Que Sera Sera

Life is good. I'd even call it great. But the times, they are a-changin'. Tomorrow night, I leave on a bus for Chiapas, Mexico. A few days to explore San Cristobal and the surrounding area, then we have our Special Assembly Day in Tuxtla-Guttierez. Funny, that's where we started our trip last year, staying at the Assembly Hall with Julian and Mimi.

Directly after the assembly, I'll get on a bus with Vince, Jacinta, Kent, and Kirstie. From there, it's off to Nicaragua. WHAT? I know. We're taking a two week service/surf/spying out the land trip. We'll pass through Guatemala, spend a few days in El Salvador, roll through Honduras and land in Nicaragua. We'll be staying in San Juan del Sur and visiting the English congregation in Chinandega, Nicaragua. There shall be a having of the surf, and a seeing of the land. I'm hoping by the time I come back, I'll have a better idea of what my next move should be. Things are so good in Puerto, but I'm trying to follow my head at least half as much as my heart. It would be nice if someone made these life changing decisions for me, but I fear this is one that can't be outsourced. Bueno, on to the pictures.

Holly, lover of all creatures big and small.

Example of creature "small":

Ben stood and delivered his first Public Talk. Nailed it.

One of these things does not belong:

Vinny lovingly tending to the Kingdom Hall with a machete.

The perfect treat after a long day in the ministry.

Alright folks, this is it. I may or may not be able to update again for the next three weeks. If I can, I will, and if I can't, I won't. Everything is so excellent at the moment, I don't want anything to change. But inevitably, they do. And they will. Pero todo esta bien. Por que? Porque que sera sera.

Whatever will be, will be.

Go Therefore, And Make Disciples of People Of All The Nations

As lovely as a place Puerto Escondido is, there is no point in being here if it wasn't for the ministry. There is no activity more rewarding than being used by Jehovah to help people get to know him and harmonize their lives with what the Bible really teaches. Seeing people freed from false teachings and fear of the future is a privilege and a joy. 

There are definitely days when it's harder than others, but even the hardest day brings its own delight. "O Jehovah God...a day in your courtyard is worth a thousand elsewhere." (Psalm 84:8-10) In a typical ministry day, we either do canvasing (looking for English speakers) or not at homes (locating said English speakers), along with letter writing, return visits, informal, Bible studies, and juggling.

Kent, the jack of all trades who used to be in the circus. At least, he dabbled in trapeze artistry. I'm not even kidding. This guy has done everything.

Transportation is always an issue. By using some combination of collectivos, motorbikes, cars and walking, we all manage to get to and from the territory just fine. Graciela lets the service group use her car as much as necessary, all she asks as that instead of using gas, we use manpower.

Actually, we left the car on while her and Michael were on a super long, super good call to prevent us from incinerating, and it punished us by dying.

Nathan and Ruth have ideal transport - a truck with four seats in front, and forty seats in back. I often elect for the truck bed, it affords me opportunities for fresh air and drive-by witnessing.

Graciela, Holly, Chelsea, Ruth

Ben is back! He's been serving in Puerto since 2007. We met him, Haley (Ben's sister) and Pete last year. Since then, Haley and Pete are back in Australia (and dating), and Ben went to Canada to work. Now he's back, and from the looks of things he's rather at home again.

I love the sky and the shadows in that picture. I took it from the back of Nathan's truck, while cruising with Chiaki and Ken, a brother from New York.

Of course, no day would be complete without a baby animal sighting. I think these puppies were taking their first glances at the world outside of "under the tractor".

While following Ben on our bikes to a Bible study, a precious black kitten ran across his path. We pulled over and after making friends with it, Ben decided he had found his new mascota (pet). Unfortunately, it turns out his landlords have a strict "no mascotas" policy. It's really rather tragic, and if there is a workaround to be had, you can bet we will have it.

The cat was a lot cuter than the picture lets on. Of course, I could be blinded by kitty-love. Oh and hey, that's my motorbike in the background! Assorted ministry pictures to follow.

Michael and Diana, from Mexico City

Jared, Ben, Oggy and I went to Huatulco for our "weekend" to soak up a bit of civilization and ministry. Seeing a movie, eating the world's best French toast, a shoe-shine in the park, it was all enough to refresh our souls. We stayed with Melissa (Nathan's sister) and Jason, who are here from Canada with their two young kids spying out Mexico.

