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A Caribbean Escape
In Mexico there's a place where coral reefs meet ancient ruins, the beaches are white and the water is blue. It's as exotic as its name—Quintana Roo.
Isla Mujeres: a sea as blue as the Big Bend sky. Photograph by Raymond Gendreau
By Barbara Rodriguez
This story is from Texas Monthly's archives. We have left it as it was originally published, without updating, to maintain a clear historical record. Read more here about our archive digitization project.
Almost a thousand miles east of the political and geological turmoil of Mexico City lies Quintana Roo, the eastern state of Mexico's Yucatán Peninsula. Sometimes impenetrable, often mysterious, enabled by sea, terrain, and distance to keep much of the twentieth century at bay, Quintana Roo embodies the spirit of the Yucatán. The Yucatán Peninsula rises between the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean Sea like a hitchhiker's thumb, a slab of limestone—"living rock," the Spaniards called it. Most of the ragged shelf is covered with jungle. In the north the dense foliage is scrubby, much like the monsoon forest of South Asia; in the south it grows increasingly lush until marshland and lagoon give way to towering rain forest. The peninsula undulates in the northwest Mexican state of Yucatán, climbs west into the mountains of Chiapas, stretches south across the border, and ends up in the mountains of Guatemala and Belize. Named for an independence leader who was also a poet, Quintana Roo captured my imagination long before I set foot there.
My journey through Quintana Roo began in Cancún. Armed with guidebooks (for Yucatán travel I favor Baedeker's Mexico and Harvard Student Agencies' Let's Go: Mexico), tennis shoes, and a big hat, I ferried from there to Isla Mujeres and Cozumel, slept in the shadows of pyramids, bartered for tortillas in villages without electricity, and bused up and down the coast on a highway as straight and narrow as the road to heaven.
What follows are the highlights of my love affair with Quintana Roo, the coves and crannies that overflow with ruins, history, myth, and fish. End-of-the-world delights. Primitive escapes from telephones and plumbing. Isolated luxury beyond all pricing. Set no timetables, expect only the unexpected. In 1840 a separatist governor of Yucatán offered the troubled coastland to the republic of Texas in exchange for military aid. Consider as you float upon a sea as blue as the Big Bend sky that but for a glitch of history all this could have been ours—a fourth coast, the Texas Caribbean.
Twelve years ago Cancún was a fishing village, an anonymous clutch of thatched huts important only to the hundred-some souls who hung their hammocks there. A mainland-hugging island adjacent to the village was notable for its dense overgrowth, a few ruined Mayan temples, and a population of monkeys and birds. That was before FONATUR, the Mexican tourism agency, had its computer spit out data to make a developer's heart swell: one twelve-mile-long barrier island trimmed in sugar-white sand, cupped by two translucent jade lagoons, fronted by the Caribbean, and blessed the whole year with sunshine. A resort was born.
Aeroméxico's margarita flight out of Houston arrives in Cancún just after noon every day. (Continental also flies from Houston, and American and Mexicana fly daily from DFW.) It's a short flight; lunch trays have barely been cleared when the muddy brown Gulf gives way to the dense green of the Yucatán Peninsula. The plane continues to the eastern shoreline, crossing high above a solitary road running due south. Finally, before looping inland to the Cancún airport, you get a first glimpse of the aquamarine Caribbean. A scant two hours out of Houston Intercontinental, you step onto the runway and into the Technicolor tropics of Texas' backyard jungle.
Once you've managed to get through baggage claim and customs (be sure to sign the back of your tourist card and to snag a porter, both time-saving tricks), there is very little that is complicated about a vacation in Cancún. You can drink the water directly from the tap. Desk personnel at most major hotels speak English. And for those who suffer beach burnout, ubiquitous travel agents arrange excursions to other islands and the ruins surrounding the resort. The result of all that efficiency: 80 per cent occupancy year-round. It's fairly easy to find accommodations at Cancún City (on the mainland) anytime. If you want a room on the island, reservations are a must, but during September's sprinkles—it never rains for long—even the resort hotels suffer a slump.
Vans that tote tourists from the airport to the hotel zone skirt Cancún City, a tediously planned community built to house the resort's support staff. After turning east onto Paseo Kukulcán you will cross the garish green-blue Nichupté Lagoon to Cancún Island, the resort proper. A quarter-mile-wide hooked spit of land between the lagoon and the sea, Cancún Island is elaborately landscaped with topiary idols and lined with mock-Mayan hotels, modem shopping malls, calcimined condominiums, Moorish summer houses, marinas—and a golf course complete with Mayan ruin.
To get to town from the island, catch buses marked "Ruta 1" at paradas ("bus stops") along Kukulcán. On the mainland side of the causeway, Cancún City offers its own restaurant and shopping drag (Avenida Tulúm). Wherever you go, prices are high, although they're still less expensive than those at most North American resorts, and you shouldn't expect any tremendous shopping bargains (most craft items are imported from Central Mexico). For the finest selection of goods from all over the country—from papier-mâché vegetables to silver jewelry—try Plaza México (Avenida Tulúm, next to Hotel America). For the tacky or the traditional—velvet sombreros, stuffed armadillos, wool sweaters—test your haggling skills at Ki Huic Market (Avenida Tulúm, next to the Municipal Palace) by bargaining down to at least half of the original price quoted. The most unusual shop in Cancún is Pacal (at the Hotel Plaza del Sol), a tiny boutique specializing in clothes and crafts from the state of Chiapas—Lacandon bows and arrows, hand-woven blouses, exquisitely carved figures of Indians in native costumes. Otherwise, shopping varies little from that in Houston's Galleria.
Budget travelers check into hotels in Cancún City and commute to the beach. Hotel Tulúm (Avenida Tulúm 41, 988-3-05-53), Novotel (Avenida Tulúm and Azucena, 988-4-29-99), and María de Lourdes (Avenida Yaxchilán Mz. 14, 988-4-17-21) are not-quite-bare-bones accommodations that are central, comfortable, and inexpensive ($15–$20). Slightly more luxurious city hotels in the Marriott class are the Hotel America (Avenida Tulúm at Brisa, 988-3-15-00) and the well-worn Plaza del Sol (Avenida Yaxchilán 31, 988-3-08-88), both moderately priced ($25–$35).
But if you really want to experience the resort of the computer's dreams, you must stay at one of the island's beachfront hotels; just plan on dropping about $100 a day. There are those who refuse to set foot anywhere in Mexico unless they can get a room at that grande dame of Mexican hostelries, the hotel El Presidente. The El Presidente Cancún (Paseo Kukulcán–Hotel Zone, 988-3-02-00), with its glorious gardens, two swimming pools, a water sports marina, nightly salsa or mariachi music, and a location adjacent to the Pok-Ta-Pok golf club—illustrates why. Tourists interested in all-inclusive travel packages (in Cancún, unlike other parts of Mexico, packages are often the best deals) prefer the isolation and self-indulgence of the Club Méditerranée (for information call 800-528-3100). Strung along the Punta Nizuc Peninsula and designed to resemble an ancient Mayan city, the club is flanked by sea and lagoon. One price (around $1100 from Houston and Dallas for a one-week stay) includes airfare, lodging, meals, and most land and water sports. A hot spot for divers and snorkelers, the reef south of the club (part of the longest barrier reef in the Western Hemisphere) has been designated a national underwater park. Those with a taste for the pleasantly overblown can book into Fiesta Americana (Playa Caracol, 988-3-14-00). A Mediterranean-style villa gone mad, the multilevel jumble of pastel walls and tile roofs overlooks a placid sea and Cancún's largest swimming pool.
Were I Jackie O. or even Lynn Wyatt, I would never stay anywhere in Cancún other than at the Camino Real (Paseo Kukulcán, 800-228-3000). A mere mention of the hotel's name on the van ride from the airport evoked sighs from my fellow passengers, guests of other hotels. High-priced and sedate, the Camino Real is frequented mostly by wealthy Mexican families, businessmen, and honeymooners. The hotel's food is some of the island's best. Those who can't afford the rooms ($130 for a double) schlepp over for the breakfast buffet.
Located at the northern tip of the island, the Camino Real's pyramidal structure straddles a promontory that divides the sea into the reef-sheltered Caracol Beach and the rolling open sea of Playa Chac Mool. (Of the two beaches, the snowy stretch of Playa Chac Mool is the most impressive, but the undertow can be wicked; pay attention to warning flags.) Half the hotel's rooms overlook Caracol and a private lagoon alive with sea turtles and behemoth fish. From the beach the rooms' patios look like a stack of miniature stages that feature drying bathing suits and lounging couples. I prefer the seaside rooms, where balconies face nothing more complicated than sea and horizon and an occasional fishing boat. Windsurfing and sailing concessions, a trimaran dock, tennis courts, three restaurants, two beach bar-and-grills, and—most decadent of all—a swim-up pool bar round out the Camino Real's offerings.
