Unforgettable moments flip through the slideshow of my memory: my father’s boyish grin lighting up in spite of himself as he stood, lifejacket up around his ears, the dolphin leaning in and kissing his cheek. Shaking his head in disbelief as our two waiters explained the special six-course meal that the famous French chef at Piaf, Michele Mustiere, had prepared for him, taking into account all of the complicated restrictions of his diet. Seeing him lying back on a canopied lounge on the beach, soaking up the sun and the attentions of an efficient and watchful staff.

My factory-worker dad, father of nine and grandfather of a houseful of rambunctious little ones, had never come close to such luxury. He hadn’t even known that it existed. A shadetree mechanic and consummate fixer of broken things, I found him examining the cooling system in our suite and chatting up the shuttle drivers and motorcycle salesmen we would meet along the way.

Recently diagnosed with mesothelioma, an asbestos-induced cancer with a grim prognosis, he had decided to work with a naturopathic doctor to boost his immune system in an attempt to beat back the cancer. One strategy was a radical change in diet; my meat-and-potatoes Dad was a sudden vegan. Another, according to all that we had read, was to keep living to the fullest, doing things that brought him joy.

“I’m not afraid to die,” he told me not long after his diagnosis. “But as long as I’m here, I’m going to live.”

I wanted to support him in that vow on every level. I had long dreamed of bringing my parents to Mexico, my adopted second country, to share with them a bit of the culture that I had come to love. Now I knew there was no time to waste. I persuaded them to get their passports, and in December, we escaped the dreary Midwest winter for nine precious days on the Yucatan Penninsula.

“Just when you think it can’t get any better… it does,” he mused as we wound our way down the thatch-roofed passageway through the jungle, one beautiful vista opening after another; here a garden with a small waterfall, there a cenote filled with clear spring water. Everything had been developed in this resort with an eye toward protecting the fragile seaside ecosystem; Grand Velas has won numerous awards for its environmental stewardship, and it’s evident as we look around us – especially as we walked along the picture-perfect beach and saw the long expanses of green that extended between Grand Velas and neighboring resorts. An environment all the more appealing for my forest-dwelling folks.

There were moments not made for Kodak on this trip, to be sure. The rental car agency that charged us twice the price for insurance what we’d paid for the online vehicle rental; the frantic hour spent looking for them when I lost them to Merida’s chaotic traffic; the unpleasant surprise when Dad reached out to grab a tree in the jungle walk at Xel Ha – and pulled his hand away to find it crawling with biting ants; his long silences as I drove, catching a farway look in his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Penny for your thoughts,” I’d say.

“Watch out, you’re about to hit that speed bump,” he’d respond.

Moments like these I ached to know what was on his mind – and more importantly, that he was really on the mend, that the diet and all the supplements and naturopathic treatments were doing the trick, that his low energy was due to his healing process and not his decline.

This was not for us to know, as he gently reminded me time and again. “It’s all in the Lord’s hands,” he would say.

I would take a deep breath and nod.

The first five days of our trip we’d spent on a road trip to Merida, where we stayed three days in the picturesque colonial city and two days at an atmospheric and picturesque restored hacienda, Hacienda Petac. Friday we drove back to Cancun, touring Chichen Itza and a bit of the colonial city of Valladolid along the way. We spent the night at the JW Marriott in the Zona Hotelera, spending a relaxed morning on the beach before heading down to Grand Velas on the Riviera Maya – named by Conde Nast and AAA as one of the world’s finest hotels. We had saved the best for last.

Saturday afternoon we arrived at Grand Velas, driving over a moat and through a gateway in the vast expanse of white stone that walled off this exclusive compound. “Welcome home,” said the young man with the clipboard, and we crossed another blue waterway onto a narrow lane that wound through the jungle. We found our way to the elegant thatch-roofed lobby. Our car was whisked away and our personal butler, Aldo, saw us to our spacious picture-perfect Zen Suite, with a giant jacuzzi and French doors that opened out onto the room and a patio that opened out onto a water garden complete with bougainvillea and a lilac-colored water lily. Beyond the tiny garden extended the jungle; beyond that, the mangrove forest, and beyond that, the beach and the brilliant blue Caribbean.

All this beauty was hard to leave behind, but dinner at Frida’s, one of the resort’s seven award-winning restaurants, awaited; named for the iconic Frida Kahlo, whose portrait brightens up the entry with an earthy radiance, the decor, like the menu, presents Mexican traditions with a fresh and modern twist. A classically dressed Mexican singer and guitarist serenaded us with romantic ballads as we dined. To my delight, salmon al pastor was on the menu. How I’d longed to share one of my onetime Mexican favorites – tacos al pastor, with its succulent pork marinated in the juices of a pineapple and turned on a rotisserie in front of the fire. Now, since an occasional serving of fish was allowed in the second phase of his diet, I could share the essence of this typical taste treat with him. He loved it almost as much as I did.

Day Two began early with an hour’s drive south to Tulum, with its ancient pyramids on the coast. The stark white limestone stood out against the brilliant blue sky and the multihued turquoise and cerulean waters, and he pronounced the view worth the walk – a circuit that a year ago he could have breezed through before breakfast had become a rigorous workout, but one he completed with good cheer.

Dinner found us at the unforgettable Piaf, named for the tiny French singer with a voice that conquered hearts the world over. “Think of us, not as your waiters, but as your tour guides on this culinary adventure,” said Adolfo, one of two young men who meticulously attended us, as he handed Dad a damp cloth to wipe his hands before commencing a procession of works of culinary art, beginning with a salad of mixed lettuces and flower petals accompanied with a red wine sorbet and a quail egg.

