2/15 New Heights

On February 17th, we begin the Year of the Fire Horse in Chinese astrology. This feels apropos.

“In Eastern culture, the horse represents action, freedom, speed and breakthrough,” Susan Gu, a traditional Chinese medicine practitioner and acupuncturist at the HVN in London, explains. “It reflects a stage of life that moves boldly forward without the fear of obstacles, placing emphasis on being in motion rather than standing still.”
In simple terms, think: rapid change, fresh opportunities, personal growth, and a faster pace of life. The first Fire Horse for 60 years, it may feel like a restless, dynamic time – with the possibility for conflict. The current Zodiac year (which runs January 29, 2025 to February 16, 2026) is the Year of the Wood Snake, which represents the shedding of old stories and habits, recalibrating what works for you and honouring internal intelligence. With the arrival of the Year of the Fire Horse, that clarity demands an external home with decisive, consistent action.”

Last Sunday I achieved a personal best and hiked to Refugio de los Cien. This has been on my list for a long time. It’s beginning of the non technical route to summit Iztaccihuatl and takes you from La Joya, 13,000ft, to the Refugio at around 15,500 in about 3 miles. You’re above the tree line. It’s dust, sandy, dirt, small rocks, medium rocks, big rocks and you.

Liz and I left the city at 6:30am and headed to the mountains. I hadn’t seen Liz (or been on a hike for that matter) since early December, so it was really quite lovely to see her. The streets were quite empty and we made it to the mountain in good time.

We pulled into the dusty lot at La Joya where our hike would begin around 8:30/9am. La Joya sits at 13,000 feet and it was COLD up there. It is, however, home to one of the best eco toilets ever. The outside of the shack is painted in pastels with a bunny in grass on it and I do not know how much lavender scented what they use in those bathrooms, but they always smell lovely. Liz downed some cafe de olla and we set off.

The hike to the refugio is marked by 4 portillos, so far I’d only been to the first one which is an almost constant ascent for a mile, gaining about 800 ft. The second stretch is much shorter although again, up, a little steeper this time. The third is another longer stretch, again, up with sandy terrain that slid beneath my feet. To the 4th portillo we go up yet again and begin to do some minor scrambling over large rocks. The last stretch to the Refugio is very up (until it’s down) and again features some scrambling.

I was deeply unsure about whether I’d make it at about portillo 2.

The air thins quickly and landscape becomes barren quickly after the first portillo. But it’s not unwelcoming. There’s something about this particular wilderness that reminds of the sea. It’s both the same and ever changing as far as you can see. It offers a challenge, but also has a warm embracing energy. And in both environments it can be difficult to breath.

From there it just gets harder. But ever more wild and striking. The air gets thinner and thinner, which you don’t so much notice, except in feeling unbelievably wussy as you pause to catch your breath (don’t bother, it’s not gonna happen) with increasing frequency. The slightly creepy part is that your heartbeat feels so much stronger.

After the fourth portillo it’s not far to the Refugio, but it most definitely involves hands to clamber over the rocks. Maybe really tall folks could just reach, but that’s not me. We also picked up a spare traveler there whose group had left her behind since she was slower. She was holding back tears when we came upon her and I reassured I was SUPER slow. Liz was fuming. She’d already been a bit annoyed at how many folks this person had with only one guide and leaving someone was the final straw for Liz. This is why I love her.

We arrived at the Refugio with the sun high over head. My next goal is to ascend to Cruz de las Rosas, which is at the top of the hill in the pic on the far left. It’s all scree. But it’s the half way mark to the summit. We ate our sandwiches and headed back down. Which was hard. The constant focus on your next step was getting exhausting and the icy coldness of the morning had been replaced by a blazing sun. The mental game is definitely a huge component here as sliding down a rocky cliffside was not in my game plan. But it was beautiful and I definitely felt the oxygen increasing on the way back down.

We arrived back at the car dusty and tired (well, ok, I was, Liz probably coulda gone up and down another 6 times happily) and sped down the road to our preferred taco place. This is a taco aguja, which is generally a thin and tender cut of beef with a bone, I have no idea what part. This particular is loaded with potatoes, avocado and nopales.

We had a lovely drive back to the city. It was a rare chance to get to know Liz a little better. She spent a long time in the states, she was married to a US citizen, and actually has her citizenship there. She talked about retiring and volunteering her time and I mentioned that there were some opportunities via Peace Corps that one could do from home. We passed some new construction in the middle of the street that was a narrow cement divider that looked a bit like an inexplicably deep planter and we contemplated why and came up with the idea that one could fit bodies into it. This led us somehow to cemetaries and Liz saying she liked US ones cause they were peaceful and organized, and me saying I preferred the happy chaos and bright colors of Mexican cemetaries. And I think that was our theme. Me loving things in Mexico that are different in the US, more life, more color, more brightness, more friendly chaos. Liz, being Mexican, missing the consistency, order, and planning in the US. Definitely “a grass is always greener” kinda moment.

When I got home, the Seahawks were winning the SuperBowl and I had two missed messages. One was a picture of Kyle from Cordelia, clearly new and clearly at the house. The second was a message from my niece (I really don’t think I should ex-nieces?). These both felt a bit like betrayals. I’d just done this thing so completely for myself, so happily, independently, new and strong and pushing myself and I felt struck by the past imbued in these messages.

And then I came across a friend’s post in which Michelle contemplates the upcoming move from Snake to Horse. She invites us to recognize a connection in the reappearance of themes and connections and the opportunity to find peace with them, let go, adapt, amend before crossing in a new energy threshold. She has one particulary impactful sentence in there for me “… you recreate yourself every moment based on old stories. And you always have a choice which stories you continue to tell yourself.” This resonates so strongly. I think she’s a magical unicorn of an angel/human who I deeply blessed to know.

So I thought what story do I want these to tell?
Turns out one story is how glad I am I’m not the new girlfriend. I’m hosting a couple who was clearly friends with my boyfriend and his ex wife and one of them is taking photos of the cat and sending them to the ex wife while I’m there. In what I think is my house, but my guest clearly thinks is some other woman’s house. So definitely glad I’m on my end of that.

And these remain my nieces. I want them to know I love them and I’m there for them regardless of what changes have or will happened. That story is easy.

This week Fran & I went to a Hives concert at Teatro Metropolitano, which, it turns out, is a gorgeous building and amazing venue- kinda a la the Schnitz. This is a lead singer who works. Holy crap. This is the bounciest human I’ve ever seen in my life. The band employs what can only be described as a Renaissance Ninja. Dressed in all black, including over his head and mouth, he picks up mic stands, rearranges kicked over monitors, collects flung water bottles, plays interference with balloons, retrieves drumsticks, plays tambourine, and expertly guides the longest mic cable I’ve ever seen as the lead singer climbs over seats in the audience, which he does quite literally about half the songs.

They were really fun and rambunctious live and apparently speak a decent amount of Spanish, cause he definitely conducted all banter in Spanish. Not great Spanish, but definitely above bare minimum and comfortably. I didn’t realize they’d apparently been named “Best Live Band in The World” by Spin, but I can see it. It was one of the most fun shows I’ve been to and there’s no gimmicks, it’s just their energy pouring out.

Some things about my existence here are undeniably charming. Like that after a late night I can walk 1 minute to the church plaza near my house and tacos dorados (think taquitos) and an orange juice from oranges squeezed in front of my face all for about $4. The birds are singing, the air is crisp still and the sun is shining and I’m supporting highly local.

Taco failure this week.