By day, people collapse on the island's beach or float on the sea; waiters fetch drinks in slow motion. Deserted during the afternoon siesta hours, Cancún City comes alive when the sun sets. Streams of local teenagers in designer shirts (a Polo Shop recently opened in Cancún) ramble along Avenida Tulúm, shoulder-to-shoulder with businessmen in guayaberas and Mayan women swaddled in rebozos, all-purpose shawls that can also be used for carrying groceries or babies. Wizened campesinos gawk at red-faced and scantily clad young women who stumble and shriek, overwhelmed by too much sun or tequila. Tourists usually run in packs. Men in madras shorts trot behind women whose blanched strap marks crisscross their bare backs. Everyone seems to be in a hurry. Waiters scurry, crowds push and shove; there's an air of expectation. Even children hustle to sell chicle, roses, and shoeshines.
The supper hour is the time to choose among several of the best restaurants in Cancún. For a peasant's feast, head into Cancún City to La Parrilla (Avenida Yaxchilán 51), a popular grill. Don't bother with the menu, here's what to order: three or four tacos al pastor, palm-sized soft tortillas stuffed with grilled beef carved off a spit, cilantro, onion, and pineapple; guacamole, a mound as rich as it is green; grilled cebollas, lip-smacking sweet and crispy pearl onions; and a bowl of frijoles charolitos, a garlicky, smoky bean soup. Ladle a little of each of the two crunchy but not too hot salsas onto the tacos and into the beans, and squeeze lime over everything (about $3 total). Eat hearty, but save room for dessert; a genuine Italian pastry shop is just up the street. The hissing of the cappuccino machine—a sound seldom heard in the tropics—drew me to Pastelería Italiano (Avenida Yaxchilán 70), but it was the sopa inglesa, a traditional English confection of custard, strawberry jam, nuts, peaches, raisins, and meringue, that won my heart. On the island there's the Camino Real's El Restaurant Mexicano, a four-star restaurant in every sense. Its slightly Moorish, heavily carved wooden furnishings and elaborate wrought-iron candelabras are elegant; the plaster watermelons, vividly pink and green, are endearing. Yucatecan dishes and seafood are the mainstays of the menu, but innovative specials, such as coconut soup, carved mango salad, and freshly baked pumpkin bread, provide daily surprises. By all means, eat at El Mexicano as often as you can afford its north-of-the-border prices.
If you've got what it takes to disco in Mexico (practically a national sport), meander over to the Aquarius, next door to the Camino Real, to test your mettle. I did, planning to stay no longer than one hour. What followed was insane and exhausting. Dry-ice smoke billowed from the dance floor, and strobe lights freeze-framed dancers. Prince pranced across a giant video screen. A covey of olive-skinned Madonna look-alikes cooed, pouted, and squirmed. A bathroom attendant carefully arranged rows of powdered eye shadows and pots of glosses for the use of anyone with a few pesos. A chubby girl in a white satin mummy dress asked me if she looked fat. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out upon the frothing surf pounding Playa Chac Mool to a disco beat. At four in the morning, sometime after the indoor fireworks display, I broke through the lunging line of bunny hoppers and ran for my room. Only later did I hear that Christine, a few hundred yards up the street, was where all the real action was that night.
Breakfast at the Camino Real is the best reason for getting up early when all you have planned is a day of doing nothing. Request a table on the patio of Azulejos restaurant, where grackles flash blue-black against the pink and orange of tropical blossoms. The legendary buffet stretches beyond all reasonable appetites. Consider the selection of fruit juices alone: watermelon, orange, melon, papaya, grapefruit, grape—all freshly squeezed. For those who can't do justice to the big spread, the menu's El Maya breakfast is a good bet, with huevos a la motuleña (fried eggs atop a corn tortilla heaped with black beans, chiles, salsa, cheese, and a few obligatory green peas), pan dulce, fried plantains, coffee, and juice (about $5).
Isla Mujeres, two miles east of Cancún, was discovered in 1517 by Spaniards who named it the "Isle of Women" for a cache of terra-cotta figurines representing the fertility goddess Ixchel, or so the most popular story goes. Another version says that the explorers were inspired to name their discovery for the lady loves of pirates, who were often left to stew on the island while the menfolk pursued the plundering business. Believe what you will about its past, the tiny (five miles long, one mile wide) island's solitary village is still little more than a sleepy lair of pastel clapboard houses fronted by sparkling water, where a dozen randomly anchored rowboats look like cast-off slippers. Schools of snorkelers spout and splash around the island's reefs by day, but when the last of the tour boats pulls out at dusk, only the most amphibious of travelers—seasoned divers, displaced surfers, and thrifty Europeans enamored of the cheap beach camping—are left in town.
The most romantic way to arrive in Isla Mujeres is to be nestled in the prow nets of a trimaran, suspended a few feet above indigo and verdant water, while red and yellow sails billow and snap overhead. Trimaran trips to Isla Mujeres can be arranged at the Camino Real, El Presidente, and other hotels in Cancún; the price for a round-trip ticket (about $20) includes lunch and snorkeling gear. You may be able to negotiate a one-way ticket if you wish to stay on the island overnight. Romance aside, 25 cents will get you to the island on passenger ferries that depart Puerto Juárez—a ten-minute cab or bus ride from Cancún—every three hours from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. The last ferry back to Cancún usually leaves Isla Mujeres at 5:45 p.m., but check the schedule.
A typical day begins with huevos rancheros at the Miramar (north of the ferry dock); some mid-morning windsurfing at Playa los Cocos, the island's sandy northern beach; a noon walk of ten paces to Palapa Cocos for what might be the best papas fritas (fried potatoes served with lime) in the world; an afternoon ride on mopeds (for rent at most hotels around town) to the southern tip of the island and El Garrafón reef for snorkeling; a little late-in-the-day snoozing on the beach; and finally, after such a day of hard work, an all-out splurge on fresh ceviche caracol (conch), pleasantly astringent lime soup (limes, chicken, chiles, tomato, and tortilla strips), and grilled shrimp at Gomar (Hidalgo 5 at Madero), one of the oldest restaurants in town—and maybe the best.
From swimming to eating, all of the town's most popular activities are connected in some way with the sea. Indeed, the best place for a good night's sleep is on the beach, or at least close enough to feel the ocean spray. My candidate for an inexpensive hotel is the Rocamar (two blocks inland from the pier at Bravo and Guerrero, 988-2-01-01). For a saltier sleep you would have to bunk on a boat. The nautical theme is pervasive; lacquered ropes substitute for banisters, conch shells line the walkways and serve as path lights, while nearly every countertop is inlaid with mollusks. The breezy rooms—the top floor is preferable—are pleasantly broken in, and the bay windows and decks look out on the east beach (which is craggy and too rough for swimming). All in all, it's a sailor's delight.
Playa del Carmen, 41 miles south of Cancún, is an eccentric, bustling little village of thatched huts and cement-block fruit stands, an assortment of casual to ramshackle inns, a backpacker's campground, and a couple of incongruously pricey beach hotels. Its streets are filled with schoolchildren, divers, orange-juice vendors, gossiping shopkeepers, and an international assortment of young people wearing pet parrots or monkeys and little else. The only street from the highway cuts through the heart of town to the bus depot and a whitewashed plaza before dissolving into a platinum beach sloshed by rolling turquoise surf—one of the most inviting swimming spots along the coast.
For years Playa del Carmen was a well-kept secret among divers, but in the last decade (thanks mostly to a dock plied by Caribbean cruise liners and the Cozumel ferry) the village has become a haven for laid-back entrepreneurs. A dozen cane-sided restaurants (including Restorante Bocca, an Italian pizza parlor) have a Gilligan's Island aura about them, while the fare, generally fresh from the sea, is simple and elegant. The best place for a quick, inexpensive bite is Restaurante de la Nuestra Señora, next to the bus station. The menu is pretty much limited to fish and egg dishes, but the pescado mojo de ajo (the day's catch broiled in garlic and butter) arrives with rice, beans, cabbage, tomatoes, salsa, and a stack of tortillas hot off the comal—a fresh, stick-to-your-ribs meal for about $1.50.
Also near the bus station is El Kundalini, a magical restaurant a block south on the street behind Posada Lily. Gilligan would have given his sailor's cap for a share in this cafe, a breezy cane palapa ("hut") decorated with the art of explorer Frederick Catherwood, Mary Poppins prints, and turn-of-the-century photos of scantily clad nymphets. But if there's a castaway air to the decor, the dishes that emerge from the kitchen are as refined as those of nouvelle cuisine masters anywhere. Less than a year ago the proprietor, chef, waiter, and busboy, a Dustin Hoffman look-alike, traded the stress of his Mexico City restaurant for four canted tables and the romance of the seaside. In a kitchen the size of a closet he turns out delicately flavored renditions of traditional favorites. Road-weary and peso-poor, I landed on his stoop late one night and only his kindness and quesadillas (melted parmesan and Mexican cheeses spiced with oregano and cilantro, wrapped in soft, thin wheat tortillas and ladled with a sauce of avocado, fresh cream, and chiles; four for $1) put me back on my feet. "The locals don't like my cooking," he complained, in answer to my praise as he took my order with a quill pen. "They say it's 'muy rico, muy dulce' " ("very rich, very sweet"). Even so, El Kundalini's tables are usually full, especially in the morning, when bronzed Caribbean loungers with continental accents stroll in for a breakfast of mandarin juice, fruit salad with honey and yogurt, soft-boiled eggs, French bread, marmalade, thick black coffee, and sweet cream. The view may be of chickens and pigs, but the menu evokes candlelight and roses.
