of how much they have grown and changed. We build rituals around them, we call them rites of passage. Why? I believe that there is something deep in our psyche that needs to mark the changes, to celebrate what those who mean the most to us have become and to imagine what they will become in the future. A graduation marks the end of one phase of life and the start of a new adventure. A wedding is the fusion of two beautiful souls into one family, ready to face the future together.

These are the sorts of things we can't celebrate everyday. If we did, they wouldn't feel momentous, they wouldn't feel special. Each of us only gets a few such ritualistic moments of grandeur. And that's why it is so important to attend when you can, to celebrate when given the chance.

This summer we got to attend two different weddings, to see two separate couples become two beautiful families. And I imagine some of the wonders they have in store in their futures. Maybe they will have children and continue this cycle of rites. Even as the world changes, as society reshapes itself in each generation, there are some things so intrinsically human that they repeat.

I think much of this passed right over my son's head. He's not yet at a point that he feels the joyous explosion of humanity in such events. One day, maybe he will, though probably not before another graduation comes his way. When it does, I hope he will accept the "boredom" of the moment to let us savor the transition and celebrate him. Because he is a part of me and a part of his mother in a way I can't explain to him in words. I'll try my best to explain it in behaviors, actions, and love.

Update our packing

After nearly a year traveling the world, we are back in the US for two weddings. It is great to see some of our family and friends but also an opportunity to think about what has been working and what hasn't. For those who don't remember, we posted this last year. 

So here are our changes:

Electronics: It was time to get a new computer for me which then led to me assessing all of the peripherals. My new computer has USB-c ports as well as an HDMI port and we are saying goodbye to USB 3.0. This allowed me to get rid of some of my adapters but I also purchased a new mouse and flash drive that worked with USB-C. Check out how small that flash drive is and I love that it has both USB-c and USB 3.0 ends. Flash drives make printing plane tickets or other paperwork easy. 

 

A purchase of a new Universal Adapter will make it easier to charge multiple things at once and this one has lots of spots to plug in.  

For flights with seat-back entertainment systems, we picked up a bluetooth adaptor that plugs into the stereo port and then allows me to watch movies with my own earbuds.

 

Clothing: When you only have three outfits, they wear out a bit faster than usual so now was a good time to change some stuff out. Two of my shirts were a heavier cotton which was super comfortable. However, that meant that in places where they don't have clothing dryers (which is most of the world), they dry too slowly and end up smelling mildewed. I'm swapping them out with quicker dry shirts.  

Our plan is to stay in warm places from here on out so we picked up a couple pairs of shorts with zipper pockets too. I love the extra security! 

Finally, fingernail clippers get dull and my research led me to this pair that should last much longer. I love how sharp they are!  

In a few days, we head off to Puebla, Mexico. What else should we think about for updating our packs?  

 

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A Fistful of Goldsteins

You remember the show Full House where there was a father with three daughters and his brother-in-law and his best friend all living in one house. That's six people! But we are going to exceed that soon. We will be higher than a full house, we'll be right up there with a straight flush.

We are entering Goldstein Chaos Weekend. This name is only one-third accurate, but I picked it because it sounds dramatic. There will be Goldsteins! Probably not so much chaos and it is only questionably fair to say weekend. But Goldstein Togetherness Multiple Days doesn't sound very exciting, right? I mean, if you had to choose between two books, one titled Goldstein Chaos Weekend and one called Goldstein Togetherness Multiple Days, which would you choose? I think only the tamest of readers would choose the latter.

My brother has a house. Also, he had three kids. Wrong verb tense. He still has three kids. Let's say it this way, his domicile housed three kids. At this point, those kids are grown (one in college, two beyond college) and not living in the house. But it is still capable of holding many people. And this coming week it will.

Already it has my brother, my mother, my father, and my aunt. By the way, in the interest of full and honest disclosure, I should say that my aunt is my mother's sister. So if you were to look at her driver's license you would complain, "Hey, she's not a Goldstein." You're right. Her surname is not now, and never has been, Goldstein. But that is a minor detail. She's family, so Goldstein Chaos Weekend does also encompass those without the last name Goldstein. It's a lot like how Yellowstone National Park has a lot of stones that aren't yellow. Nobody would throw all of those stones out, right?