Witnessing with Melissa, Katy, Nicolai, and Oggy.

It's going to be near impossible to leave my Bible students. I know Jehovah will look after them, but they are truly my friends and potential sisters. Below is Clara, the woman Crystal and I found at the cheese shop in the market, modelling my helmet. We have been studying a couple of times a week, and we get along like amigas of old.

Then there is Janely, a 13 year old girl who was born in LA and is the only member of her family that speaks English. Bronnie turned her over to me when she left. She has started coming to all the meetings, and gave her first answer ever at the meeting last Wednesday. I thought my heart was going to explode with joy.

Some days are muddier than others in the ministry. While some remain unscathed, like Chiaki and Jared...

Others fall prey to mud sink holes, such as myself.

I shouldn't have bothered getting cleaned up after that, because I turned the corner to see Nathan trying to single handedly push a Volkswagon out of the mud. A woman and her two kids had gotten themselves seriously stuck. I threw off my shoes and hopped in the mud. With a combination of physics and brute strength under Nathan's command, we pushed that sucker out of the mud. 

The woman brought us buckets of water to rinse off, we cleaned up and gave her a Spanish "Would You Like To Know the Truth" tract. Another victory for the Witness Action Adventure League!

 

Now for all those San Dieagans out there, if we had been in the ministry for two and half hours and had just used all of our vital force to push a car out of the mud in the tropical heat, what would we do?

We'd get Better Buzz.

However, this isn't San Diego. So what did we do?

Another block of territory.

You have to love it. Apparently, if it doesn't kill me, it's only going to make me stronger. 

Vamos A La Playa

If you haven't heard the song "Vamos A La Playa", it's worth a listen. Not the catchy 1999 pop song by Miranda, but the 1983 catchy pop song by Righeira. It's actually worth it for the dance moves alone. And the wrist antennae the adorable guy on the right is wearing. And the fact that the lyrics in English loosely translate to "We go to the beach. The bomb exploded. Radioactive wind ruffles the hair. We go to the beach. At last the sea is clean. No more smelly fish. We go to the beach."

The point is, we do go to the beach. Not as often as I would have expected, all things considered. It's always there, but it's not every day we have time to frolic. But when we do find time to frolic, it's frolicsome indeed.Day trip to Mazunte and Zipolite. I know it doesn't look like there's much movement going on, but this was between boiling sand beach volleyball rounds and dancing around in Mexican blankets sessions.

Me, Holly and Bronnie at Zicatela on one of our last nights before Bronnie returned to Nueva Zealandia.

Bronnie's departure gave us all an excuse to have as much fun as possible in the name of "Bronnie's last ________" (week, meeting, chance to eat large quantities of ice cream) We were all in denial until the last minute, when we all caravaned to the airport and took one last adopted family photo.

Jared, Bronnie, Holly, Mike, Chelsea

The surf has been crazy. I haven't been out very much, it's just too heavy. Last night we all watched with dread as a demolished board washed onto shore. We saw the boardless surfer waving for help, then go under. The sun was going down and 20 foot waves were coming in. We were all fearing the worst. Minutes later, everyone on the beach helped push a Sea-Doo offshore and one of the lifeguards found and brought him in, shook but healthy. 30-40 foot waves were pumping all day yesterday. It's hard to tell how big they are until you see the speck of a surfing riding down the face, and you get the idea. 

There are plenty of beaches along the coast that offer more manageable waves. A few of us went to Agua Blanca, where we managed to get some good rides, and I managed to shred my left leg over some hidden rocks. I don't mind the scars, as long as there's a good story to go with it.

Oggy heading out for a few hours of salty snacks

Before.

After.

Surely I jest. I saw that board on the beach yesterday as I walked down to get some coffee, toes in the sand and radioactive wind ruffling my hair. 

Reflections on Getting Caught In The Rain Without Proper Getting Caught In The Rain Attire

Rain streaming against my face. A plastic bag full of plantains, papaya, incense and apples tucked between my knees. A soaked service dress, a satchel full of literature, and a bouquet of flowers precariously wedged behind my seat. I am wearing a helmet. I shift from second to third gear. The motorcycle shifts as I head down Oaxaca Avenue. An almost familiar Mexican pop song races through the air as I pass and wave at a sister from the congregation. A single thought drifts through my mind. "I love Mexico."