Most visitors pass through Playa on their way elsewhere; I can easily imagine a lifetime of stringing shell necklaces to sell to the bandy-legged cruisers who leave the ship in search of something, anything to buy. A couple in matching straw hats, knee socks, and shorts asked me what I had found to do in town. In lazy good spirits I shared my greatest secret: the best popsicles in the Yucatán are at Paletería y Nevería la Flor de Michoacán (one sign says "Restaurant Edith," but it isn't), across from the bus station. Mexican popsicles, paletas, are 99 per cent fresh fruit with a splash of fruit juice or milk to freeze them on sticks (about 15 cents each). My favorite was coconut, so thick with fruit that I spent more time chewing than licking. I eventually tried all the flavors—hibiscus to watermelon.
If you're planning to catch the last ferry of the day to Cozumel (at 6 p.m.), arrive early; tickets go on sale at 5 p.m., by which time a long line of mainland commuters has already formed. (Less-crowded ferries depart at 6 a.m., 10 a.m., noon, and 4:30 p.m.) Buy your tickets and sit back to watch the locals work the dock. Thirty minutes before passengers disembark, vendors of everything from blankets to doughnuts (fresh batches are delivered throughout the day) jostle for space between incoming boats and waiting taxis.
Should you decide to stay, the best of the moderately priced hotels is the Maranatha, a couple of blocks from the highway on the main road into town. Brand-new and positively lavish by Mexican Caribbean standards, the Maranatha offers thick towels, king-size beds, air conditioning, and hot water for about $12 double. Luxury hotels—overpriced and overrated—flank the dock. Economical quarters can be found on the beach north of the dock, but most are suited only to the truly bohemian (or the broke). One of the most popular with the French and German backpacking crowd is La Ruina Cabañas, a compound of huts that are little more than covered hammock hooks (bring your own hammock), with outhouses and something resembling a shower. If you can survive the mosquitoes, eat at La Tarraya, an open-air restaurant a few paces up the beach. Drop a few pesos on the shrimp ceviche and the pescado entero frito (whole fried fish of the day), and you'll be convinced that you are living in the lap of luxury. Such illusions are what Playa del Carmen is all about.
Centuries before Jacques Cousteau introduced the magnificent reefs of Cozumel (fifty miles south of Cancún) to the world, Mayan women made pilgrimages to the Island of Swallows, pitching across the sea in canoes launched from Polé (now Playa del Carmen) to the sanctuary that some consider the Mesoamerican equivalent of the Garden of Eden. Many island shrines were dedicated to the goddess of fertility, but few survived the idol-smashing visit of Cortez in 1519. Although Cortez moved on to bigger things, he was followed in 1527 by Francisco de Montejo, a soldier of fortune who made the island a base for his bid to conquer the Yucatán. Finally abandoned by the Spanish in the seventeenth century, the isle became a favorite hideaway of pirates Jean Laffite and Henry Morgan.
Today little evidence of either conquistador or pirate remains. Though several minor Mayan shrines have been discovered, most were demolished by Americans during the building of a World War II air base, which is still in use (Aeroméxico and Continental fly direct from Houston and American flies from Dallas). The island's modern town, San Miguel de Cozumel, is neither charming nor slick, and the landscape north and south remains much as it has always been—an unrelieved stone shelf covered with dense, scarcely populated scrub jungle and surrounded by the most limpid water of the entire Mexican Caribbean.
For the visitor, life in Cozumel is not unlike that aboard a cruise ship. Though the island stretches 28 miles long and 11 miles across, hangouts are few; by the second day all faces seem familiar. Daily choices are simple: what to eat, where to lounge, how much to drink. The amenities remain the same, but the ambience depends heavily on who's in town.
The quickest way to size up the character of the current crowd is to drop in just after sunset at Carlos 'n' Charlie's (north of the dock on Rafael Melgar, above the Aeroméxico office). Inside the narrow loft you'll find tables, stools, benches, and settees overflowing with sun-bleached California divers, Wisconsin honeymooners, giggly sorority girls, Houston yuppies, even mamas and papas flanking daughters. Central to the hubbub are Tarzanish waiters who seem hired to lust (and be lusted after). Table-hopping and margarita-slurping are the big draws, along with a good deal of babble and bluster, until around midnight when—mixes and matches made—almost everyone is off to Scaramouche (Rafael Melgar at Adolfo Salas) to disco till dawn.
Days are for recovering, sleeping on the beach, taking Robinson Crusoe excursions to deserted islands (depart from hotel El Presidente), going on diving trips, or just lolling in the water. The best beaches, as well as the luxurious hotel El Presidente (800-854-2026), are south of town. My favorite hangout, Playa de San Francisco, offers a samba band, wooden beach chairs, a palapa restaurant (with unlimited shrimp ceviche), and roving cocktail waiters. For diehards, daytime mingling is best at El Presidente (all Mexican beaches are public, even those fronting hotels), where beachfront burgers taste like those at home, for about the same price.
Those with water on their minds come to Cozumel to dive at the best reef this side of Australia, the renowned Palancar. Diving trips can be arranged by different shops all over town and by most hotels, but Cozumel is no place to learn the sport. Beginners should stick to windsurfing and snorkeling. In the water off the beaches of El Presidente and La Ceiba hotels, schools of fish work over snorkelers bearing bread. Offering balls of dough to pale blue fish with violet-rimmed eyes, hook-nosed parrot fish, and painted and smirking clown fish, I watched hundreds of the same fish you see for sale at a quarter a fin in pet stores.
The most economical way to get around the island is to rent a moped ($10–$15 a day). Rates in town are often lower than those at beach hotels (the best were at Suites Elizabeth, Calle Adolfo Salas 3-A, 987-2-03-30); just make sure you get a full tank of gas and a working set of gadgets (horn, lights, brakes). Island roads are narrow, rocky, and shoulderless, but speeding cabs are the moped driver's biggest hazard. Once you've got wheels, a trip around the southern tip and along the windward side of the island is a must. The open sea crashes along a rocky shoreline—not safe for swimming, but a few sheltered coves offer good picnicking possibilities. For further exploration, pick up a map to various ruins (really ruined, for the most part) at the tourist information gazebo on the town plaza.
Hotel accommodations along Avenida Rafael Melzar range from the self-indulgent and pricey beach hotels (El Presidente, La Ceiba, Mayan Plaza) to the comfortable-with-great-views (Barracuda, Vista del Mar) and the central, sometimes spartan, affordable, in-town hotels. Of the latter, the Hotel Aguilar (Avenida 5 at Calle 3 Sur; 987-2-03-07; $17) is the most endearing bargain—clean and cheap with a walled garden, air conditioning, a pool, and hot showers. A word about showers in Mexico: outside of major resorts (and sometimes even there) hot water can be scarce. The problem is compounded with confusion over taps; when designated "H" and "C," "C" usually stands for caliente ("hot"). A tap marked "F" is always frio ("cold"). Sometimes hot water is available only early in the day. Often you get all hot or no hot. I always rate hotels by their showers; the Hotel Aguilar rates four stars in the shower department, with admirable water pressure a plus. The towels, on the other hand, are almost transparent. Bring your own.
Of the restaurants in town, Las Palmeras (across from the ferry dock) is a longtime tourist favorite, but pass up the Blub sandwich in favor of the sweet heat of chicken en mole. The open-air waterfront restaurant is a good place to sit out the siesta hours, sipping licuados, blender drinks of fresh fruit. Sandía (watermelon) licuados are light and sweet, and blends of banana or papaya with milk go a long way toward filling the gap between lunch and the traditional late supper. Just up the quay, Jimmy's Kitchen serves admirable renditions of Yucatecan specialties in a dining room at the back of Carlos 'n' Charlie's—a quiet back seat to the front bar. El Portal (at the dock) looks and is touristy, and though you pay for it, the food and the service are generally excellent. Grilled fish is the house specialty, but even the Mexican plate is memorable (banana-leaf tamale, guacamole, skirt steak, mole, and Yucatecan salsa made with the fiery chile habañero). The best restaurant off the tourist strip is Restaurante Bar Pancho Villa (Calle 2 Norte), two blocks behind the plaza. Ask to sit in the courtyard dominated by a tree as big around as an elevator. It's all rather shabby, but service is gracious, and the crowd of locals proves that the food is deliciously authentic and cheap. Begin your meal with the thick, smoky chipotle sauce and chips followed by consomé de Pancho Villa (a rich chicken soup full of meat and vegetables) and finish up with grilled conch (chewy and rich). Be forewarned that dinners are served with side dishes of cabbage, rice, beans, potatoes, and carrots—they're only for the ravenous. At the end of the meal the proprietor brings you a nip of xtabentun (pronounced "ish-tah-been-toon"), a traditional Mayan liquor smelling of anise and tasting of honey (it's sold all over the Yucatán), then leaves you to ponder and digest, order a round of coconut liqueur, or stare at the stars and plan the rest of your days. Take your time; the check will not be presented until you ask for it—the most ingratiating of Mexican customs.
