I am becoming obsessed with passionfruit curd. This time of year you can’t buy maracuya whole, you can only buy the pulp. Confusingly there is a near identical fruit called granada china (chinese pomegranate) that I’m pretty sure is what I bought last time. It’s a close relative, but lacks the intense sourness of a passionfruit. I would like to add that there is a LOT of color variation on the outside of each type of fruit that makes them much more confusable. And while, yes, the inside of a passionfruit is much oranger and juicier, that’s hard to tell when buying whole fruit.
Most of this week was pretty mellow. Fran and I had an adventure in trying to watch a show in Spanish called Nadie Nos Va a Extrañar. It’s set in a high school in the 90s in Mexico City. Fran and I watched once with subtitles and then watched again and paused subtitles to actually figure out what they were saying. So we now know that “peiname tu alma” means “comb my soul”, but we lack clarification on what “comb my soul” is supposed to mean. It also took us about an hour and a half to rewatch a 26 minute show.
I have to stop cooking things I already know with US ingredients cause they just aren’t the same here and I haven’t quite figured how to balance it out. For now, it just means that when I cook something I love to eat from home, I’m a little bit sad here.
It was a weekend of very little sleep.
Friday had some great excitement in the form of a tiny bird. After much googling, and some crowd sourcing, I determined that what I have on my hands is a fledgling bird. Leo initially found the bird and apparently has like no kill instinct. He did sprint over and I don’t know if he put the bird in his mouth or just licked, but backed off when I hollered NO. And the bird appears totally fine. He’s been hopping around all day, making Leo insane. What I suspect was his mom came and checked on him. So, yes, I have given this bird quite the backstory, but some research is backing me up in that fledglings should have more feathers than a fuzzy baby and look kinda scruffy. It’s not uncommon for them to spend a few days on the ground while building muscle and coordination and their parents will stlil be monitoring and supporting them. It all sounds remarkably healthy.
In addition to baby bird, we popped on over to some lucha libre, which if you haven’t been is acrobatic wrestling with over the top costumes and yelling. And giant beers. But mostly lots of yelling. And booing. And when someone is particularly shady you yell “Culero”. When something is particularly awesome you say “Eso es lucha”, although frequently everyone just yells “ESO”.
Saturday morning, Fran’s crew and I went to do the sunrise kayak in Xochimilco. We met at Sherry’s at 4am. Which meant I got up at 3:15am. Which is early, perhaps extra so when you get home from lucha after 11pm. We drove through the center of Xochimilco, past 3 or 4 trajinera embaracaderos- it was a bit surreal to see them quiet and unpopulated. And continued down a 2 lane road with a canal on the right and frequent bridges across. Some directly to a house, but others to dirt roads across the canal, which was definitely contrary to my understanding of how these islands function. We had a few missteps en route, but finally arrived still in the dark. This is a pretty popular undertaking, so we saw several other outfits and we were 11 folks, and maybe half? Maybe slightly under? of our guide’s group. Also getting a whole bunch of half asleep folks into kayaks in the dark is pretty entertaining.
Since the canals are built on an ancient shallow lake, it’s remarkably easy kayaking with the gentlest of currents. The dark began to lift as we kayaked through farmland to the spot for the sunrise. Shortly after sunrise we received a relatively short, but felt pretty long, lecture on Xochimilco in Spanish, while in kayaks. So the thing about my Spanish, I struggle real hard with 5+ minutes of talk without interactions. My brain is trying to hard to keep up, but it really can’t. But the setting was lovely.
After theoretically learning more about Xochimilco’s history (ok, I did learn that a lot of the current invasive species stemmed from the 1970s), we kayaked down narrower canals and began to see more of the chinampas in the style I’m familiar with. And then we landed at one and awkwardly were some combo of lifted/scrambled out of our kayaks for a chilaquiles breakfast. From there it was a short kayak back to the dock, after which we headed back north to Coyoacan where the crew had ice cream and I booked it to my fav coffee shop.
I then spent the rest of the day struggling to stay awake, because Sunday was another early rise (ok, like 5am) to go for a hike on Iztaccihuatl called Iztaccihuatl para principiantes. So not only did I want to go, but part of me felt like Liz put this one together a little bit for me.
Holy crap. It is high.
The first thing I’ve learned about hiking in Mexico is that I’m real interested in knowing the altitude. In the Northwest, it’s all elevation gain over distance, but here there’s an additional, rather critical, metric at play. And there’s the additional challenge of I don’t yet fully know what it means for me. This hike was supposed to be 8.7 miles going from 11,811ft to 12,795ft, from the general visitor’s center to La Joya where you start your summit. That was the description. In case you aren’t familiar with me waxing poetic of Iztaccihuatl, this is my mecca. She calls me. I want to get to Refugio Cien before Machu Picchu and I wanna summit before heading to Kilimanjaro. She’s the sleeping lady, the third highest mountain in Mexico, she’s a non technical summit, although about 12-15 hour hike that starts at midnight an goes to over 17,000 ft. And she’s stunning.