But let me back up a bit. My brother's eldest is getting married. On Tuesday. (Already you can see how the "weekend" part of Goldstein Chaos Weekend is also a lie.) That's what's bringing in so many Goldsteins (and technically non-Goldsteins) at the same time to the same place.

Yesterday, I picked up my parents and my aunt at the Denver International Airport. They do not live in the same place and they did not come in on the same flight. But, in a burst of beautiful consideration, they all found flights that arrived within 30 minutes of each. At present, Alrica and I are housesitting for three English Bulldogs at a house not that far from the airport. So it was convenient for me to pick everyone up and then bring them to my brother's house.

This is an equilibrium in terms of numbers of people. He had three kids, now he has three guests. But it is not an equilibrium in terms of numbers of bedrooms. My parents are sharing a bedroom, so there is still one bedroom formerly used for a child available. That's convenient because the house sit that Alrica and I are doing ends tonight. Then we are going to my brother's house to occupy that last bedroom.

But wait, there's more! More, more, more Goldsteins. Tomorrow, my son is flying in from Oregon. If you feel a sudden trepidation, good for you. You've been keeping count. You're saying, "Hold on, Erich! Aren't all the bedrooms accounted for?" Yes, dear reader, they are. But my brother has set up an extra bed in an area of the house he can use as an office. But it won't be an office during Goldstein Chaos Weekend!

A natural question is "How many Goldsteins does it take to change a lightbulb?" That depends on the lightbulb. Let's not go there. The other natural question is "How many wonders can one cavern hold?" (Ariel asked this exact question in The Little Mermaid. But here, let's replace wonders with Goldsteins (and a non-Goldstein who counts anyway) and replace cavern with house. Well, we are going to test that during Goldstein Chaos Weekend. (Which will only have all of us from a Sunday through a Wednesday, which is not a weekend. But I already told you the title was a lie. Get over it.)

Sadly we won't get to push this to the absolute limit. There is one Goldstein we don't get to squeeze in. My daughter just landed in Dushanbe, Tajikistan. (If you are like me or most Americans, you've never heard of Dushanbe, and probably not heard of Tajikistan either.) She is spending her summer in Dushanbe having received a Critical Language Scholarship. She will have intense training in the Persian language. There are three forms of Persian: Tajiki (spoken in Tajikistan), Dari (spoken in Afghanistan), and Farsi (spoken in Iran). Her program will focus on Farsi (because it is a critical language that America needs for diplomacy) and Tajiki (because she is living in Tajikistan with a Tajik family.) Anyway, being in Central Asia is a pretty good reason to not be at a wedding in Central North America.

But just in case you thought my claim about Chaos was entirely puffery, wait until you hear about this coincidence. My brother had a tag on his front door yesterday from the city's public works department. It informed him that in order to maintain and update the water system in his neighborhood, they were going to be turning off the water on Tuesday at 8 AM for approximately 6 hours. In all the years he has lived in this house, this has never happened before. What are the chances that the day the city chooses for water main replacement would be the very same day that his son is getting married, when he is hosting a house full of Goldsteins, and presumably, people will want showers.

Boom! I deliver Goldsteins (and a non-Goldstein) for Goldstein Chaos Weekend. The city delivers the chaos for Goldstein Chaos Weekend. And you just have to accept as poetic license the weekend part of Goldstein Chaos Weekend.

It's fantastic that we get to have these happy family occasions to get together, to see each other, to make new amazing memories. So I say to Goldstein Chaos Weekend, bring it! I'm ready. I'm eager. And I've been dealt a straight flush.

Booking

In this life that Alrica and I lead, when we talk about booking, we are usually referring to making a reservation for lodging or transportation. But here, when I title this post "Booking" I'm talking about something very different.

I read a book!