Tulúm
Several times a day buses roar out of Cancún headed for the ruins of Tulúm, a Mayan city by the sea, eighty miles to the south. A first-class ticket ($1) assures you a seat and sometimes air conditioning for the hour-long trip. Traveling second class is more colorful and only slightly less comfortable, unless you're standing in the packed aisle.
The bus stops at El Crucero, a crossroads restaurant three quarters of a mile west of ancient Tulúm. From there it's an easy ten-minute walk to the ruins, but a cold beer (Negro León is the regional brew) and a bocadito ("little bite") make the blazing sun more bearable. El Crucero may seem an unlikely spot for a satisfying peasant's lunch, let alone tablecloths and Vivaldi, but serendipity is the rule in Mexico.
The founding date of Tulúm (or Zamá, "daybreak," as it was originally named) is unknown. Tulúm, which means "fortress," was a ceremonial city and a religious center, but unlike other Mayan sites it was also inhabited. The grid of streets that once ran across the city is often discernible. The present structures are thought to date to late in the Postclassic or Decadent Period, 1200 A.D. to 1450 A.D. The walled city was occupied as late as 1544, when the chaplain of a Spanish expedition sailing along the coast wrote, "Toward sunset we saw from afar off a town or village so large that the city of Seville could not appear greater or better; and in it was seen a very great tower." Though the city's inhabitants signaled the ship to approach, the startled captain chose not to land. It was left to the intrepid John Lloyd Stephens, who cleared and explored the ruins in 1841, to introduce Tulúm to the world. He did so in an absorbing account called Incidents of Travel in Central America, Chiapas, and Yucatán, illustrated by Frederick Catherwood.
The entrance to the ruins is the southernmost of five archways built into a rock wall that was originally 10 to 16 feet tall and 23 feet thick (it's but a sliver of its former self). Tickets to the site (about 30 cents) are sold just beyond a gypsylike village of market stalls. As far as Mexican archeological sites go, Tulúm isn't large; it's easily explored in a few hours, and unlike the massive temples of Chichén Itzá and Uxmal, the structures are of an unimposing size. Mayan men of various ages stand ready to offer their services as guides, frequently asking tourists, "Are you interested in hearing our side of the story?" Guided tours can be illuminating, confusing, or purely romantic, but they are almost always entertaining. Prices are negotiable. Usually I prefer to stumble around on my own, camera in one hand, guidebook in the other.
The two-story Temple of the Frescoes houses a remarkably vivid mural depicting several important Mayan divinities. In a niche of the building's facade is a carving of the god most closely associated with Tulúm—a jolly winged, inverted figure known simply as the Diving God. Scholars suggest that the figure is a bee god, highly likely since Tulúm skirts the jungle called Ekab, or "home of the black bees." In Mayan times honey was used for everything from the sacred drink to mortar.
For the most impressive view of Tulúm you must climb the broad stairs leading to the top of El Castillo, the site's largest structure. The clear blue Caribbean (the buildings were originally painted a matching shade) lies some forty craggy feet below. The walled compound sits at the foot of what must have been the "tower" of the Spanish padre's account, and to the north and south the rugged and isolated coastline remains untainted by time.
Although it is possible to romp through the ruins of Tulúm in an afternoon, it seems more appropriate to make a day of such an outing, with swimming and picnicking at the pristine beach three and a quarter miles south. Should evening catch you unsheltered, the best place to spend a night (or several) is just a short ride up the beach. You'll want to hail a taxi at El Crucero (the trip runs about $3, an outrageous price in these parts, but it's a long, hot walk through the jungle by day and a pitch-black obstacle course at night).
The beach south of Tulúm is dotted with a low-rent variety of accommodations—palapas, tents, bungalows, and cement cubicles. Of the erratic lot, Cabañas Tulúm is far and away the most well-appointed and romantic, as close to a desert island hideaway as you can get and still have running water. In fact, for $12 the amenities are plentiful: private bathrooms with showers (no towels), reasonably comfortable beds, porches with hammock hooks, and a restaurant. The eighteen blue-and-white stucco-and-tile duplexes perch atop white sand dunes and beneath coconut palms, a hundred yards from the sea. Sure, the surf roars and the wind whistles, but that only reinforces a glorious sense of isolation.
Don't expect hot water; it's solar-heated during the day (who needs a hot shower on the beach?). And the restaurant is a casual catch-as-catch-can affair, where the food ranges from splendid to unrecognizable. For the best time at Cabañas Tulúm, bring a well-stocked picnic hamper, mosquito coils, and candles—the electric generator operates from dark until 11 p.m. You can't expect the end of the earth to be civilized.
In Cobá (107 miles southeast of Cancún), the rising and setting sun controls the pattern of daily life. Men, women, children, chicken, turkeys, and dogs rise at dawn. Pigs wake when they please, only to trot down the single, unpaved street and belly flop in a favorite mudhole. By the time the midday heat settles in—dense and droning so far from the sea breezes—all is quiet again, villagers sheltered in their jacales or swinging in hammocks, pigs and dogs dozing in the street. So it goes, until at dusk exotic birds dart from the jungle in formation, a chattering salute to day's end. The sun disappears behind the tallest pyramid in the Yucatán. Fireflies and candles scarcely disturb the total darkness that follows.
Near the village is Lake Cobá, one of six shallow bodies of water that attracted the Maya sometime before 623 A.D., the date of the earliest stela. The ruins—remains of six thousand buildings—near modern Cobá cover an area of eighteen square miles. Around the lakes and through the jungle the Maya built sacbeob, broad white roads. The limestone-paved system is still faintly visible through the jungle, though to see it one must climb the seven-tiered El Castillo to its summit (enter the site and walk straight ahead for about fifteen minutes to the path marked "Grupo Nohuch Mul"). For the best view of the surrounding lakes, follow the signs to Grupo Cobá (just inside the gate and to the right) and climb the Temple of the Church.
The ruins are open daily, but few visitors come, and the jungle constantly reclaims what archeologists uncover. A scant 5 per cent of the site has been excavated; hardy adventurers could easily spend weeks exploring the broad maze, listening to the howler monkeys, sidestepping coral snakes, spying on green jays and parrots (bring binoculars), and slapping mosquitoes (insect repellent is a must). Cleared hiking and bicycle paths (bikes are for rent outside the entrance gate) crisscross the grounds between the most-visited temples, but the rest of the site is grandly ruinous, sometimes completely overgrown. Pith helmet and khaki shorts would not seem out of place.
Lazing on the north shore of Lake Cobá is Club Med's Villas Arqueológicas, an oasis of manicured grounds and air-conditioned rooms. The Villas Arqueológicas have little in common with Club Med's amenity-rich resorts, but they are well-appointed hotels licensed by the Mexican government to provide first-rate accommodations at many of the country's archeological sites. This hotel offers as many excuses as you'll need to hole up in Cobá for a few days: hot showers, tennis courts, a bar, a swimming pool, even a well-stocked library and a relief map of the ruins (for reservations call 800-528-3100). It's pricey by Mexican standards ($34), and the chef sometimes fails to overcome the limitations of his outpost. Never mind. Just step out the gate and around the corner to Juan Isabel's for polio pibil (chicken marinated in sour oranges, spiced with saffron and achiote, and baked in banana leaves) or whatever else Señora Isabel is cooking that day. Though there's not a lot of variety, it's easy on the budget.
All Shangri-las have their price, and Cobá can be devilishly difficult to get to. It's no problem if you rent a car in Cancún; just drive south out of the city on Highway 307 and veer right a mile past El Crucero. The wheelless can walk a mile south from El Crucero to the Cobá cutoff to flag down the bus that is rumored to turn in there at six in the morning and noon. However, after sitting on my duffel bag for a couple of hours under a mad-dog sun I hitched a ride into Cobá (Highway 307 swarms with americanos in rented Jeeps and Volkswagens). Getting out of Cobá is slightly less problematic; day visitors to the ruins and guests departing the Villas Arqueológicas are usually happy to take on riders.
