tulum, mexico | to the mayan ruins

I want to tell you this before you hear it from someone else. 

You know how rumors get started - one little inside joke tweet raises eyebrows, and gchats buzz with questions, all, "like really? did she really do that? No she did not." and facebook posts get overanalyzed, and suddenly every instagram picture is like a piece of a puzzle and then the whole interweb thinks they know exactly what you did in Mexico. So before it comes to that, I want to set the story straight with you, readers.

I pooped my pants while climbing the ancient Mayan ruins of Coba.

Let me back up.

Alsinsio, our cab driver, picked Zander and me up at 6:00am from our hotel, Posada Luna del Sur - a great, small place in Tulum pueblo - or town, run by an American expat named Tom. Tom set us up with Alsinsio for a day of hiking and exploring two famed sets of Mayan ruins.

First we would head 2.5 hours into the Yucatan to see Chichen Itza, a Mayan city center and sacred religious grounds named one of the New Seven Wonders of the World. After Chichen Itza, Alsinsio would take us to Coba, the ruined Mayan city only discovered in the 1980s and about 10% excavated. We were warned that the climb "to the top" (of what, we didn't know) was steep and not for the faint of heart or weak-legged.

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed; Zander kept stealing my side. I was crabby, too. Even the prospect of 10 hours in Mexican jungles, hiking on ancient rock, couldn't shake my sour mood. Something was very, very wrong. But as I'm keen to do, I figured I was tired and needed some caffeine and carried on.

Chichen Itza is a sprawling, well-preserved wonder. The main temple, along with the surrounding sacred sites, are roped off and kept safe from human hands. Lizards ignore the "don't touch" warnings and sun on the chipped and ornately carved stone. We meandered without a guide, appreciating the symbolism and intricacy of a row of hand-carved skeletons on the side of a sacrificial plateau, and the rows upon rows of stone columns that comprise the world's largest column-based meeting area. Naturally, I did handstands in front of the primary temple.

But my heart wasn't as in it as it normally is. I still felt, let's just say it, crappy.

Heading towards Coba, we knew we had messed up: we didn't bring lunch. We asked Alsinsio to stop somewhere quick. He promised us a "not so tourist" joint and ushered us into an empty taqueria outside the entrance to Coba. 

I did not want to eat at this place. My most ornery side came out. I nearly stomped my foot like a two year old. I love a dusty, rickety taco stand as much as the next person, but my gut insisted - no. no. no. Always listen to your gut. But, you know, we were here.

I ordered tacos con verde. Zan had tacos con something else. I tried a bite of his; he had a taco of mine.

I was admittedly calmed, rejuvenated, and gaining back some of my normal perkiness when we entered Coba.

 

Coba is remote, beautiful, dusty, dirty, filled with lizards and god knows what other creatures, and raw. It's a raw experience. It is Chichen Itza probably 20 years ago. I wish I could freeze time for Coba and keep it as untouched and remarkable as it is.

Coba is so raw that it's interactive; you can touch the sanctuaries, the temples, the ancient meeting areas. You can climb through carved out areas of stone that were never finished; what were they going to be? And after a 2k walk, or so, you can climb to the tip top of Coba - the temple with a view that spans across the top of the jungle. 

When we came to Coba, the temple, we stopped in our tracks, kicking up dust and dirt behind us. It's steep. There's a rope attached, to assist climbers up and down it. The steps are narrow - did the ancient Mayans have smaller feet? These steps weren't made for my size 10 clunkers. It's astounding and marvelous.

We started to climb, Zander ahead of me. My thighs burned. Coba is a beast. I kept climbing.

About 3/4 of the way to the top, I felt a rumbling. Is this thing stable? No rocks were loose. The rumbling continued. I stopped, a foot poised mid-step. Coba was stable; my stomach wasn't.

Uh-oh.

REALLY UH-OH.

You know how they say before you die your life flashes before your eyes?

Well.

Before you poop your pants, all the things you have eaten in Mexico do the same.

I saw images of verde salsa - on tacos, on all those chips I'd been consuming, on enchiladas, quesadillas - I'd eaten so many quesadillas! Steak tacos, pork tacos, tacos al pastor, verde... verde... verde... verde.

I climbed down. I grabbed the rope. No time for the rope. I leaped down the stairs like they were bleachers. One at a time. Two at a time. I expected an imminent death from this sort of reckless abandonment on this like 40% incline, but frankly, death is less scary than what was about to happen.

....and what was happening.

It was inevitable. Believe me when I say it was inevitable.

I kept running down the steps, fearless. I half expected to start flying.

I reached the bottom and started running. WHERE? I ran in a circle. Another circle. But seriously, where do I go?

(Unspoiled ruins are great, and I can sing their praises all day long, but I will give you this one thing about Chichen Itza and all other well-preserved historical sites set up for tourists - there are bathrooms everywhere.)

I used the jungle. In plain sight.

I ran to the side of Coba, found the least thorny-and-creature-filled nook I could, knowing that everyone walking up to the temple could see me if they happened to look that direction, and lord help the people on top who choose to look down (a whole other kind of view), and I squatted.

The temple is this looming, giant structure literally designed to see everything - renegade stomachs beware. 

Meanwhile, Zander was at the top, unsure where the hell I was.

So I climbed Coba... again, and I'm proud to say that I didn't poop my pants twice. 

Motezuma’s Revenge: 1
Cyndi: 0

travel tuesday | the beaches of tulum

I have a rule when I travel. One that's solely for myself, and one that I've rarely said aloud - as though the spoken, admitted words would undermine joy of every moment I have in one place, on one trip. My rule is this: I only go once. No returns. 