I recognize that is not entirely monumental. Quite the contrary, most people reading that sentence would shrug and say, "Um, good for you... I guess." I see why that might be your reaction. So let me elaborate on that statement.

I read a physical, hold it in your hand, ink letters printed on paper pages that you must flip by touching and separating from the next pages, book.

This, also, may seem anticlimactic to many. But in that same life described above which is shared by Alrica and me, a physical book is a luxury. Paper is heavy! Books are bulky. We are not traveling with books. So while I do get plenty of exposure to the "written" word, it is in either e-book or audiobook form. Sure, sometimes we stop by a bookstore, but we aren't planning to buy a book. Again, we'd have to carry it. We also sometimes visit public libraries, though mostly out of curiosity. The lack of books in English (and lack of permanent address with which we could get a library card) means borrowing a book is extremely improbable.

So, how do I happen to be reading a book? Well, I have a cousin.

Those of you who read about the wedding we attended a few weeks ago already know I have a cousin, multiple cousins. I do have a lot of cousins. If we limit ourselves to first cousins, I only have eight, six on my mother's side and two on my father's side. But if we consider nth cousins m-times removed, then I have way more than eight.

Stopping to think about this mathematically, if I just let n and m get large enough, a huge proportion of the people on this planet are my nth cousin m-times removed. But even limiting this to cousins that I have met, the number, while an insignificant portion of the world population, is pretty large by more localized standards.

Back to the cousin who relates to the book, who shall be called Michael. (Because his name is Michael.) This cousin is my first cousin once removed. He is the son of my first cousin (and that first cousin was at the wedding, but his son, Michael, the first cousin once removed, was not.)

Michael is a writer, though primarily not of books. His profession is as a comedy writer. He's written for a variety of companies, like Nintendo and IGN, and also a host of late-night shows and their hosts. (I feel very accomplished having used two forms of the word "host" in that sentence. Michael would probably have found a funnier way to say it.)

Point being, Michael is a brilliant writer of comedy. And while I said he is not primarily a writer of books (or in truth I said primarily not of books and I am trying to sketch this out in symbolic logic to see if in this instance those mean the same thing) he did write a book. I mean recently. Right now, he is taking a hiatus from writing for late night TV to promote his book and in an unironic twist, he will be on a late night show later this week as part of that endeavor. You can see him on Thursday, June 26 on Late Night with Seth Meyers.

In case you fear I am digging my way into a very deep rabbit hole or finding tangents to tangents, let me assure you I am not. Most of you have probably already figured out that the book I read, the physical book I read, is Michael's new book called Good Game, No Rematch. (Look, I even linked it! I'm so nice to my readers.) It's kind of a memoir going through various stages of Michael's life, but much of it is told in terms of video games. Michael is a major fan of, player of, and collector of, video games.

Personally, I am not that into video games. For example, right now on my phone I have five games, three of which came preloaded with my operating system and which I have not yet ever opened. The other two are KROPKI which is a puzzle game that you could totally play with pen and paper and Best Cryptic Crosswords, because I like the cleverness needed to solve the clues. If I have any video games saved on my laptop, they must have come with the operating system and I don't even know what they are.

The downside to my general disinterest in the antics of Mario, Sonic, and a variety of other protagonists I had never heard of before reading their names in the pages of Michael's book was that this important aspect of his memoir was esoteric to me. What was fascinating was hearing Michael's take on his life. Admitted, I wasn't around Michael much during his adult life, but in a good portion of his childhood, I would see him regularly. When he talks about his dad or mom or sister or brother, I know all of them personally. No surprise, they are also my cousins! (Okay, his mom is my cousin by marriage, cousin-in-law if you will.)

If you are into video games or comedy or video games and comedy (I could have probably saved myself words by writing video games and/or comedy, but instead I used even more words writing this parenthetical) then you might enjoy Michael's book a lot. He's very funny and I assume his obsession fueled video game anecdotes are totally on point. I have no reason to doubt him.