The dishes were dismayingly tiny, to my Dad’s way of thinking, but I promised he would not go hungry. Six courses later, Chef Mustiere himself stood before us and explained the way he’d prepared our dessert himself – a strawberry savayón, a confection sweetened with port wine, alcohol evaporated off, and topped with a golden-brown merengue – all, apparently, on my Dad’s diet. Dad nodded his appreciation to the white-garbed gentleman – “It’s all just great,” he said, and posed sheepishly for a few photos.

“Can I ask for seconds?” he wanted to know. But the chef was already gone.

Monday was the exciting climax of our Riviera Maya adventure, with a dolphin swim scheduled at Xel-Ha, one of several nature-oriented theme parks along the coast. Irasema was our guide, taking us on a walk that led through the jungle and past all manner of means to entertain ourselves in the aquatic wonderland of the Yucatan: cenotes where you could dive in, enter a cave and emerge downstream on the shore of an inlet; ropes you could swing on like a modern-day Tarzan; a cliff you could dive off of into the deep blue waters below; and a “lazy river” that you could lie on an inner tube and wind your way through the park for nearly an hour.

Dad’s a country boy who grew up on the river, and just last summer, I’d have been struggling to keep up with him. But these days his circulation was not what it used to be, and he was afraid of catching a chill, so we walked along the path and wistfully watched others splashing joyfully along the way.

Nonetheless, come 1:30, we found ourselves lined up for the orientation with the dolphin trainer. “Prepare yourselves for the experience of a lifetime,” the excited young man advised us. Dad looked dubious and fiddled with his lifejacket. Mom looked tiny in her child-sized jacket. We lined up with the three young girls who were assigned to our group – Sophie, Zoey and Phoebe, aged from 7 to 11 – and followed our guide to the dock.

“It looks cold!” said Dad.

“It’s going to be an adventure!” said Mom.

Both of them were right.

Our dolphin was named for Hunahpu, one of the twin heroes whose stories were told in the ancient Mayan text the Popol Vuh. Like his namesake, a feisty soccer player, our Hunahpu was a playful fellow indeed, flirting and kissing and splashing and dancing in turn with each of us. As gentle as he seemed, we also had a glimpse of his strength when we formed a circle and he swam rapidly around and around us, surrounding us in a powerful wave that nearly knocked us over.

Dad’s tense face relaxed into a smile as the dolphin performed his antics, and he seemed to have all but forgotten the cold by the climax – the dolphin push. “No, no, no, I think that’s a little too much,” he said as I repeated to him the procedure outlined by the trainers. Two dolphins would place their noses at the base of each foot and push him rapidly through the water, eventually lifting him upright as if he were skiing.

“You love skiing, Dad – remember?” I cajoled him. “And this is easier – the dolphins do all the work!”

Finally, he consented. One of the girls and I went first to show him how it was done – and it was exhilarating to feel the two shiny noses planted on the soles of my feet, and my body lifting from the force of forward movement. I turned to see Dad preparing for his turn, hoping that I’d been right, and that it wouldn’t be too much for him.

I needn’t have worried. The same Dad who’d taught me to ski, coaxing me through my fear bit by bit to my legs from the cockpit of his beloved boat, took to the dolphin push like a champ, nearly rising to a full stand before taking the plunge. He emerged grinning from ear to ear.

“That was something,” he said.

But Dad is a man not given to idle talk, and I wasn’t sure if I’d hit the mark with all of this activity. Was he enjoying it all – or just humoring me? Would he have preferred to just lounge in our suite and surf the massive flat-screen TV?

It wasn’t until the day after we returned that I got my answer. I tuned in as I heard him relate the whole tale to his friends and brothers on the phone.

“You just had to see it to believe it,” he’d say. “…and there were these chefs…. and we had a butler… and they treat you like a king… and the dolphin kissed us, and we kissed the dolphins.”

“And me, an old boy from Iron County, Missouri. It was just more than I could have imagined.”

Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

The sound of running spring water and the night noises of the jungle surround me, the toil and trouble of the city far behind.

This long-anticipated journey with my parents – their first to Mexico, and the first stamp on their brand-new passports – had gotten off to an admittedly bumpy start, what with a raucus all-night party in our hotel on the first night, getting lost in the chaos of the city’s Centro Historico, a virulent case of bronchitis for their driver and guide – yours truly – and too many other complications to mention. Had I made a mistake? My ailing father was exhausted – and this trip had been planned as a healing retreat for him.

But as we passed through the colorful towns on the outskirts of Merida and entered the ornate iron gate into the shady front courtyard of Hacienda Petac, I felt the tension dissolve. Marlene, one of more than a dozen Mayan women who attended to our every need during our stay, materialized from one of the three graceful arches of the hacienda with a traditionally embroidered dress, a beautiful smile and a tray of tempting red drinks.

My heart sank – I was sure they coudn’t be on my father’s diet. They almost certainly had sugar in them, and would be another disappointment. But there was Colleen, greeting us with a hug and a rundown of the ingredients: hibiscus tea and orange juice. Pure, simple and delicious. Dad reached for it and downed it, delighted.