Shift gears.

Hours earlier. I stumble out of bed, throw on assorted finery, and hop on my motorcycle. Heading out to the Kingdom Hall, I steer to avoid many a pothole and pedestrian. Stall. Start. Stall. Start. A taxi driver cuts me off and a truck full of hombres hollers and honks. I grit my teeth. A single declaration rolls involuntarily off my tongue. "I hate Mexico!" I yell into the wind. I look around to see who has overheard this galvanic eruption. A stray dog looks at me with mild curiosity.

The passing of a few hours, a hearty lunch, and an amazing Bible study takes the edge of off anything, and so it did. Now I'm home, strangely and perfectly content, listening to Abbey Road and googling "What Type of Parasite Do I Have?" as if for a frivolous personality test. I am bruised, and burnt, and altogether beat. The crickets outside chirp with unparalled passion. Tonight, they love Mexico, and I am powerless to disagree. 

Sundays Are For Volleyball Lovers

Vince, Jared (Oggy), Joseus, Jared, Little Kid*, Freddy, Ben, Mike, Chelsea, The Mom*, Holly, The Dad*, Little Girl*, Nathan, Ruth, Keiko, Chiaki

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent. 

(In other words, I can't remember.)

Vanity & Striving After Wind

I'm going to get so busted for posting this. Enjoy it while it lasts.

In the Oaxacan heat, makeup is optional, hairstyles impossible. You choose your clothes based on armpit breatheability and sweatproofocity. Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. However, being intrinsically female, I do enjoy a little sprucing up here and there. After encountering Holly's mutant detached doll head I decided what I've been missing all these years was a head-full of multicolored hair braids. 

My original prototype.

Upon further consideration, Bronnie and I agreed that one tastefully placed hair braid would be enough for us. (We've challenged each other to see who can keep theirs longer. Unfortunately, you can't just unwrap them; you have to cut them out. So I guess it's really more of a contest to see who's the first one brave enough to cut themselves a bald patch.)

Though feeling rather glamorous, we realized more had to be done. The combination of sun, salt-water, and ages of walking had taken a toll on our hair, skin, and feet. With no spa in sight, we realized we would have to invent our own. Holly, Bronnie and I put our heads and refrigerators together and created a Natural Beauty Night for the ages.

What was originally going to be the three of us escalated rapidly. Suddenly, we had candles, incense, ambient lighting and music, a pot of Moroccan mint tea on the stove, and more than a few friends (yes, male and female alike) laying on the floor awaiting their 'treatments'. Avocado and tea tree oil masks for the face, banana and egg treatments for the hair, and assorted other food products were smeared on everyone and everything in sight. In the middle of everything, an epic thunderstorm rolled into town. You can't pay for that kind of luxury!

Sandra & Yanira, glowing anew!

Surprisingly, the questionable beauty treatments worked wonders. We all went home buffed and polished, with bits of banana stuck to our necks and smelling faintly of guacamole. All in all, a smashing success. 

New Flatmate!

FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD, WHY????

I usually wear my headlamp before bed because my two lighting options are overhead fluorescence or forehead incandescence. You can imagine my superior delight when moments before bed, this little monster scurried past my line of sight. I threw the lights on to be confronted with all 4.5 inches of it's horror. I did what any logical, independent woman would do - threw a shoe at it. Then it ran. Then I screamed. Then I did what any logical, independent woman would do and called for reinforcements. I rang Jared, the only person who I knew would still be up and could coach me through my next move.

He reassures me that the scorpion in my room is not only abnormally large, but quite possibly fatal. So what does he tell me to do? Throw a shoe at it. So I do, and it runs into my clothes (the ones in my closet, not the ones on my body). He tells me to start taking clothes out of my closet one by one, shaking them out until I find it. At this point, I'm curled up on my chair in the fetal position, headlamp on, shivering with fear. Then, he says, "Just watch out, because they can jump."

Flash forward 20 minutes later....

Yeah; there's no way I was going to let myself pass out and be eaten by a scorpion alone. 45 minutes later - No scorpion to be found. Belongings everywhere. Jared has learned to never tell a girl that scorpions can jump again, and I have a new least favorite animal. Arthropod. Nemesis. 