The only reason for taking the bus ride from Cancún to Chetumal (235 miles south of Cancún and five hours of hot wind and monotonous scenery), unless you're on your way to Belize, across the Rio Hondo border can be found in the jungles that entwine the capital city: little-known and seldom-seen Mayan ruins, inky blue lagoons, and perfectly round, depth-defying swimming holes called cenotes ("sinkholes"). To ferret out such glories you have to be resourceful, preferably with access to a car (Chetumal's one car rental agency can be found in the hotel El Presidente), and you should venture forth armed with maps and guidebooks.
If you decide to make the trip by bus, pack snacks and reading material; I longed for both soon after passing Tulúm. Halfway to Chetumal the bus stops at Felipe Carillo Puerto, a historically important town dominated by a pink municipal building and a vast town square. Originally known as Chan Santa Cruz ("Little Holy Cross"), the village was founded during the Caste War, which broke out in 1847 and pitted the Maya against Ladino landowners. The town was the headquarters of the Cruzob, Mayan rebels who rallied troops with the help of a talking cross (and a convincing ventriloquist). Within a year the Indians had taken most of the peninsula and were ready to march into the capital city of Mérida when at the sight of winged ants, harbingers of the spring rains, they scurried off to plant their corn. The Maya were driven out of Little Holy Cross in 1901 but were allowed to resettle the city at the end of the war.
Still standing on the main plaza is the church built in 1858, where the talking cross held forth. Young boys parade in front of it, dashing across the square to tease the girls selling tacos, fruit, tamales, and ice cream to travelers who pass up the station's 25-cent blue plate special. As usual in Mexican bus stations, there was such a crowd that I felt as if the country's entire population was on the move, with neatly crimped sacks, roped boxes, and Nike gym bags in tow. Though every mile of my journey showed in the stains and wrinkles of what I wore, the Mayan women, almost always traveling with children, remained uniformly pristine in their brightly embroidered huipiles—white, knee-length, square-necked blouses worn over eyelet-trimmed mid-calf-length petticoats.
Back on the bus and seventy miles south of Felipe Carillo Puerto, I got my first glimpse of Lake Bacalar, a ribbon of blue snaking through the foliage a couple of miles to the east. The lake, also known as the Laguna de Siete Colores (Lake of Seven Colors), roughly parallels the highway for 35 miles. Near its southwest end is the village of Bacalar, noteworthy for its lakeside beach and the Fuerte de San Felipe. The fort, which overlooks the lake, was built by the Spanish in the seventeenth century to ward off pirates and was put to good use as a rebel outpost during the Caste War. It now houses a small museum.
Arriving in Chetumal around three-thirty in the afternoon, I found the city with its hatches battened and its shops and businesses closed as they are every day from one to five. The extended siesta is more than sensible, given the port's paralyzing heat. During the time the streets are empty, the clean-swept, landscaped boulevards evoke the Miami of the late fifties. Nevertheless, the city does have an ancient soul. Born as a Mayan boat-building center called Chactemal (Where the Redwoods Grow), the abandoned city was reincarnated in 1898 as a Mexican military port. Few buildings in town attest to the city's age because it was almost completely leveled by hurricanes in the forties and fifties.
The most frequent visitors to this duty-free port are Mexicans who come to buy Japanese stereos and televisions. The only bargains for norteamericanos are soft cotton Chinese shoes (about $1.50) and olive oil ($3.50 for two pounds). Otherwise, the little open-air shops lining Avenida de los Héroes, the city's main drag, overflow with cheap plastic goods and tins of imported foodstuffs.
There is a certain charm to the Sergeant Pepperesque military band that plays in the seaside gazebo on Saturday nights; the coconut ice cream cones sold at the Bacalar bus stop are magnificent; and La Ostra (two blocks west of the bus station, on Gandhi) is a good place to try the Mayan specialty dish relleno negro (a black stuffing of ground pork, pimiento, olives, eggs, epazote, and vinegar, usually served with chicken). But to be truly happy you made the trip south, return to Lake Bacalar and Hotel Laguna (just south of Bacalar village, on the lakeside drive, no phone, $12). Local buses, which are really vans, depart Chetumal for Bacalar every hour, more or less, from two blocks north of the main bus terminal (behind the market; ask directions to the combi). The van to Bacalar will drop you at the hotel.
Fed by ground streams and swamps, Lake Bacalar encompasses several cenotes, circular cutouts where the limestone crust has collapsed into an underground river. Hotel Laguna, overlooking one of the lake's hauntingly beautiful steel-blue sinkholes, is the newest waterside kingdom of Carlos Gutierrez, the builder of the seaworthy Rocamar in Isla Mujeres. Gutierrez sold the Rocamar and began building the hotel of his dreams on Lake Bacalar, and Hotel Laguna is the ultimate in resort rococo-kitsch. Gutierrez's signature conch shells encrust the walls and the ceilings of the public rooms, the pool, and, of course, the bathrooms. His new passion—hand-painted tiles offering sage advice, Mexican philosophy, and bawdy humor—fills any gaps. Many of the tiles address the drinker: "For all that is bad, mezcal; and for all that is good as well." True to such sentiment, there are three bars and only thirty rooms. When the hotel isn't crowded, drinks may be on the house. It's closer to a gingerbread kingdom than a luxury resort, and Gutierrez runs the place with a single long-faced waiter and a short, rounded desk clerk (who stands in as a cook on Sunday nights). Hotel Laguna's poolside decks (ideal for parrot watching) and cotton candy sunsets go a long way toward making a visit to Chetumal and environs worth the effort.
When it's time to leave Chetumal, you might consider taking a local flight back to Cancún or even to Mérida, the capital of the state of Yucatán (from time to time Aeroméxico offers specials, such as flights to selected Mexican cities for $1, but reservations must be made when you purchase a round-trip ticket out of Houston). Then again, you may find yourself darting on and off Highway 307 indefinitely, forever on the lookout for another lagoon, an unexcavated ruin, an untouched stretch of beach.
Barbara Rodriguez is a freelance writer who lives in Blanco.
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Buying gifts for professionals is never easy.
What do they already have? What will they actually use?
Most industry professionals are especially particular when it comes to their tools and gadgets. Every chef has their favorite knife just like every doctor has their favorite stethoscope.
When you need a gift for a chef, you probably tend to shy away from all things culinary. From an outsider's perspective, it's hard to know where to begin.
Keep these New Year gift ideas in mind – they're perfect for the chef who already has everything.
Have they been complaining about any rundown or worn out equipment or tools?
What's their specialty or favorite foods to cook?
Have they mentioned wanting to try something new?
Once you get a feel for where they're at, you can start browsing your new year gift ideas.
Think of this list as a jumping off point. Remember that everyone is unique, what one chef loves another could hate. Think about what they would want and you're bound to select a killer gift for the chef in your life.
Personalized gear and equipment are useful gifts that provide a personal touch. Would they like an embroidered apron with a special date? Or maybe an engraved cutting board with their logo? Think outside the box.
At PersonalCreations.com, you can create a broad range of customized kitchen accessories including coasters, cheese boards, utensils, and more.
Cooking classes as a gift for a chef might seem insulting, but we're not talking about any old cooking classes. Does the chef in your life have a favorite chef or cooking style?
Top chefs around the world offer cooking classes on-location in their own kitchens. What's a better way to learn cooking authentic cuisine than traveling to Italy or Morocco to study under your favorite chef?
Between smart appliances and apps, technology has officially made its way into the kitchen. Certain niche gadgets might be worth passing on, but some apps can make a chef's life a lot easier.
BigOven lets you browse over 350,000 different recipes. Chefs can even scan their own handwritten recipes and grocery lists to simplify the entire cooking process. A year's subscription makes a great gift for the chef in your life.
Not comfortable buying cooking equipment for a chef? No problem. Just get a little creative.
Consider making or purchasing a chalkboard for their kitchen or restaurant. You can customize the board with their initials or restaurant name. Candle holders, containers, spice racks, and pan racks also make great DIY gifts that offer a personal touch.
Every chef has their favorite custom recipes they've spent years perfecting. How does the chef in your life keep them organized?
At CreateMyCookbook.com, you can transform recipes into a personal printed cookbook. They're completely customizable with a variety of options and covers.
Does the chef in your life love wine? Consider getting them tickets to a 2018 Food & Wine festival. You can either select the closest date or one near their favorite vacation spot.
Maybe they're into celebrity chefs? Look for local events and grab some tickets. Sometimes, experiences make way better gifts than gadgets.
The best New Year gift idea for the chef who has everything? Bartending supplies, of course. No kitchen is complete without a high-quality cocktail shaker or strainer.
Hopefully, after reading this list, you have some inspiration to find a great gift for the chef in your life. Remember to stay open minded and keep receipts for kitchen equipment.