It was the first surprise of many that were to unfold in the three days ahead. The two of them shook their heads in amazement as Colleen, the hacienda’s manager, led them on a brief tour of the property and to their choice of rooms, each of them ample and beautiful spaces, filled with atmosphere and lovingly decorated with exquisite fresh flower arrangements everywhere – from the beds to the sinks to the floors to the tiny pockets at front of the bathrobes.

The hacienda itself was a page out of the past, with its graceful arches, leather-backed chairs, lush gardens, antique brick oven and vintage tile floors. The sound of running water that served as a calming backdrop came from a fountain made of a giant chimney. Colleen explained a bit of the history here as my parents admired the crystal spring water falling into the pool below the chimney; this had been a hennequin plantation, and this oven had been used to fuel the fires that processed the hennequin, or sisal, for rope that made so many fortunes in this corner of the world until the rise of the plastics industry rendered it obsolete.

The hacienda had operated at reduced capacity until the ’70s, and lay in ruins for several decades until Houstonians Dev and Chuck Stern discovered its fallen walls and decade columns and envisioned what it could be. Together, and with the help of a Mexican architect and construction crew, they brought it back to glorious life.

“Just amazing,” said Dad.

“It’s just too beautiful to believe,” said Mom.

The death sentence handed down by my fathers’ doctors months ago at the cancer center far behind, they leaned back, looked into each others’ eyes and smiled. It seemed that anything was possible.

A cacaphony of bird calls surrounded us as the sun began to descend, and my parents got settled in their picture-perfect suite as the Mayan ladies prepared a delicious vegan guacamole to enjoy on the terrace until dinner. My parents sampled it and relaxed as the sun went down, rejoicing in their good fortune.

“Is everything ok?” Colleen dropped by to find out.

“More than ok,” said Dad. “I think you’ve got yourself a little piece of Eden here on Earth.”

***

Back in the classic talavera-tiled Mexican kitchen, a crew of Mayan women, immaculate in their white embroidered huipiles, bustled about preparing dinner. Here again, the staff did not disappoint: a vegan version of tortilla soup, followed by a Yucatecan favorite, pok chuk. Usually made with pork, Colleen had come up with an ingenious substitute – roasted shitake mushrooms, swathed in a savory chiltomate sauce, sprinkled with roasted red onions and wrapped in warm, fresh corn tortillas straight from the comal.

My father kept shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said.

That night, the Mayan ladies led them through the gardens down a candle-lined walkway to the spa to soak in the jacuzzi, two childhood sweethearts who had never tired of each other.

The next day was one surprise after another, beginning with breakfast by the pool, vegan huevos rancheros on a flower-bedecked table.

My father had the first pedicure of his life, and was a bit taken aback by it all but delighted to find out how good it felt.

That was followed by a sumptuous vegetable soup and a dreamy massage under the magical hands of Mayan masseuse Maryeli. Then the evening commenced with a command performance by Los Tres Yucatecos, one of the most beloved trova trios on the Yucatan Peninsula all for the three of us.

Melodies and harmonies of regional and national favorites echoed from the ancient stones and classic arches as I quietly translated bits and pieces of romantic ballads for my parents.

Dinner was a spread fit for a king: a flaky, moist filleted sea bass served with roast vegetables and a dessert of baked apples stuffed with maple-drizzled apple, spice and nut filling. For my father, denied a season of desserts, it was heaven. His diet forbade sugar but allowed an occasional low-fructose natural sweetener, like maple, and Colleen had taken it and run with it.

The next day, sadly, was our last. Not to let a moment escape, Colleen learned that my mother is an avid birder and lined us up with an excellent bilingual birding guide, Miguel Mendez, who brought the jungle to life for us. His uncanny birdcalls brought the avian life to us and his sharp eye helped us distinguish them from the branches and leaves.

After another generous breakfast, it was finally time to head off to Chichen Itza and the Caribbean coast – Cancun and the Riviera Maya beckoned. But it was with reluctance that we bade our farewells to each of the lovely faces that had become so familiar. Hacienda Petac had made its mark on us all – and one that we would never forget.

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TEOPANTLI KALPULLI, Jalisco, Mexico – I live at the corner of Earth and Fire streets, around the corner from a pyramid. I wake each morning to the crowing of roosters and the lowing of cattle. On Sundays I join my neighbors in kneeling and entering the womb of my mother in the form of a temezcal, the sacred indigenous sweat lodge ceremony, to sing and pray and to burn away the impurities of body and spirit.

I’ve been here for a little over a month, and the time has come to answer the question of my friend Ruhksana, whose voice came to me over a great distance when I announced my decision to move here.

Why Mexico? She wanted to know. After traveling for a year the length of Latin America, why did you choose to settle there? There are ecovillages everywhere. Why did you choose that one?

The question is a big one, and the answer is a forked river of tributaries that have carved their way through the landscape of my life all these many years. I will forge my way up one of those streams and see where it takes us.

My relationship with this particular piece of land began a little over a year ago, at the beginning of my journey through Latin America, reporting on sustainability initiatives for The Esperanza Project. I began my project in Mexico City with members of the Vision Council and the Rainbow Peace Caravan, a loosely interwoven band of activists, performers, permaculturists and visionaries who have waged a colorful, creative and loving battle for a better world throughout the hemisphere – and in some cases, throughout the world – for nearly two decades.

This network inspired, informed, and in some ways guided my journey, and one of the nodes on that network was here at Teopantli Kalpulli, whose name means “village of the sacred standard”. In the midst of my whirlwind of Guadalajara interviews, I spent half a day here with Levi Rios, a young architect and permaculturist who grew up here and serves as a sort of spokesman for the community.