Regardless of the author and the themes, there was this fantastic experience of reading a book. I like e-books and audiobooks a lot. But there is something to the experience of holding a book in your hands, letting your eyes traverse the page, smelling the paper. That's a nice sensory experience to have.

The hydrant has nothing to do with the rest of this post. But look at that beauty! I couldn't resist.

Sometimes people ask me if there are things I miss by lacking the more traditional home life or being out of the United States. Usually I think about things like the huge variety of foods we can get in the States or having an entire spice rack to choose from when cooking or being able to express myself fully in the native tongue. I forget about the little experiences until they are brought back to me. But there are some of those small things that I can live without, but wouldn't it be nice... Like reading a book. A physical book.

Thanks for that, Michael.

What Democracy Looks Like

I try, in a general way, not to get too political. Certainly there are things I believe are right, like the Rule of Law or respecting human dignity, and I write about those when timely. But politics itself is too divisive. Anyone who agrees with me will nod their heads, smile, and go on thinking what they thought before. Anyone who disagrees with me will shake their heads, frown, and go on thinking what they thought before. If the movements of heads were the ultimate goal, then there would be a point to posting more about politics. But it's not, and so there isn't.

Even today, when I am going to post about the No Kings protest in Denver, I don't consider this a political blog post. But I'm sure many people would say that's exactly what it is. But for me, it is more about feeling a little bit less powerless. This is not to say I feel powerful or even empowered. Rather, I feel power-minimal without being completely powerless.

Today we attended the No Kings protest in Denver with my brother and his girlfriend. I have to say it was heartening. There were thousands of people in downtown Denver, filling the lawns from the State Capitol Building to the civic government buildings and an entire park in between. While those throngs of people had a variety of methods to express their frustrations, and probably different lists of what specifically frustrates them, at the core we were all in agreement: The current course that the United States is taking is disturbing.

Just one view of one tiny piece of the crowds

For some it is extrajudicial arrests and deportations. For some it is taking away legal status for those who followed the rules. For some it is denying equal protections under the law to all our citizens regardless of color, ethnicity, gender identity, or sexual orientation. For some it is impractical and chaotic economic policies. For some it is a huge increase in debt. For some it is using the military to intimidate protestors or take on law enforcement roles. There is plenty to choose from. But ultimately, there are a lot of things going on in America today that point toward authoritarianism, autocracy, and the erosion of democratic principles. Personally, I feel that many who took an oath to uphold the Constitution are not upholding the Constitution. And if the rule of law withers away, then everything goes with it. Without the rule of law, no one has rights, just privileges that can be revoked at any time.

Is that political? I would argue no. But there's no point in arguing about it here. Let me get back to the powerlessness topic.

When Alrica and I are traveling, we are somewhat removed from the day to day happenings in the United States. Of course, we read the news. We see what is going on in articles and pictures and videos. But we only live with the results of those actions in a secondary way. As such, there's little we can do about it. Yes, we've written to our Congressman and Senators, but nothing changed. No Congressman says, "Wow, now that I have read Erich's opinion, my entire worldview is altered." (Much the same as anyone reading this blog not finding a major paradigm shift in their outlook.)

I feel powerless. I see things changing in America (albeit from afar) and there's nothing I can do. I can't support the changes I agree with. I can't rally against the changes I disagree with. I could post more about those things in my blog, but my readership is several orders of magnitude short of the critical mass required to make much difference. That's okay, I am not looking to become an "influencer." But it does leave me feeling impotent to quell the tides of what comes across to me as authoritarianism.

Then there came today. We happen to be in America when something major is happening. So I did something. Yes, taking the broader view, I did basically nothing. I walked a few miles around downtown Denver in a huge stream of pedestrians. I carried a sign that read "Uphold the Constitution" in the middle of people with far more creative (and often far less civil) slogans. In the grand scheme of world events, my actions today will not tip any scales, nor make any scales fall off of eyes. (I'm not sure those are the same kinds of scales even.)