text:
Q: How can I directly link to my SO account? I want to add a link to my Stack Overflow account on LinkedIn. How can I get this direct link? I checked my profile, but there is nothing like a link.

A: Access your profile in the site you want to link to, then copy the current URL.
In case you want more than just a link, create a cool banner by going to .../<yourProfile>/flair:

And it looks like this:

A: Go to your account. At the bottom you will see all your Accounts. Just copy the link of the desired account.

Or visit your Stackoverflow account and copy the URL from your browser.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


New research by scientists at the USDA Agricultural Research Service (ARS) and the University of Maryland sheds new light regarding a honey bee pest (Varroa destructor) that is considered the greatest single driver of global honey bee colony losses. Managed honey bee colonies add at least $15 billion to the value of U.S. agriculture each year.
The microscopy images are part of a major study showing that the Varroa mite feeds on the honey bee's fat body tissue (an organ similar to the human liver) rather than on its "blood," (or hemolymph). This discovery holds broad implications for controlling the pest in honey bee colonies.
The study was published online and in the print edition of the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.
Through the use of electron microscopy, the researchers were able to locate feeding wounds on the bee caused by the mites, which were located directly above the bee's fat body tissue. The images represent the first direct evidence that Varroa mites feed on adult bees, not just the larvae and pupae.
In addition, University of Maryland researchers conducted feeding studies and found that Varroa mites that were fed a diet of fat body tissue survived significantly longer and produced more eggs than mites fed hemolymph. The results show,mites fed a hemolymph-only diet were comparable to those that were starved. Thus, proving conclusively that the Varroa mite feeds primarily on the fat body consumed from bees.
The results are expected to help scientists develop more effective treatments to help bees cope with a mite known to spread at least five viruses. They also help explain why Varroa mites have such detrimental effects on honey bees, weakening their immune systems, and making it harder for them to store protein from pollen and survive through the winter.


text:
Get the scoop on what we've been up to
We have a games page!
Aug 1, 2015 | Games, News
We finally have a games page up with a list of our mobile games and some of our older web games. Click here to have a look!
We have a new website!
Finally, after 15 years online and servicing other client's websites and digital media needs, we have a new design that shows off the brand with a full page responsive website layout via the latest HTML5 web techniques. The site as it is today is just the first step...
Spore Cubes released worldwide
Jan 27, 2014 | Games, News
Our beloved classic web game SPORE CUBES is being released worldwide today for smart-phones and tablets. First released on the web way back in 2000, the deceptively simple gameplay still endures and captivates. This new app with a new look is compatible with iPhone...
Spore Cubes comes to iOS!
The cube popping madness returns with a new look on iPhone and iPad! Available exclusively in Canada and New Zealand for a short time, get your favorite web classic to go with you. Try Spore Cubes FREE in the AppStore Or view Spore Cubes full version for iOS in the...
We're going mobile!
Jun 1, 2013 | News
Spore Productions is going mobile! Stay tuned for more details.
Jan 1, 2010 | News
Happy New year! We are now located in the west end of Toronto.
Happy New year! Yes, we are still active and providing our suite of services to a variety of clients on a "white label" basis (which means we can't tell you what brands we're working with). Rise & Ruin is entering beta testing, and we wish health and prosperity in...
Announcing "Rise & Ruin" new online game
Sep 1, 2006 | Games, News
Spore Productions has partnered with Veil Entertainment and Telefilm Canada in the production of Rise & Ruin, an online 3D strategy combat game, to be launched in fall 2007.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


The GST Council has decided on the fitment of over 1,211 commodities and 500 services in four tax slabs of 5, 12, 18 and 28%. The tax will be implemented from July 1.
"The Department of Revenue has opened a new Twitter Handle @askGST_GoI to invite queries from all taxpayers on GST," a finance ministry statement here said.
"All taxpayers and other stakeholders are welcome to direct their queries related to GST on the said twitter handle for early resolution and clarification," it added.
Earlier this month, the GST Council at its meeting in Srinagar decided on the fitment of over 1,211 commodities and 500 services in four tax slabs of 5, 12, 18 and 28%.
The Council, comprising of states' finance ministers and headed by Union finance minister Arun Jaitley, will take up the fitment of the remaining six goods, including gold and precious metals, textiles, bidis and branded commodities at its next meeting here slated for June 3.
Meanwhile, the Confederation of All India Traders (CAIT) said in a statement on Sunday that the various tax slabs under the proposed pan-India indirect tax regime of the GST has created an environment of anxiety and concern among the trading community across the country.
"Various verticals of retail trade demanding lower tax on the items being dealt by them since they have been categorised under higher tax slab in comparison to tax slab of current VAT tax regime," a CAIT release here said.
"As per an analysis, 1,211 goods and 36 services have been so far classified under GST out of which nearly 50 per cent goods have been placed under 18%, 14% under 5% rate, 17% under 12% rate and 19% under 28% rate," it said.
"The wider impact of the classification of items under different tax slabs needs to be gauged very cautiously since under GST not only the taxes paid on goods but even the taxes paid on the services will be eligible for input tax credit," CAIT added.
GST in, but will scrapping octroi make Mumbai vulnerable?


Brandy has successfully completed the Artist as an Entrepreneur Institute put on by Broward Cultural Division and ArtServe.
The powerful voice behind my paintings is that of my spiritual side. All people are equal. We are here aspiring to love and be prosperous, so lets do this in harmony.
Creating art that provokes a positive and deepening emotion is important to not only my soul but the soul of the viewer. Im a firm believer that we must surround ourselves with art that is moving and thoughtful rather than dark and depressing. Where we are going as humans should be that of positivity and happiness rather than receding to the depths of negative humanity.
Brandy Lynn Magill was born in Syracuse, NY and raised in Chugiak, Alaska. She learned to paint at a very young age from her Grandmother, and excelled best in music and art classes. Inspired to discover a bigger city, she moved to Fort Lauderdale, Florida at age 20 allowing her to explore various artistic outlets. She studied fashion and quickly turned to fine art painting. She studied at The Academy of Art online for a BFA in Painting.
Brandy currently resides in South Florida where her studio is located. She is a mother to her son born in 2014. The strength it takes to be a parent/mother pushes her to grow and develop as an artist and in her yoga practice. To create an environment where positivity thrives through color and creativity is very important in her daily life. You can see this application in her paintings and subjects.
Brandy is a firm believer that happiness and positivity can come from both Yoga and Art. The combination of spirituality and art is at the core of Brandy's paintings.


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text:
All the madmen. Clinton Heylin
All the madmen has quite a long subtitle as you can see and this version has two more drawings on the front than mine. This review is the result of a chance meeting between this book and myself at Dublin airport on route to New York. Exactly the right sort of airplane book, with a lot of my favourite artists from the time I started to discover music that are discussed.
Basically I'm to young to really know the music that is analysed (together with its creators). I knew the 45s from the radio and possessed a few of them myself, but albums were far beyond me and my financial means at the time. Acts like The Kinks, The Who, David Bowie and Pink Floyd did become my favourites album acts from the mid-70s onwards. So, a book to read.
The book takes it title from David Bowie's 1970 song All the madmen on 'The man who sold the world'. The album's title track being best known in 2012 for Nirvana's cover on the legendary MTV unplugged session.
Heylin starts from a premisse that there is a long tradition of madness in the UK "due to the freedom of mind" enjoyed there, as other countries pointed out in those days. Undoubtedly implicitly implicating that freedom of expression, etc., was not for them. Thus he goes out to show that a lot of the greatest artist of the 1965 - 1975 British rock era suffered from depression, deeply felt insecurities and nervous breakdowns. The term schizophrenia is all over this book. Mind, these were the days before media training as most of these guys spilled their guts in interviews! No holding back here.
The book focusses on a number of pivotal acts of this era, following their careers or demise through the years. David Bowie, who's half brother Terry and lots of family members on his mother's side were diagnosed with schizophrenia. Mr. Bowie new exactly how to use this. Despite all the drugs and all the madness surrounding his life, he came out all right as a great commercial pop star in the 80s. Ray Davies lived to tell, although his hit-writing career was over in 1970. Pete Townsend lived to tell and was even able to enjoy how good his music was. Others were less fortunate. Firstly Nick Drake of course, who sank away in deeper and deeper depression and most likely took his life in 1974. It would take all the way up to 2000, when a Volkswagen commercial in the US made his albums finally soar. Peter Green and Syd Barrett lived, but were singed by the fire they courted called LSD and couldn't cope, one way or another.
The conclusion of this book is what Richard Ashcroft taught us years ago: "The drugs don't work". Perhaps fleetingly, but not on an every day basis. The term "self-medication" which Heylin refers to regularly, is a nice one, whether drugs, booze or whatever.
The research for this book is fantastic. There appears to be so much interviews about to cull information from. Implicitly the book also shows how tedious being interviewed must be if reporters still try to discuss points from 10, 20, 40 years back again and again and again. Most artists happily discuss their doubts, their (failed) plans, their neuroses and what not, except for those that did not make it. There is a lot less material on them. What does that distinction tell us? I can't remember Heylin addressing this question, except where Bowie is concerned. Because he found Bowie lacking of sincerity?
The book starts of with a discourse on anti-psychiatry and Syd Barrett almost making an appointment with the leader of this 1960s failed psychiatry form, one Robert Laing. I didn't get this bit really, but the rest of the story line is well thought out. Except that Heylin may have overseen some of the most obvious: it's lonely at the top. The pressure is enormous to deliver the goods time and again and who can you trust once at the top. The other one is, that people who are very talented set everything aside in order to create, most likely obsessed. Just read about Townsend and Davies and pushing human boundaries and as everyone is insecure .... (There's a great anecdote on "big feet" in here.) They have to be a bit crazy, otherwise nothing would ever happen and everything would distract them. Look at all art (let's start with Pablo Picasso or Vincent van Gogh), politicians, business tycoons, writers, etc. And, yes, also pop stars. Perhaps very creative people are just more sensitive than the "average" people, exactly the reason why they can be so productive, creative and function perfectly well as long as something or other doesn't push them over the edge.
Yes, I am a bit sceptic here, just as I was on the psychiatry intro, but still it's a great book and one hell of a reconstruction of the life of some very creative people that helped change the face of music. Well worth the read.
You can order All the madmen here
Labels: 70ties, alternatief, beat, boek, classic rock, folk, glamrock, hardrock, pop, Progrock, psychedelic, rock, WoNo Magazine Muziek Music
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Soul Sister Dance Revolution live in LVC
Allah-Las. Allah-Las
.NoWordsNeeded
Big moon ritual. Chris Robinson Brotherhood
All or nothing. Pennywise
Octogonaal
Away from the bright lights. Garron Frith
Here. Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros


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building skills, nurturing character
Parents and guardians, alumni, employees and volunteers made the greens of North Ridge Country Club their home turf for spirited competition and community-building.
Winning the conference championship in head coach Ned Gonet's 42nd and final season, the varsity football team also nabs 11 spots on the all-conference roster.
An Inside Look at Coach Ned Gonet's Game-Day Moments
As he prepared for his last regular-season home game as head football coach, Ned Gonet shared his thoughts and gave unprecedented behind-the-scenes access to his game-day routine.
Robinson played golf at NC State before embarking on a career as a professional that has included competition in Carolinas PGA tournaments and instruction of numerous outstanding junior, high school and college players.
Hundreds of alumni and guests gathered to watch the game on Oct. 21, taking to the field during halftime for photos; then they returned to the Finley Center Oct. 22 for a dinner and program honoring Gonet.
Ravens in the News: Coaching legend Ned Gonet finishing off an amazing career
On Friday night, after 42 seasons as head coach, Gonet will coach his final regular-season home game when the Ravens host Harrell's Academy.
Spirit Week, Campus Events Lead to Exciting Homecoming Celebration for All Ravens
From Spirit Week to the Fall Community Event and Homecoming, students, faculty and staff, families and alumni went all in — celebrating what it means to be a Raven.
Moriah Evans '24 Medals at AAU Junior Olympics
After rehabbing an ACL tear in the fall of 2021, the track and field standout focused on the javelin event, earning All-America status and taking fifth place in the field of national competitors.


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South Carolina Man Sentenced to Three Years in Prison For Actions During Jan. 6 Capitol Breach
By DOJ Press
FILE PHOTO: American flag waves outside the U.S. Department of Justice Building in Washington
Defendant Was First Rioter to Open Rotunda Doors, Letting Mob Inside
WASHINGTON – A South Carolina man was sentenced yesterday to three years in prison on two felony charges for his actions during the breach of the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021. His and others' actions disrupted a joint session of the U.S. Congress convened to ascertain and count the electoral votes related to the presidential election.
George Amos Tenney III, 36, of Anderson, South Carolina, pleaded guilty on June 30, 2022, in the District of Columbia to interfering with law enforcement officers during a civil disorder and obstruction of an official proceeding. According to court documents, in December 2020, Tenney made plans to travel to Washington on Jan. 6, 2021. He sent a Facebook message on Dec. 28, 2020, that stated, among other things, "It's starting to look like we may siege the capital building and congress if the electoral votes don't go right."
On Jan. 6, 2021, Tenney illegally entered the Capitol Building. He moved to the area inside the Rotunda Doors, arriving there at approximately 2:24 p.m. Rioters had amassed outside the doors and were struggling against the police officers attempting to secure the building. Tenney tried to open the Rotunda Doors to allow the rioters inside, and he had contact with multiple federal employees while doing so. He succeeded in opening one of the doors. A police officer who was outside tried to push them closed, and Tenney resisted, pushing against the door to try to keep it open. An employee of the House Sergeant at Arms then ran towards Tenney, pushing him aside in an effort to close the door. Tenney grabbed the employee by the shoulder. He and other rioters surrounded the employee, and a heated conversation began. A rioter from outside the doors forced his way inside and pushed the employee of the House Sergeant at Arms away.
Tenney, meanwhile, continued to stand in the doorway, and locked arms with a Capitol Police officer who was just outside the doors. He and the officer moved inside, towards the Rotunda. Tenney pushed away the officer's hand. While in the Rotunda, he yelled, "Stand up, Patriots, stand up!" He then returned to the Rotunda Doors, where he assisted rioters entering the building, patting them on the back and helping them move forward. When another Capitol Police officer entered the area, Tenney pushed him to the side. Tenney ultimately had to be pulled back inside so that the Rotunda Doors could be closed to keep other rioters from entering. He then retreated to the Rotunda and exited the Capitol through a window at approximately 2:32 p.m.
Tenney was arrested on June 29, 2021, in Anderson, South Carolina. Following his prison term, he will be placed on three years of supervised release. He also must pay $2,000 in restitution.
The U.S. Attorney's Office for the District of Columbia and the Justice Department's National Security Division are prosecuting the case, with valuable assistance provided by the U.S. Attorney's Office for the District of South Carolina.
The FBI's Columbia, South Carolina Field Office investigated the case, with valuable assistance from the FBI's Washington Field Office, the U.S. Capitol Police and the Metropolitan Police Department
In the 22 months since Jan. 6, 2021, nearly 900 individuals have been arrested in nearly all 50 states for crimes related to the breach of the U.S. Capitol, including over 275 individuals charged with assaulting or impeding law enforcement. The investigation remains ongoing.
Anyone with tips can call 1-800-CALL-FBI (800-225-5324) or visit tips.fbi.gov.
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Latest from Department of Justice Press Releases


"I've never been a feminist, because I believe in male-female relationships without apartheid. And I've never been a nihilist, because I continue to feel the heart is the healer."
She is the quintessential flower child of the 1960s. She still doesn't seem to understand the Pandora's box that was opened by the "sexual revolution".
She doesn't want to face the fact that she was used to drive forward the feminist, hedonist, nihilist culture that engulfs young people today. Like all of us, she is in need of repentance.
And she deserves our forgiveness for believing that this cultural revolution could be suspended at one innocent moment in time -- as if a delicate balance between God's commandments and the devil's temptations were possible.
This much I know. God will forgive her if she will set aside her foolish pride and go to confession. And deep down I'm sure Joni already knows that.
Here we see her Christian roots, her fear of damnation and her struggle to "liberate" herself from those fears. It is the story of a generation, intoxicated by an excess of freedom.
I don't know if Joni was raised Catholic. Her father was of Norwegian ancestry which would definitely tie her to the Protestant faith, but her mother was part Scottish and part Irish. So I don't know if her mother may have been brought up as a Catholic.
But how else could you interpret this line about "holy wine" except by the Catholic belief in the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist? Christ enters into our bodies through the bread and wine of Holy Communion. He is in our blood.
seems to be drawn directly from the book of Revelation.
And then the angel says that it will taste sweet but be bitter in the stomach. Of course Joni could be thinking here of a "bitter sweet" love, but when taken together with the thought of Holy Wine it seems right to suppose she may have been alluding to the Holy Bread of life.
The deeply religious quality of this song resounds in these lines. While Jesus never says, "love is touching souls", He does touch our souls when we believe in Him and have faith in His power to guide and direct us along our pilgrim journey to heaven. And He is the source of Living Water which "pours out of" those who have accepted His love.
In the beginning of the song we find Joni lost and dejected. I imagine her speaking to Jesus like a lover in the style of the Song of Songs but rather than embracing Him, she rejects Him.
Doesn't "I am as constant as a northern star" sound like something that Jesus would speak to us in our souls? He is our guiding light. And only a cynical soul would respond by saying, "Sure, constantly in the darkness." How many who have rejected Christ have ended up "in the bar" -- slaves to alcohol and addiction?
The song ends with Joni meeting a woman. Could this be Mary, the Mother of Christ?
She looks like Him and knows His life. Who knew Christ better than His Mother Mary? And like Mary always does, she says "Go to him."
But be prepared to carry your Cross. "Be prepared to bleed." Be prepared to be a martyr if that is where your faith leads you.
By the grace of God Joni's song can become a catechism for the Catholic faith. Pray for Joni. Pray for all the lost souls who have wandered away from the flock and no longer hear the voice of their Lord calling.
God is Love - I use Joni's song "The Last Time I Saw Richard" from the album Blue to discuss love.
My old man - Joni's song "My old man" is also from her album Blue. I use it to discuss marriage.
Complete lyrics of "A Case of you"
I personally much prefer Joni singing this song. I happened to listen to it on the headphones yesterday. It's mixed in a very 60's style with the dulcimer on the right and Joni's vocals in the center. In the beginning it sounds like the left channel is missing. But then the acoustic guitar kicks in when Joni moans "O Canada!" Yes, that's James Taylor doing his uniquely folk, finger-picking, bossa nova style. There is also a latin-style conga drum beat that can be heard faintly in the background.
I wonder how many people are hearing this song for the first time. I hope they will take the time to listen to the whole Blue album. It is like a personal diary of the baby boom generation coming of age. So much potential for good, but ultimately a lost generation.
I watched a little of this Parenthood episode just to check it out and see how they used the song. It's a nice enough show. Nothing really offensive. It's just that this is the public face of secular humanism. It's all good. Right? And no one gets really hurt -- except they do. It's empty and vacuous.
That's what Joni captures so well -- unintentionally I'm sure. The emptiness, the pointlessness, the life without a purpose. It's expressed in a form of melancholy which is almost spiritual. But God is missing. That's where the emptiness comes from. It's an endless search for meaning and for love, which gets fulfilled temporarily by countless love affairs which ultimately never fulfill their initial promise of total bliss.
It's not that "sadness is never ending, while happiness is fleeting" as we are told in the Brazilian bossa nova song "A felicidade". It's that the "happiness" that the humanists promise is an illusion. What we are searching for is "joy" which is found in the "living water" which Christ offers us. When we drink from that fountain then we will never thirst again. Yes, we will feel pain and suffering, but that is transformed into a gift of sharing in Christ's redemptive suffering.
We are all God's children. He is waiting for us with open arms. It's our choice. It's never too late.
And here's a link to the "forced family fun" episode of Parenthood. The song plays at the very end of the show.
I pray for the day that TV shows earnestly try to include God in the programs. It doesn't have to be really overt. But it can't be the kind of denial that we are currently engaged in.
It's an enchanting version with just Joni and her dulcimer before a live audience. This album is another must for Joni fans. It marks the end of her folk period and the beginning of her turning towards an abstract jazz style. It's typical of artists that are driven by the secular world to strive for novelty -- something new.
Christianity is 2000 years old, but it is always new and refreshing.
Wow, what an amazing interpretation of these lyrics. Especially the last part about Mary. Now hearing "Go to Him" brings tears to my eyes.
My favorite version of this song is by Ann Hampton-Callaway. Unfortunately, I can't find it on Youtube, but it's on I-Tunes and Rhapsody.
Thank you for your comment. I really used to love Joni Mitchell. I still have a sweet spot in my heart for her. Pray for her because she is struggling with her faith.
I think of Joni as a bridge between a time when our culture was immersed in Christianity -- fed from the pure spring of Christ's love for us. Now we have gone the opposite direction and are submerged in secularism -- drowning and dying.
I think of Joni as almost having sacrificed herself as a victim in a black mass. I imagine that there were many men in her life that took advantage of her and robbed her of the innocence which shines through in her lyrics. Like so many of us she was enchanted by the promises of romanticism -- a secular romanticism, because I think there is also an authentic Christian romanticism. Secular romanticism leads us to a culture of lust, but Joni could not have known where the powerful forces which she unleashed would lead. It is the story of a whole generation which fell victim to sexual temptations.
Treasure those tears, they are the rain that waters the garden of faith. Saint Teresa of Ávila describes "dry" periods in her prayer life. I picture it like crossing a desert. In those times we don't share that intense emotional closeness to God, but if we persevere in our love for God then the rewards are great and we will find that we have grown spiritually. Our garden can reach maturity as its roots tap into the deeper waters of the Holy Spirit which never fail -- even during the most severe spiritual droughts.