I was impressed with what I saw: Mexico’s oldest intentional community, located here on a piece of dry and overgrazed farmland 18 years ago, nurtured into a shady and compact village with a bakery, a school, a house of worship, a huge garden and a cluster of temezcals, where sweat lodge ceremonies drawing people from around the region were conducted periodically.

The community was founded by a group of spiritual seekers, practitioners of yoga and vegetarianism who sought a simple life, close to the land. Soon, as Levi explains it, they began to realize that their own indigenous traditions held a wisdom as deep and as powerful as those that had been carried over from the East, and they began reaching out to teachers of those traditions.

Those inquiries brought to the Kalpulli the first calihuey – the house of worship of the Huichol or Wixarika people. It also brought indigenous leaders from the north, Lakota and Navajo medicine men, carriers of traditions that some say originated here in Mexico – the Sun Dance and the temezcal – but were fiercely repressed by the Spanish conquest. Instead of disappearing, these traditions were carried north and kept alive by indigenous groups throughout the States. In 1983, Tigre Perez, a Chicano activist from Laredo descended from Purepecha Indians from Michoacan, completed the cycle. Perez had studied with Lakota medicine men and Sun Dancers and came to the Kalpulli in 1983, shortly after its founding. It was here that Perez first brought his Kanto de la Tierra, song of the earth, back to its ancestral home.

That tradition continues alive today. And although I didn’t know it at the time, it was that energy that called me back here.

(to be continued….)

Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

It was the journey I had dreamed of and then laid awake nights worrying about: Would we really be able to pull it off? In the end, we did. We spent 10 action-packed days on the road, covering more than 2,500 miles – every step along the way, receiving reminders to SLOW DOWN and to take care of the present moment.

Some of those reminders were costly, others just funny. Many times I looked in the rear-view mirror at the utility trailer I was hauling and thought of my pioneer great-great-grandmother Caroline, who packed all her belongings into a covered wagon and traveled to the wilds of Missouri to start a new life. Apparently some of her pioneer spirit was my heritage, but in an era of internet, motor vehicles and airlines, it’s a much, much easier proposition.

Tami and I left my parents’ home in the country south of St. Louis on Friday, long after our scheduled departure, because of the many complications involved in purchasing and outfitting the vehicle I had acquired for this move: first the 4×8 utility trailer, then the Toyota 4-runner to haul it, and then, after the transmission began going out on it a few miles down the road, a Toyota pickup truck. Much distress surrounding that incident but thanks to my father, an excellent mechanic with a hobby of buying and repairing Toyotas and reselling them, I was able to quickly locate a second vehicle and leave the first one with him to get repaired and resell – and then, a camper shell to install on my new truck within a few miles of his house. It wasn’t a perfect fit, however, and required some clever and time-consuming engineering to install it. Not too many people would have even attempted such a thing, but Dad pulled it off. Together with the vehicle inspection and registration, we lost a day, but gained a warm and loving night at Mom and Dad’s, which I wouldn’t have given up for anything.

Now we were finally on our way to Columbia, to say goodbye to sister Toni and pick up the trailer andTara, who would accompany me to my Houston storage locker to pick up my belongings, my San Antonio “home” for the night, and then on to the border and to Teopantli Kalpulli, an ecovillage on the outskirts of Guadalajara, where I will be making my new southern home.

First, however, we had a final family visit at my brother Scott’s beautiful country home in Edgerton, Kansas. We arrived at about 2:30 am on Saturday the 8th to find him and sister Tasha, unbelievably, waiting up for us, catching up on each others’ stories. We caught a few hours’ sleep before enjoying a great breakfast, rides on Oreo, one of the family’s three horses, and a recording session for the album Trina is creating for our Mom and Dad.

Here are the photos of that little adventure. I’m sorry I can’t include a taste of the refreshing below-zero temperatures!

Scott was able to upload Garmin’s Mexico data package onto my Nuvi GPS device, which I’m happy to report is a fantastic addition to my life – it performed wonderfully throughout the cross-country trip and navigated the streets of Saltillo, San Luis Potosi, Guadalajara and Puerto Vallarta with barely a hitch, and saved us many hours of driving in circles looking for directions.

We were able to sort through the contents of the storage locker in Houston, fitting about a third of them into my trailer and the back of my pickup truck with the help of Mike the mover. I was unable to part with 2/3 of my belongings as planned, and Tara found many of them interesting, so we made a plan to follow up with one more trip in March, when the rent on my storage locker expires, with the remaining contents of the locker going to my family in Missouri and needy families in Houston. Amazingly, Tara’s up for one more adventure. More on that later.

Meanwhile, here are the highlights of this Mexico trip:

* Laredo and La Posada: We spent the day visiting with Audrey and shopping in San Antonio, my last chance to visit a Whole Foods and get US prices on electronics and other important items. We splurged on a night at La Posada, the beautiful, classic hotel right on the plaza in old Laredo, as quaint and charming and peaceful as it’s ever been, despite the mayhem we’ve heard about in Mexican border towns. It’s a lovely way to prepare for your border crossing, with a staff well versed in the details of the procedure, and it’s luxury on a budget, with a great restaurant, a pool in the courtyard and fresh apples and friendly smiles at the reception desk.

* Delays at the border: This was touch and go as I didn’t have the actual title of the truck and trailer, only registration papers, having just bought them. Also, the inspection of the trailer was a big unknown; people on the Mexico Expat list had reported everything from painstaking unpacking and revision of every item, to taking a peek and sailing through.