Making posters with Adam, Alrica, and Laura (at the camera)

And yet, today was heartening. There were thousands of people at the protest. Thousands of them, everywhere I turned. Thousands of people feeling something akin to what I feel. Thousands of people, just as powerless as me, but coming together in numbers that make our powerlessness palpable. (Side note: My daughter recently told me that "palpable" is a word that neither she nor anyone else in her generation would ever use. Why? What's wrong with palpable?)

If you multiply zero by ten-thousand, you still have zero. But if you take even a negligible positive amount and multiply it by ten-thousand, you may start to get something that isn't negligible. Take the thousands of people in Denver today making their voices heard. Literally, there were chants. One of them was perhaps most telling. Caller: "Tell me what democracy looks like." Response: "This is what democracy looks like!"

This was what democracy looks like. And that was just in Denver where our numbers made the negligible into something non-negligible. Now consider similar protests in so many other American cities, large and small. That tiny positive number is getting multiplied and multiplied. And maybe, if dreams do come true, it will wake the sleeping consciences of our elected officials. Maybe some of them will realize that people care about this. Not just any people, but the very people they are supposed to be representing. Maybe they will make some decisions not because of what other elected officials tell them to do, not because all they care about is their own re-elections, but because they want to do what is best for those people, their constituents, and the country as a whole.

Maybe not. Time will tell. But what I do know is that, for a few walking miles, for a few hours, in the midst of a lot of people, I didn't feel entirely unable to effect change. And I am very comforted to know there are so many others out there who came together and had the same experience.

I may be powerless. But I'm not alone.

Michigan, Really?

Large family gatherings can sometimes bring out the weird in people, in situations, and in life. They are great fun and wonderful times to catch up with people, get to know people you last saw when you were six, and grow closer to people you have known all your life. But strange things happen.

This past weekend was the first of the two weddings that Alrica and I are attending in our month long trip to the USA. This one was in Des Moines, Iowa. Though, even on the way to Des Moines, there were some strange happenings.

Have you ever seen a Polly Pocket vending machine. Do we need them in airports?

How did Houston become the capital of the south? Does it know it's not even the capital of Texas?

The wedding was sumptuous and gorgeous. The ceremony was touching and felt like it was about this couple, not just something generic. There was a string quartet who played magnificently. The food at the reception was wonderful, and the live band was great. They played a lot of hits from my childhood. We also had Hava Nagila for about 12 minutes, probably longer than any human needs to keep that level of energy going.

L to R: My dad, my bro, my mom, my wife, and some random guy

I am on the bride's side, so I know much, but not all, of the bride's family that attended. I didn't know anyone on the groom's side, but they were very loving and kind people. Still, I would like to relate a few incidents.

As you might imagine, Alrica and I were (and still are) curiosities. Everyone heard about the couple who just travels and doesn't have a home. That was immediately a topic of interest, which is great, you don't have to break the ice. But it did lead to a few weird comments.

At one point I was telling one of the groom's uncles about our road trip in Europe when we saw the tulips in the Netherlands. His comment was "You can see tulips in Michigan!"

I don't fully comprehend the mentally of a comment like that. You are only reading the words and you have to just guess at the tone. I got both, so let me try to parse the meaning.

Option A: Maybe this is saying the world has nothing on the good old USA. If that's his feeling, then why is he talking to me? He knows I'm traveling the world to see its highlights and wonders. Don't mellow my buzz, man.

Option B: Let's give the benefit of the doubt and say that isn't the intention. Maybe it is just saying, people don't have to travel far to see tulips, because we have them closer to home. Yes, valid point, except, before I went to Europe and rented a car, I was in Tunisia. So the Netherlands was a lot closer and more convenient than a trip to Michigan. Cross the Mediterranean or cross the Atlantic: I know the stereotype of Americans is that we don't understand geography very well, but I think everyone knows the Atlantic is a lot bigger.