Simple Sangria

INGREDIENTS
1 bottle of red wine
Citrus fruit
Assorted fruit (optional) (sliced strawberries, peaches, fresh blueberries, raspberries, kiwis, pears...)
2 tbsp sugar
1 shot brandy
2 cups ginger ale, lemon-lime, or club soda

PREPARATION
Pour wine in pitcher and squeeze the juice from the citrus fruit into the wine. Drop in the citrus fruit wedges (leaving out seeds if possible) and assorted fruit. Add sugar and brandy. Chill overnight, if you're able to wait that long; which I'm not. To serve, toss a couple ice cubes in a glass, add a little soda, then the sangria.

You can't really mess this one up.

Flee Into the Mountains

Holly, Bronnie, Charlotte, Sharon, and Chelsea, being photographed by a monkey in a tree.

There are a surprising amount of congregations and territories in the mountains surrounding Puerto Escondido. It never ceases to amaze me that in a country where the next main grocery store can be hours away, the next Kingdom Hall is usually only down the road. In fact, in Puerto Escondido alone, there are at least 5 Spanish congregations, 1 English, and a handful of indigenous language congregations from Nahuatl to Zapotec. During the inevitable "So...why are you here?" conversations with strangers, it's not unusual to find out that they are studying with the Witnesses, if not JWs themselves. Pretty cool.

Jared, a young Australian guy in the congregation, was invited by a Special Pioneer couple to bring a group up for a Spanish ministry day in San Gabriel. We cobbled together a group and headed up to the mountains. After the decidedly worst taxi ride of my life, we arrived and were greeted by the San Gabriel Welcoming Committee:
We walked to the Kingdom Hall, which was a modest structure built on a sister's property, lined with plastic chairs and a small amplification system. We were all a bit giggly, considering our combined Spanish skills are about the equivalent of one sixth grade student. The brother leading the group assigned each of us with a local brother or sister, and sent each pair off in a different direction. We were to reconvene in 4 hours for lunch, which a different family prepares for the service group each week.
I was having a bit of a troublesome morning - the Spanish part of my brain was refusing to kick in, I dropped all my books in the mud, and I was experiencing unparalleled hunger. But I managed to put my fleshly weaknesses behind as every house we went to ended in what was more or less a Bible study. People would run inside to grab their own copy of the Bible and follow along with the scriptures.

I'm not going to lie, around 11 when my partner said she needed to head home to start making lunch for the service group, I was more than happy to lend a mouth. Er, a hand. I haven't cut hundreds of pound of vegetables on the RBC for nothing. Soup for 30? Coming right up.

Lalito was my assistant, or maybe I was his assistant, all I know is we bonded over a love of snapping green beans and Spiderman.

I've become excessively fond of outdoor kitchens. What more do you need than a giant pot, a giant spoon and some fire?

Preparing the sugar cane for an afternoon snack.

I sat with the sisters and shot the breeze until the rest of the group returned from service. I think we talked about chickens, and the weather. Because I'm focusing so hard on understanding what we're talking about, every conversation in Spanish is a victory. I can't imagine getting quite as excited talking about poultry and the climate in English, but I'm open minded.

My sweet little kitten, who I couldn't let go of. 

Lalito couldn't let go of her either.

Don't worry, I rescued her immediately after taking this picture. And don't worry Frodo, you haven't been replaced. Yet. Lunch was a great success. Soup was eaten, chess was played, group photos were taken, the bold brother on the bottom right tried to woo Bronnie.

I always enjoy these forays into "real" Mexico. It was a bit of a culture shock for Charlotte, since Puerto was all she had seen of the country so far. It's definitely life at it's simplest, but potentially life at it's happiest. It certainly worked out well for the family dogs, who got to dive into the leftovers.

For dessert, we had puppies. 

Oh, I'm sorry -- we held puppies. There was talk of late afternoon ministry, but we had a long journey back home, and were all a bit full of soup and español.

Muchacho, Amigo, and Jared, who got lost on his way to the discotheque.

Unwilling to reenact our taxi ride from Hades on the way home, we opted for a collectivo. A quarter of the cost and twice as fresh, we even picked up a few new friends along the way.

Well, she doesn't look too friendly, but she spent most of the ride home on Mike's lap, so, close enough.