My case was somewhere in between; the girl in charge asked me to remove a few things, took a peek, charged me $100 in taxes and sent me on my way. On the other side of the border, at the Mexican vehicle importation office, they accepted the registration documents, thankfully. However, they discovered that I had a car registered in Mexico, a fact that almost cost me the entire enterprise. It seems that once you’ve registered a car in Mexico, it’s illegal to leave without taking the car with you. This I had done several times with my Toyota Celica, CiCi, but it never seemed to be an issue until now, with CiCi sitting behind my folks’ house in Missouri.

“Can’t I just have my parents fax the papers?” I wanted to know. “No, you must bring the car back to the border and have the permit canceled,” the official told me severely. “But I can’t do that! It’s almost 2,000 miles away!” I protested. “Can’t I just pay a fine or something?” “No,” he told me firmly. “The punishment for this infraction is that you may never bring a vehicle into Mexico again. Not until you bring that one back.”

This statement rang in the air like a death knell. I gasped and clutched at my face. “What can I do?” I pleaded. Seeing my distress, he relented. “Does she have a car in Mexico?” he asked, beckoning to Tara. “Why… no,” I said. “OK, then, go back over to Laredo and get a temporary title in her name,” he instructed. This process took an hour and $60, and we were, thankfully, on our way – although in order to ever bring a vehicle legally across the border again, I will still have to bring my Celica down and have the permit canceled. Thankfully, I had not yet sold it. It seems CiCi wants to take another trip to Mexico.

* Saltillo: We had had our sights set on the beautiful colonial city of San Luis Potosi, about halfway to Guadalajara, for our layover, but delays at the border set us way back, and we were strongly discouraged by many people on both sides of the border from driving after dark on the Mexican side of the border, mainly in the north. We found our way to the historic center and a charming colonial hotel but a cold wave had struck with full force and our short expedition in search of dinner left us shivering down to our bones. In the morning, we headed off to discover that an ice storm had turned all the trees into a winter postcard and the highways into complete chaos, with all the bridges closed and traffic moving at a snail’s pace. Long story short, it was noon before we finally got out of town – with two police stopping us along the way to call me on my infractions and extract mordidas, or bites – the spanish word for bribes. Sigh.

* San Luis Potosi: Once again, due to our late start, we would have had to drive far into the night to reach our goal – so we decided to spend the night at the Panorama, downtown SLP’s classy, glassy hotel-with-a-view – a bit past its prime, sadly, with its sky lounge and piano bar closed for undisclosed reasons, but still lovely, and the city itself is a charmer. We asked a man on a bicycle for directions and instead of explaining he offered to lead us through the tangle of city streets – and we almost made it.

Our only bad moment in SLP occurred when yet another police officer stopped me for traveling in the historic center with a trailer – an infraction that was going to cost me plenty and he was going to ensure it, having suffered a ticket during his time in Texas, which he shared with me while trying to point to the infraction in his rule book. I was determined not to pay another mordida especially for such a silly rule and I raised such a ruckus that bystanders began to gather and another police officer finally intervened and let me go.

* Guadalajara: Beautiful in the mid-afternoon sun, but we were late and I was a bit worried as I had just learned from my landlord, Francisco, that Teopantli Kalpulli had just held its first meeting of the year and instead of receiving the letter I had sent and approving my pending residency, there had been a bit of controversy because the grandmothers had not been notified and proper procedure had not been followed. My letter had not been delivered due to a miscommunication, and now the grandmothers must be persuaded. Francisco was working on that, on my behalf, but I’d have to meet them and talk with them and let them know of my intentions.

* Teopantli Kalpulli: We met Francisco on the outskirts of Guadalajara at the gas station closest to Teopantli, Mexico’s first ecovillage, about 40 minutes outside of the city, and together we made our way through the tiny town of San Isidro Mazatepec and down 7 kilometers of dusty roads to the community itself. Francisco advised that we quickly unload the vehicles while there was still light, and then meet with the grandmothers. Tara and I busied ourselves sweeping the floor and Francisco found us some lovely neighbors – Raul and Cuautli – who helped us unload our furniture as the sun set over the mountains.

I then met the grandmothers and one of the grandfathers, explained to them my purpose and listened as Francisco assured them of my respectability. They seemed somewhat mollified but the real test will come this Thursday, when I make my case at a community meeting. (”It will be fine, you’ll see – once they see you and meet you, find out what you’re about, hear the way you laugh… they will love you,” my friend Levi reassured me.) The abuelas were on their way to a meeting so they dismissed me, but not before Abuela Villafaña poked her head out the car window and whispered, “Don’t worry – no pasa nada! You are going to be very, very happy here. Bienvenida!”

I then headed with a smile down to the bakery, where Jose Luis and Angelica shared fresh bread and yogurt and honey and savory vegetable patties. Tara and I savored the treats and made quick work of organizing the tiny house and then spent a delicious first night listening to the sounds of the crickets and cicadas in the trees outside. We awoke to a fresh, sweet scent in the air, the crowing of a rooster and the first rays of morning touching the pyramid at the edge of my backyard.

We spent a little time organizing things and taking photos, then made a beeline for the beach.

Mi casita

* Pacific Coast: We made it to Chacala, the closest beach from Guadalajara, just before sunset and made our nest at Las Brisas, the prettiest hotel on the tiniest beach town on this stretch of the coast. It was cozy, beautiful and right on the beach; the restaurant was fabulous, the price was right and we couldn’t have been happier.