Option C: Perhaps this comment was a complaint that the Netherlands is hogging all the tulip notoriety. Why should the Dutch be famous for both tulips and windmills? Why can't Michiganders get in on all the good publicity? This is entirely valid. I have to be honest, I had no idea Michigan had tulips until this comment was spoken. Okay, let me flesh that out a bit. Had I needed to hazard a guess, I would have proposed that some citizens of the Wolverine State planted some tulips in their yards or flower boxes. So I wasn't amazed to know that Michigan has tulips. But I didn't know that they had fields of them that people go look at. Now, having done some web investigation, I find that there is a tulip festival in Michigan. But do you know the name of the city in which it takes place? Holland, Michigan. Named for Holland, the section of the Netherlands that is famous for tulips! So it goes back to the Netherlands.

In another instance, I was speaking to a relative from my family. I don't think I had ever met her before. She is a generation before mine, a first cousin of my mother. We were talking about my travels and she told me I was interesting. Naturally I said, "Thank you," because, you know, I'm a courteous boy when duty calls. But it was her follow-up question that threw me. She asked, "How did you become interesting? Like, what happened to you that made you interesting?"

How do you answer a question like that? And what is the underlying assumption? Does it presuppose that I was a dullard until I performed a feat akin to kissing the Blarney Stone (which I have done) but instead of imparting glibness upon me, it imparted fascination? To be interesting, must one survive a trial by fire or possession by demons or something else exceptional and come out of the experience with a newfound soul of a raconteur?

I decided that in the paraphrased words of Shakespeare that some are born interesting, some achieve interestingocity, and some have interestingness thrust upon them. I also answered that I was in the first category, and I had always been interesting. Some kids are born with a silver spoon in their mouths. I was born with a song in my heart, a twinkle in my eyes, and an unnecessarily flowery vocabulary on my tongue. Or typing fingers. Which is all of them, except the left thumb that doesn't seem to get much keyboard action.

Another unusual experience: I got to not drive a self-driving car. My aunt, the grandmother of the bride, had just gotten her hair styled. It was raining. So I was sent to get her car, a Tesla, and bring it up to the entrance where she was waiting under cover. She slid into the passenger seat and I was driving us back to her house. Then she said, "Do you want to drive the Tesla or do you want the Tesla to drive itself home?" What kind of question is that? Of course I wanted to see how the self-driving car could do!

As the "driver" I had to keep my eyes on the road or the car would stop navigating itself. I also kept my hands on the steering wheel, though that isn't required. It felt safer to me, but I will admit, I wasn't the turning the wheel. The wheel was turning my hands. I did have to take over at the driveway and get the car into the garage. But the car did a fantastic job. It distinguished between red lights and green lights. It knew how to turn right on red. It signaled before it switched lanes. It kept to the speed limit. The technology is very impressive.

At one point, I threw caution to the wind. I danced with a much younger woman. I didn't even try to hide it. I did it right beside my wife, in the main sanctuary of the synagogue as we waited for the ceremony to start. But Alrica wasn't very jealous. My lovely dance partner was my first cousin, twice removed, and also is still an infant. She is the daughter of the maid of honor, and I was holding her so her mother could do maid of honorly duties without a baby in tow. The dancing kept her contented.

Over the five days I was in Des Moines

• I had a good old American burger
• Ate Crab Rangoon Pizza
• Enjoyed one of my favorite desserts: peanut butter balls (made by my aunt using the same recipe that my grandmother used to make)
• Gave a tag-team toast alongside my brother to the bride and groom, mirroring the tag-team toast we had given at the wedding of the bride's parents when we were teenagers
• Arranged flowers

Wait. That last one isn't entirely true. Alrica arranged, I was in charge of handing her baby's breath and green leafy things. But I was part of the flower arranging team.

I hope, after all these anecdotes and bullet points, you understand it was a pretty amazing few days in Des Moines. I ate too much, slept not enough, talked about travel with many interested parties, talked about mathematics with only one interested party, and talked about hockey in which conversation I was not interested. But hey, courteous, remember?

Onward to wedding number two!

Interview with an Umpire

We have entered the summer wedding season. This has brought Alrica and I back to the US to attend two weddings. One of them is today and the other in early July. We are only back in the states for a bit, but even the travel back was an adventure.