You start in a pine forest, these are low trees maybe topping at 15 feet, but plentiful. Some type of sedge fills in the rest. The trail is dusty as can be, but well traveled and easy with a gentle incline. This is the beginner’s hike after all. Then you hit a burn scar that’s sad, but beautiful. It’s not like the burns of heavily wooded forests, it’s stark and draws a sharp line with blackened sedge. We continue trekking onward.
We passed other groups. The landscape, while unvarying, was always somehow more stunning. I’m a bit of a crier these days, but it was just humbling and I felt such gratitude to be out there today seeing this beauty that I nearly teared up a couple times. While parts were crowded, in other areas it was just us and we’d stop and marvel and it was so quiet, like snow had fallen. We continued on to La Joya, where the quesadilla stand was closed. This is mostly important because Liz immediately pivoted with “we could go to the first portillo”. And so we did, adding 2 miles round and over 1000 ft up to our trip.
The hike to Refugio Cien begins at La Joya and has 4 portillos before hitting the Refugio at 15,450ft. I don’t know what a portillo is, maybe a landmark? a rest point? a kind of gateway? But either way I was excited to check what the trail would look like.
Turns out uphill. With rocks, big ones requiring hands rather than poles. And uff could you feel it at that elevation. That was some thin air. It was a very long mile. But what a payout!
And then we turned around and walked all the way back.
Popo really starting spewing some fumes on the way back. This volcano is usually giving off some kind of fume, but it does apparently vary in color, generally between shades of white to black. Today was a white day.
We returned to the car filthy and tired. Like so filthy. Liz wanted to video everyone completing the hike and giving her a high five at the end and I’m pretty she just has a video of 7 people trying to smile with black hands. So dirty. And then we sat in cars for forever because it was the end of a holiday weekend and on a good day Mexico City has the worst traffic of anywhere I’ve ever been. People warned me about the traffic in Bangkok and I didn’t even notice it. It’s the only place that I have sat so long in one place in an Uber that they have sent me an “Are you ok?” message. I didn’t even know they did that. That’s how bad traffic is here.
But eventually we returned and because I’m all about building stamina, I walked the mile and a half home. And because somehow one healthy activity seems to lead to another, I ate a salad for dinner, granted with the coldest beer I could find. I felt a little I was channeling my aunt Tammy with the beer.
There will be no tacos this week, cause, well I was too tired.
Here is a version of the story of Iztaccihuatl & Popocatepetl, as stolen from the internet:
In ancient times, the Aztec Empire dominated the Valley of Mexico, imposing heavy taxes on neighboring towns. The chief of the Tlaxcaltecas, longstanding adversaries of the Aztecs, could no longer bear this oppressive burden and resolved to fight for his people’s freedom.
Among the chief’s children was the incomparable Princess Iztaccíhuatl, renowned as the fairest of all princesses. She had fallen deeply in love with Popocatépetl, a valiant warrior from her father’s tribe, famed for his striking handsomeness. The two young souls professed their unwavering love for one another, and before departing for battle, Popocatépetl approached the chief to seek his daughter’s hand in marriage.
The chief gladly consented, promising to celebrate their union with great joy upon Popocatépetl’s triumphant return from war. Filled with hope and determination, the brave warrior made the necessary preparations and embarked on his journey, carrying the assurance that the princess would eagerly await their reunion.
However, a jealous rival of Popocatépetl, envious of their profound bond, deceitfully informed Princess Iztaccíhuatl that her beloved had perished in combat. Crushed by grief and consumed by sorrow, the princess succumbed to despair and passed away, unaware of the falsehood that had shattered her spirit.
Meanwhile, Popocatépetl emerged victorious from battle, yearning to find his beloved princess. Upon his return, he received the devastating news of Iztaccíhuatl’s untimely demise. Overwhelmed by anguish, he wandered the town aimlessly, haunted by his loss for countless days and nights.
Determined to honor their love and ensure that Princess Iztaccíhuatl would never be forgotten, Popocatépetl commanded the construction of a grand tomb beneath the sun. Ten hills were piled together to form a colossal mountain, symbolizing his eternal devotion. Gently cradling the lifeless body of his princess in his arms, he ascended to the mountain’s summit and tenderly laid her to rest.
With a loving kiss upon her cold lips, he took up a smoking torch and knelt before his beloved, forever guarding her eternal slumber. From that moment onward, they would remain together, forever facing one another. As time passed, snow cloaked their bodies, transforming them into two colossal volcanoes, inseparable until the end of days.
The legend continues that whenever Popocatépetl, the warrior, recalls his beloved, his heart—preserving the fiery embers of eternal passion—trembles, causing his torch to emit smoke. To this day, the Popocatépetl volcano continues to release fumaroles.
Year One Project 
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