We had a leisurely morning watching whales and soaking up the sun, then wandered our way down the coast, exploring surfy Guayabitos, ultra-natural Lo de Marcos, sweet little San Pancho and bohemian Sayulita before finally ending up, once again just before sunset, at Posada Lily in downtown Puerta Vallarta, just half a block from the beach. The price, once again, was right; we were lucky girls.

We wandered our way down the Malecon (sea wall) to our hearts’ content, watched mimes and clowns and jugglers and performance artists, listened to live music and admired the sand scupltures and bronze sculptures, everything from mermaids to sphinxes in a joyful, beautiful celebration of life. Over daiquiris and a coco loco, we watched the waves roll in and vowed to return when we’d have time to luxuriate in the warm sand and sun.

* Tlaquepaque: Tara had a plane to catch and we would be up before dawn, so our last evening I opted to take her to this charming colonial village on the outskirts of Guadalajara. Tlaquepaque captures the colonial ambience, the festive air and the intimacy of Guadalajara before it became a megacity, and the mariachis still wander the streets with their guitars and big hats and play for pesos as you drink your margaritas and enjoy fine traditional Mexican food. As usual, we arrived late – and Tara was exhausted and still had to re-pack to make a space for her Aztec blanket and other mercado finds – so we just settled for a nice dinner at El Nahual restaurant just down the street from our hotel, Posada Media Luna.

Up at 5 and off to the airport… A long day of travel for Tara, and back to work for me.

Here’s my photo collection – not too much of my new casita yet, but Tara took bunches of them, so you can find those on her Facebook page.

Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

COLUMBIA, Missouri – A shooting star snaked across the blackness of the night sky as we pulled out onto I-70 in our pickup truck, utility trailer in tow, a brilliant blessing on our journey. Some 2,000 miles of road beckoned, with a new home in Guadalajara on the other end. But for now, one last lingering visit with family at my brother’s house in Kansas.

It’s been a long, long journey since I launched the Esperanza Project a year ago, taking me as far south as Buenos Aires and full circle to the place that, Lord willing, will be my new home in Mexico. I found a casita for rent in the ecovillage Teopantli Kalpulli – the oldest ecovillage in Mexico and the subject of a story I recently wrote for Ecovillage News http://www.ecovillagenews.org/wiki/index.php/Indigenous_Past,_Ecovillage_Future. I was deeply impressed with the community when I wrote about it in January, and when my friend Levi told me about a house for rent there that cost less than my storage locker in Houston (truly!!!) I took it as a sign.

I’ve always thought that I would end up living in Mexico someday – not so soon, but finances are telling me, it’s almost time to renew my storage locker and after so much movement, I’m feeling the need to stop for a moment, plant some seeds, do some thinking and some writing, and build a solid base to launch my travels from. Teopantli seemed just the place.

My life has come full circle in a way this year. It was in Guadalajara that I connected with the group at Teopantli and also an indigenous rights group called AJAGI that works with the Huicholes. Long story short, as I was looking for guidance on the direction of The Esperanza Project, I was drawn back to Guadalajara where I will be working on freelance and book projects for the first part of the year and also be volunteering part-time with AJAGI and the Huicholes as I document their struggle to save their most sacred site, as I wrote at www.theesperanzaproject.org.

So just a couple of weeks ago I landed in Missouri and with the help of my amazing father found a truck and a trailer to haul my things. Many twists and turns along that trail, beginning with a bad transmission in the first vehicle, but all is working its way out. My daughter Tara has agreed to accompany me on this journey, and Saturday we drove to Houston to unpack my storage locker, sort out what I wanted to take with me to Mexico, visit with friends – Mona Metzger of Houston Green Scene and Lise Olsen of the Houston Chronicle and head on to San Antonio, to spend the night at the home of Audrey Lee, the dear friend who has backed me up on this journey more than anyone, receiving my mail, dealing with my emergencies and serving as a sounding board and emotional support. Yesterday we did much a much needed shopping trip, and now we are preparing to make our crossing. We decided to splurge our last night in the USA and got a room at La Posada, recently named the No. 1 hotel in Texas by Expedia – and it’s easy to see why.

The second part of the year I will resume my travels with a special focus on indigenous struggles to save their land and cuture.

I will be writing much more about all of this in the months ahead. Meanwhile I continue to pray for guidance and support as I chart my course and share the stories of those who are tending the fires hope from south of the border.

MEXICO CITY, Mexico – Thanksgiving day – I awoke this morning far from home and family but filled with a profound sense of gratitude.

Grateful for the sun that was just beginning to brighten the sky outside my window; grateful for the dear friends who have given me a home in this city of cities. Grateful for the health and the support of my family, who continue to love me faithfully despite my wandering ways.

Most of all on this day, I’m grateful for the path I’ve been given this year, a path that has led me from inspiration to inspiration as I traveled from Mexico to Argentina, seeking to learn from those who are each changing our world in their own way.

I began the year with grave doubts about the future of humanity, indeed, the future of all life on this planet. Peak oil, climate change, food insecurity, financial crises, water crises – ominous reports were being released from leading scientists around the world, saying we have passed the point of no return. We have not managed our inheritance well, and turbulent times loom – of this we can be sure.

I also harbored fears and doubts about my own future as a professional journalist who dedicated most of my professional life to an industry that is now shedding journalists like a maple tree in an autumn windstorm.