Knowing we would be frequently travelers, Alrica and I applied for the Global Entry Program. It is a program that, if you are approved, means much faster entry through passport control and customs when you arrive in the United States. It also includes TSA precheck, so even though air travel within the US would be infrequent, it would still be helpful.

We applied in April 2024, and the way the process works is first someone reviews your application and you get conditional approval. But that isn't complete approval. For complete approval, you need to have an interview with a Customs and Border Patrol agent at an international airport (and one of the bigger ones.)

About two days after we applied, Alrica got an email telling her she had a status change. When she checked on the CBP site, she was conditionally approved. Hooray! All she had left was to get an appointment. But we were going to have to travel to a large enough airport to do so, so Alrica decided to wait until I was approved.

We waited. And we waited. Frequently, Alrica would tell me to double check I hadn't just missed an email from the CBP. Sometimes she made me log into the CBP website to check if I had a notification. But I hadn't missed an email, and there was no notification.

Then in September 2024, we left the country. We weren't going to be at any airport with a CBP agent for a long time. It was only then (and even not right away but in November) that I was finally conditionally approved.

Why did it take Alrica two days and it took me several months? We don't know. Nothing tells you anything of that sort in the CBP notification process. I guess Alrica is a clean cut, good old American citizen, and I am a man of international infamy. Just a guess, of course.

This past Thursday, we flew from San Jose, Costa Rica to Fort Lauderdale, Florida (USA). That was only the first leg of our journey, but it was the one where we had to go through passport control. And the CBP offers interviews on arrival at most large international airports, including Fort Lauderdale. So after we got our entry into the country approved, we moved to the area where you could have interviews and sat to wait.

Here, something unexpected happened. Alrica was called up first. The man interviewing her had so many questions. Why did you wait from April 2024 until June 2025 to do the interview? Why did you enter Montenegro but never leave Montenegro? (Though her presence in Fort Lauderdale clearly indicated that she must have left Montenegro, even if Montenegro never indicated that in the passport system.) And perhaps most difficult, he asked Alrica to list all the countries she has visited in the last five years, from the most recent working backwards. If you've only been to one or two countries in that time, this is probably easy. But when you've been to twenty some countries in the last five years, it isn't even easy to do that in forward order. Harder in backward order.

He growled when she missed a country (like Canada). He growled when she mentioned a country that wasn't on his list (like Belgium, because in much of Europe, there is no border control between countries. So once you enter the Schengen region, you can travel from country to country without getting your passport scanned.) He growled when she didn't include Colombia, even though that was eight years ago, not five years ago. His comment was "close enough to five." (As a mathematician, I object to 8 being included in less than or equal to 5.)

Alrica's interview took about 30 minutes to complete. In the meantime, about halfway through her interview, I was called up to another agent. He asked me if this was my only passport, if the address on my driver's license was still valid, and if I was still an online professor for Johns Hopkins. Then he took my picture and I was approved. In and out in less than five minutes.

So maybe I am the fine upstanding citizen and Alrica is the one with some multinational intrigue that I should like to know about.

Not to keep you in suspense, we were both approved. (Eventually in the case of one of us.)

Water From Above, Water From Below

Last week, we took a day trip out to La Fortuna, Costa Rica. That is a town in the shadow of Arenal Volcano. But there were many stops on the way there, and fewer but some on the way home. Throughout the trip, we got to see fabulous flora, fascinating fauna, and wonders of water.

That's La Paz Waterfall in the background. (And Alrica and Erich in the foreground.)

We stopped at a coffee plantation. Coffee was introduced to Costa Rica in 1779. They grow Arabica coffee which was imported directly from Ethiopia. (That's where coffee plants are indigenous.) Over the 19th century, coffee farming grew and became a major industry of Costa Rica. Even though Costa Rica is small, it provides 1% of the world's coffee.

Did you know that's where your coffee comes from?