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Purdue Boilermakers 2018 Football Schedule & Analysis
By CollegeFootballNews.com January 20, 2018 10:51 pm
By CollegeFootballNews.com | January 20, 2018 10:51 pm CT
Breaking down and analyzing the 2018 Purdue Boilermakers football schedule.
– Contact/Follow @ColFootballNews & @PeteFiutak
2018 Purdue Boilermakers Football Schedule Analysis
– The Boilermakers will dive into the Big Ten schedule right out of the gate with a weeknight battle with Northwestern. At least it's at home, as are the three non-conference dates with Boston College, Eastern Michigan and Missouri.
All of those will be tough in their own way – and asking for a 4-0 start might be too much – but if Purdue is unbeaten at this point with three wins over Power Five programs, it'll be a huge national storyline.
– The first road game isn't until late September, but the Boilermakers have to go to Nebraska as a start of a run of three road games in four dates. At least they get a week off going into the October part of the slate, and they'll need it before going to Illinois for what might be a sneaky-tough game.
The East battles with Iowa and Wisconsin are at home, but the Minnesota date is on the road. After the October 6th week off, Purdue alternates road and home games the rest of the way.
– The interdivisional battles with the West are a killer – for the most part. The annual Old Oaken Bucket game with Indiana is on the road this year, and that goes along with back-to-back October battles with Ohio State and on the road at Michigan State.
2018 SEC Football Weekly Schedule, Analysis & Top Games Rankings
2018 Purdue Boilermakers Football Schedule
Aug. 30 Northwestern
Sept. 8 Eastern Michigan
Sept. 15 Missouri
Sept. 22 Boston College
Sept. 29 at Nebraska
Oct. 6 OPEN DATE
Oct. 13 at Illinois
Oct. 20 Ohio State
Oct. 27 at Michigan State
Nov. 3 Iowa
Nov. 10 at Minnesota
Nov. 17 Wisconsin
Nov. 24 at Indiana
Daily Five: Big Ten's 5 Most Important Games Of 2018
Big Ten Schedule, Purdue Boilermakers, 2018 Preview, Big Ten, Big Ten, CFN, College Football Features, College Football Schedules, Purdue, Teams Conferences
2018 College Fantasy Football Draft Results, Rankings
2018 College Fantasy Football Draft, Rankings: Fiutak Team Breakdown
355 shares23 Aug 18
Daily Five: The Biggest College Football Rule Changes


Whether meeting one on one at a coffee shop or gathering with others in a Christian support group, patients, survivors and their loved ones find the connections they need to draw closer to Christ on their cancer journey.
A ministry dedicated to helping families with cander to draw closer to Christ during their struggles. Information on various resources are made available and ourtreach of grief recovery for those who have lost loved ones.


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Q & A with (re-elected) Mayor Mike Bradley
Long-time Sarnia Mayor Mike Bradley was re-elected over 15-year council veteran Anne Marie Gillis in a landslide victory that saw the highest voter turnout in Sarnia in more than two decades
Published on: October 23, 2018 | Last Updated: October 23, 2018 4:19 PM EDT
Longtime Mayor Mike Bradley won a decisive victory in Sarnia Monday night over challenger Anne Marie Gillis, a 15-year veteran of city hall. Bradley said in an emotional speech afterwards he would work to "bring down the wall" between Sarnia residents and city council. (Louis Pin/The Observer)
After a tense delay Monday night, long-time Sarnia Mayor Mike Bradley was re-elected over 15-year council veteran Anne Marie Gillis in a landslide victory that saw the highest voter turnout in Sarnia in more than two decades. It followed years of division at city hall that caused two incumbents to retire and four more to lose their seats.
The Sarnia Observer caught up with Bradley after an emotional night.
Sarnia Observer: What was different this time around?
Mike Bradley: I think the public had witnessed what had gone on at city hall with the council and the regime at city hall over the last three years. Personally there were days I wondered how I survived the last three years.
(Voters) wanted to take back their city. They wanted their city to be what it was before. The fact that there was such profound change on council sent a really clear message. It's not just about the mayor; they did not like the direction of the city, and that's the case I've been making the last four years.
SO: There was a very high turnout this time around (48.9 per cent).
MB: My whole campaign wasn't directed at the opposition. It was directed at overcoming the voting system that was imposed on the public with no public input and to offset any loss of people that wouldn't vote. To get the people out to vote. And we obviously succeeded at doing that.
(The turnout) had nothing to do with the technology. It's that the public wanted to send a message.
SO: Only two council members were reelected this time around. Are you looking forward to working with those new faces?
MB: Yes I am. The new council, there's a balance of some old people coming back and some new people. As long as they remember the reason they were elected is not to be like the old council. And to be open.
SO: It's been 30 years since you were first elected mayor of Sarnia. What goals do you have this time around?
MB: One of the things I will be looking to do is change the Code of Conduct and the Rules of Order. The Rules of Order they changed on me a couple of years ago . . . it gives staff the power to deny people the right to speak to council. Never has happened before. I sat through difficult presentations but I accepted that people have the right to talk to their council.
The other part is the debate in the council chamber. That's what the Code of Conduct's all about. It needs to be loosened up. Winston Churchill wouldn't survive two minutes in Sarnia council chamber. You need a vigorous debate . . . as long as it's not uncivil. And I want to restore that in city hall.
SO: Is that what you meant on election night, when you said you wanted to "break down the wall" between Sarnia residents and council?
MB: Well there's a physical wall that they put up, this council. But there's also an intangible wall. They cut the hours of service at city hall. The hours you can get in the building, with security. We built up barriers that weren't necessary.
A very tangible example is this council decided to remove the reception desk in the front lobby which was a welcoming gate to any citizen coming in to city hall. Yes, there's an expense to put it back. But (their decision) sent a clear message.
Me, I don't have voicemail. Every phone call, every email is returned. If you stop at city hall my car's there. I'll talk to you. We work for (the citizens of Sarnia), and I think over the last four years that message has been lost.
SO: It's been three decades behind the wheel. You could have retired. Why run again?
MB: I mean, yes. There were some extremely difficult days. Extremely difficult, and I'm a private person so I'll keep those to myself . . . I was lucky to have a solid group of supporters and friends.
In the end I couldn't walk away from something I've given mostly all my adult life to. And if I had walked away there would have never been a conclusion, except the one that the others would have written. I've been clear: mistakes were made. Lessons were learned. My style will change. And it has.
Sarnia sticks with Bradley	 Mayors and councils elected across Lambton County