So I set off for the South on a search for inspiration in this troubled world, among the people who have always given me hope – Latin Americans, an astoundingly diverse collection of peoples who have for centuries cultivated the flame of joy amid the crises, a civilization born from crisis. I founded The Esperanza Project to document the stories of some of these people, and I began working on a book, “Looking for Esperanza.”

I found that inspiration, at countless kitchen tables and gardens and streets from Mexico City to Iguazú, from Guatemala’s Mayan highlands to El Salvador’s tropical forests, from Paraguay’s campesino movement to the artists and permaculturists of Colombia. Everywhere I went, I found people embracing the coming transition of our world with hope and joy.

I began my journey in January, and came full circle last week, with a powerful network of dreamers and doers who form the Vision Council – Guardians of the Earth. I will share more about this amazing network in my next piece. Among this network were representatives of the Huichol people, an indigenous group that is struggling to save its sacred lands from countless invasions large and small and now from a transnational mining corporation, and I will be writing a great deal about this, as well.

Somewhere along the thousands of dusty, sweaty miles I traveled, watching the landscape unfold through the windows of buses and semi-trucks and airplanes and from the backs of pickup trucks and oxcarts and motorcycles, a wider vision of me began to emerge, as well. Every departure became more difficult; I wept as Colombia’s lush green mountains receded into the distance, feeling the bonds I had made tightening around my heart. What was this force that kept pushing me forward? When would it be my time and place to plant my own roots, my own seeds? Where would be the soil that I would cultivate? Where would be the family whose future I would share?

Always the answer came back the same. You are a child of the cosmos. Your home is this planet. The seeds you plant are in the human consciousness, and they will bear fruit for all. Your family is everywhere… just look around you.

Yes, yes, I answered impatiently. But I want those seeds to make a difference. Like those whose stories I tell, I want my own work to matter. I want to be a midwife of hope in these transition times, a light along the way to that transcendent new world we are all dreaming of.

In those green mountains of Colombia, in an ancient ceremony conducted by Amazonian shamans, I surrendered my consciousness to the Pachamama, to the earthly manifestation of God himself. Allow me to be an instrument of thy will, I pleaded. Show me my path. Thy will, not mine, O Lord.

There in the darkness, surrounded by the chants and drums of the shamans, I saw my path. It was green and lined with trees. A soft breeze was blowing. Not a car, not a building, not a person to be seen.

Solitude. Silence. Spirit-filled reflection in the inherent wisdom of the Mother.

Three things that had eluded me in the constant movement of my journey. Three things that I will be seeking now.

During the three-day ceremony I visited at length with the tribal leaders of the Cofan people, learning of their struggles in the Amazon to reclaim and protect their lands from the invasions of cattle ranchers, oil companies, developers and all manner of threats. Struggles that echoed those of the Huicholes of the Mexican Sierra Occidental, who had left their magical mark on me at the beginning of my journey. Struggles that called to mind those of the Mayan peoples of Guatemala, risking and sometimes losing their lives in confrontations with the mining companies.

I have watched over the year as these struggles have continued to emerge and intensify: the Belo Monte Dam in Brazil, mountain-removal mining projects in Peru, massive agroindustrial plantations in Paraguay. As the free trade agreements signed over the past decade break down the barriers to transnational exploitation in the remotest corners, the native peoples who have guarded their lands for millennia are being called to sacrifice their lives in a last stand for their peoples and the Mother Earth.

All of these struggles unfolded before my eyes, the beautiful soulful faces of their protagonists burning their way into my consciousness. It was then that I knew that the next part of my journey would somehow, some way, be at their sides.

“The Madre is furious with us,” Maracame Julio Parra, a Huichol shaman, shared with me on our last night together. “We are not practicing the rituals of protection in the sacred sites as she has guided us for thousands of years. We must go back and make our peace with her.”

Peace with the Mother. Peace for the guardians of the earth. Peace for us all.

Forget Barak Obama – he’s so 2009. Evo Morales is the new rock star president, as I learned in Coyoacan this weekend. A sea of enthusiastic people of every ethnicity waited for hours in the hot sun to hear his plea for a more just society, one that provides a dignified life for all and respects the rights of the Pachamama, Mother Earth. His rousing speech was preceded with performances by indigenous dancers and musicians and a Four Directions ceremony.

Here are a few scenes from the rally on Sunday.

Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

Outside in the darkness, up in the hills not far from here, a chorus of coyotes is greeting the coming of the dawn. How appropriate, I think with a smile. Here in Huehuecoyotl, place of the old, old coyote, I’ve just bid farewell to the greatest coyote of all, Subcoyote Alberto Ruz Buenfil, who is letting me use his home as a base for a few days. Now it’s his time to head into Mexico City, where he is taking the lessons of the Rainbow Caravan for Peace into the barrios of that other place of coyotes, Coyoacán.

I’ve come to Huehuecoyotl to meet his family and some of the people who form this core group of world-changers. I’ve come to break bread, share stories, and glean advice for the journey ahead. Alberto has been in a whirlwind of activity since I arrived – he’s playing a lead role in a film about Fellini’s spiritual journey through Mexico, and the ghost-spirit of the great Italian filmmaker was just here to supervise from another dimension the shooting of some scenes; longtime friend Jose Arguelles, author and visionary, just spent some time here. During my two days here he’s just finished another book and sent it out to the reviewers, underwent a root canal and many hours of community meetings and obligations, and bid farewell to his daughter who is on her way back to Spain; now he’s preparing for a thousand-drum salute and fundraiser for the people of Haiti and a visit from Bolivian President Evo Morales, but still he took time to show me around, orient me to the solar shower and the composting toilet, share photos and reminisce about the incredible 13-year nomadic ecovillage whose trail I now follow, from Mexico to Patagonia.