The thing about coffee is that you can't grow it just anywhere. You have to be high above sea level, but not too high above sea level. You have to have plenty of rain, but hopefully not too early or too late. You have to have various soil conditions. Parts of Costa Rica are ideal for this. So when you travel out of the valleys and up the mountains, you hit an elevation where the majority of the land is being used to grow coffee. And as you continue ascending, you hit an elevation where that stops.

This is not harvest time. The beans turn red when they are ready for harvest.

Apparently coffee plants can grow very tall but in Costa Rica, they keep them at about 2 meters or less. That's because the harvest is done by hand, so they don't want the plants so tall that no one can reach the beans.

Trunk of a Rainbow Eucalyptus Tree

Surrounding the plantation was a row of these gorgeous trees with multi-colored trunks called rainbow eucalyptus. But the coffee farmers don't plant them because of their colors. Instead, the trees provide nutrients to the soil, like nitrogen and phosphorus, that are beneficial for coffee growing. You also find the occasional banana palm in the middle of the coffee plants. These provide potassium to the soil. (And they provide bananas.)

The tall plant is a banana palm

In addition to the trees and coffee, there were many varieties of gorgeous flowers on the plantation grounds.

It's like a ladder for lizards

From the plantation we ascended out of the coffee growing region and into the cloud rain forest. Our first stop was at La Paz waterfall which is right along the side of the road. This gurgling fall runs all year round, but in the rainy season is even more vigorous than when we saw it. It's been a very rainy May, but apparently not compared to the midst of rainy season.

La Paz and it's pool (would that be La Pool de La Paz?)

Next we made a stop at the village of Cinchona. We had fresh juice. I had mora (which is blackberry) and Alrica had sandia (which is watermelon). There was a lovely balcony from which one could see the San Francisco waterfall. But the big thing to see was the birds. There were hummingbirds, song birds, and even the occasional bird of prey around.

Hummingbird

We had a lovely lunch in La Fortuna. We had casados. Casado is a very traditional meal which we had also tried in San Jose. It's great, you get white rice, black beans (though each place has its own way of seasoning the beans), fried plantains, salad, and then some choice of meat. I tried beef in that particular casado and Alrica had chicken. Both were great. Plus they served maracuya (passion fruit) juice which is so good.

I don't know what the yellow bird is called

After lunch was the main destination of our day trip: Paradise Hot Springs. I don't have any pictures, because I wasn't carrying my phone around to the pools. But this is a set of pools, all at different temperatures. Arenal Volcano is still active. While it isn't erupting lava, it does steam frequently. But the geological activity also heats the water. So the pools were using geothermally heated water mixed with cooler water to provide the various temperatures.

Not sure what this is called either, but he has a don't mess with me look.

Often, I am not a fan of such places. I get overly warm quickly when I am in hot water. I can do it for a few minutes, but then I am sweating and uncomfortable. Alrica, on the other hand, could probably bathe in molten lava and ask the volcano if it could turn up the heat. (Yes, I am exaggerating. She wouldn't really talk to a volcano.) But Paradise Hot Springs was great for me. Among its many pools, there were some cool pools. So when I got too warm, I could slip into a cool pool and chill out, literally. The recommendation was to spend 20 minutes or so in a hot pool and then five minutes of so in a cool pool. Repeat. I, more or less, reversed that, but it was nice to have the variety. There was one pool that was so hot I stepped in and got water up to my ankles and then said "Nope!" I saw no reason to become a major ingredient in soup. But aside from that one, I enjoyed the others for as long as I could take them and then cooled off nicely.

A two-toed sloth, though it's tough to know that's what it is

Coming back to San Jose, we stopped for dinner and had Chifrijo. That's a traditional bar food. Think of something vaguely like nachoes without the cheese. (Okay, I admit, the cheese is sort of the essence of nachos. But what if it wasn't?) It's a bowl with rice, beans, tortillas, avocado, and pico de gallo, served with pieces of pork. Traditionally it's with pork, but you had choices of other meats if you preferred.

Strict speed limits

So we were well fed, well washed, and for those foolish enough to go in the extremely hot pool, well cooked, when we got back to San Jose. It was great to get out of the city and see how much beauty there is in this country.