An old legend tells of a time when the Earth is in crisis, and life itself is in danger. In these times, the legend goes, a new type of warrior will arise: a tribe of all races, creeds and nationalities who will be known by the universal symbol of the rainbow, and driven by love, their mission will be to save the planet from extinction.

So writes Alberto in his book, “Los Guerreros del Arcoiris.” (Rainbow Nation Without Borders-Bear & Company publishers)-Alberto has dedicated his life to nurturing this tribe, leading the Rainbow Caravan of Peace on an epic journey through Mexico, Central and South America. This nomadic ecovillage traveled from country to country, led by Alberto’s old schoolbus, La Mazorca, colorfully painted to resemble the iconic ear of corn. The ever-changing tribe sought to connect groups active in resistance to the destructive corporate model. They set up camp in jungles and mountains, in indigenous villages and urban ghettos, sharing music, theater and seeds of practical eco-wisdom: green building techniques, simple alternative technologies, natural healing techniques and more. At the same time, they gathered up bits of local lore and wisdom and connected the disparate groups into a hemispheric network. In August of 2009, the tribe finally disbanded, each dispersing to different parts of the continent to continue the consuming work of social change.

Alberto returned to Huehuecoyotl, the picturesque ecovillage established in 1982 in the mountains near Tepoztlan by Alberto and his community of rainbow warriors. He is letting me use his home as a base for a few days as I organize myself for the next phase of my journey. The beautiful adobe-brick home is filled with light from the arching windows that look out upon the grassy valley below; out the front door, past a tall green row of fragrant hoja santa plants, limestone cliffs tower protectively beyond the beautiful home of his son Odin, a musician and one of Mexico’s leading permaculture practitioners.

I will see Alberto once again before I go, when he hosts Bolivian President Evo Morales for a brief visit to the city on Sunday. Meanwhile, here is a short interview I did with him recently, at his office in the Casa de Cultura Reyes Heroles in Coyoacán. His warning comes as a coyote howl in the fading moonlight.

“Like the Mayan Zapatistas said, we have had a long time to dream. Now is the time to wake up. Because any dream we don’t manifest becomes a nightmare, made by somebody else.”

This week I finally got a chance to go and see it for myself, and to meet some of its inhabitants. It was as beautiful as I’d imagined; constructed in the early 1980s by artists, green architects and permaculturists, the community is infused with a colorful yet gentle aesthetic that pleases the spirit as well as the eye.

Many of the residents, like “Subcoyote” Alberto Ruz Buenfil, divide their time between Huehue (as it’s known for short, pronounced ‘Wayway,”) and various other spots around the globe, where they teach, play music, act in films or otherwise engage in another aspect of their lives, generally related to promoting social change in one way or another.

The community was formed in 1982 when its founders, most of them belonging to a troupe of itinerant actors called the Illuminated Elephants, decided to put down some roots. Ecology ranked high in the group’s values, so the community became Mexico’s first Ecovillage, a concept based on ecological design principles. “It’s a very low-impact community, utilizing every type of alternative technology we can,” said Giovanni Ciarlo, one of the residents I spoke with during my stay. “Our biggest capital is our tight social network, and also the fact that it’s integrated into nature and has an artisitic sensibility.”

Giovanni and his partner Kathleen are musicians and teachers, migrating back and forth between here and Waterford, Conn. Giovanni and Kathy are the founders of Sirius Coyote Music, an innovative Latin America-inspired musical group that incorporates environmental education and community building into their work. They perform on more than 30 different instruments from a variety of cultures, some of which they’ve crafted themselves. As if that’s not enough, Giovanni also serves as board president for the Global Ecovillage Network.

That tight social network includes Liora Adler and Andrew Langford, who just returned home after several months of teaching in the U.S. Virgin Islands and traveling in Andrew’s native England and Liora’s native U.S. to visit with family and meet new grandchildren. Now hard at work fully reintegrating into the work of running the revolutionary Gaia University, they took time for tea and an interview, which I’ll be publishing here shortly.

It also includes Alberto’s son Odin, a world-class musician and permaculture designer who shared with me many tracks of his globally influenced compositions, and his partner Sadie, a teacher and author, together with their winsome toddler Nayeli.

You can meet Giovanni and Kathy, Alberto and Odin, Liora and Andy and take a little virtual tour of the beautiful community of Huehuecoyotl here, on the Flickr slide show I’ve created. Click “show info” for captions.

Currently the community is accepting visitors on retreat with advance notice, and periodically organizes workshops on a variety of topics. For more information, contact Giovanni at sircoyote@aol.com, and see the Huehuecoyotl web page.

To learn more about ecovillages, see the Global Ecovillage Network homepage.

To learn more about permaculture, an ecological design system that is making waves throughout the world, see the Permaculture Institute page. To learn more about permaculture efforts throughout Latin America, see Permacultura America Latina.

To read about them, please visit Guerreros de Guadalajara, a bilingual entry in my Flickr account.

La Minerva, warrior woman of old and symbol of modern-day Guadalajara, photo courtesy of TheLittleTx, Flickr Creative Commons.