I've always traveled on a budget and as smart as I can, meaning I jam-pack my trips but stop just short of packing it so full I forget to just be where I am. And I have so many places and things I want to see and experience, and locals I want to meet, and food I can't wait to try, that I have to keep going to new places and not circle back. Having my rule also builds on my passion for each place I visit; it drives me to soak in every moment I possibly can (any more passion and I'll be making shrines to destinations).

But for the first time ever, I think I'm going to break my rule. Zan's and my seven day trip to Tulum, Mexico - a small beach town two hours south of Cancun, was just the beginning for me and us. We found ourselves talking about how to convince Zan's brother and sister-in-law to come back with us next year, as naturally as any couple would talk about their yearly vacation. We checked out real estate "just for fun," to see for how much property goes in that neck of Mexico's woods (loan status: so far from pending). We romanticized moving to Tulum and owning our own small bed and breakfast or boutique hotel. Zan would run fishing trips out of it. I'd build itineraries and trip options for travelers that fit their budgets and interests.

So why did Tulum break my rule? I can't quite put my finger on it, exactly. There are the practical considerations that I haven't had with any of my other travels: proximity - it's relatively close and inexpensive from D.C.; money - it's an inexpensive trip, if you want it to be; culture - it's beautiful, chock full of history, ancient and modern; and the people - they're friendly, and we felt safe. 

But there's something more. Tulum welcomed us in and welcomed us back..... despite the fact that we both got nasty cases of Montezuma's Revenge, argued probably 100 billion times because I'm nutso and basically balls to the wall insane about travel (what do you mean you want to pay $6 for a taxi when we could experience a local bus?!), and got so sunburnt we're still peeling 10 days later. 

I'll be back (Terminator voice).

Tulum is just one of those places. It's a rule breaker. 

italy called and wants its homemade bolognese sauce back

I don't like not knowing the right answer. It harkens back to my days of being a teacher's pet. I like to always be right, and I like to be the first one to be right. My brother gave me the ever-charming moniker, "Know it All" when I was a kid. Oh man, how I hated it. Oh man, how I loathed it. And oh man, how I loved it. You gotta be some kind of smartypants to get that kind of accolade. (Thank god I got nerdier cooler with age. ;)) 

So you can imagine the extreme torture it is to be asked a question, especially a simple one, and not know the answer. Oh, how it destroys me! Go ahead, stick your hand in and twist my vitals! It's the worst. And that sickening torture happens every time someone asks, "What's your favorite food?" 

...

WHAT KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT? 

You might as well ask me if I prefer semicolons or colons, or to choose between To Kill a Mockingbird and The Invisible Man (the nerd level in this post is damn-near reaching unreadable!). I am twitching even typing this, even THINKING of these absurd, irresponsible, rude, mean, cruel, torturous, impossible questions. 

There's pizza. Jesus, my love for pizza is truly worthy of invoking the name of a deity. 

Ham. OH HAVE MERCY, how much I love ham - honey ham, spiral cut ham, off the bone ham. I'm sloshing about in a drool-covered keyboard now. 

A perfectly cooked steak. 

Duck boob.

Roasted broccoli.

Edamame.

Hummus.

Edamame hummus.

Cajun french fries. 

Shut the front effing door, I hate this question and everyone who has ever asked it.

But if we're all six years old again (have I even aged past that, really?), and someone has a gun to my head and I have to choose (what kind of mind games do most killers really play, really?), I say... my answer is... are you ready? Sitting down? Reading this on your mobile device trying not to run into a light pole? I got distracted. 

My answer is sausage. 

Yep. Sausage. Homemade, preferably, from your local favorite Italian grocer or deli. Or in your kitchen, if you're so ambitious. Sausage. Hot Italian sausage. 

It is the best pizza topping. The best sammie filling. The best pasta protein. Hell, you could probably make hummus out of it, what do I know? (......New goal.) 

I love sausage. And I really, really adore fresh spinach pasta. So it was only a matter of time until I caved in and made homemade Bolognese sauce. I do a simplified version of this like bi-nightly (please don't judge my extreme pasta intake too harshly!), but this is big 'ole pot worth, worthy of freezing if you can keep it around that long, and it's truly homemade. 

Don't even get me started on my favorite dessert or spice. I'll be yammering for weeks. 

Recipe adapted from Sugar Free Mom's traditional Italian Bolognese sauce

ingredients

4 links Italian sausage of your choosing (i use vace's hot - located in d.c.)

1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

1/2 large onion chopped

4 large cloves garlic, minced + more because there's never enough garlic tip: i use a cheese grater to mince!

1 cup water

2 28oz cans of crushed tomatoes (i didn't have this much so my pictures may appear slightly more "soupy" than you will with the full two cans! i'll use the full amount next time.)

1 28oz can diced tomatoes (taste of italy from vace in d.c.)

2 tsp dried fennel seed (lovelove)

2 tsp dried basil (who am i kidding? i don't measure anything. pinch + pinch + pinch)

2 tsp salt 

2 tsp pepper

2 tsp parsley

2 tsp oregano

2 tsp thyme 

2 tsp parsley 

crushed red pepper to taste (i loaded it up)

i.e. EVERYTHING IN YOUR SPICE CABINET

pasta of your choosing (for me: fresh spinach fettucini, also from vace!)

steps 

heat your oil in a large pot on medium heat

add sausage and cook until brown (pink is okay - it will cook through while it simmers!)

add onion and garlic and saute until your house smells like heaven (/until translucent)

add crushed tomato, water, and all 100 seasonings. bring to a boil. reduce heat, cover, and simmer for one hour, or until you're mouth is watering too much to wait any longer. 

bring a separate pot of water to boil and add your pasta of choice. cook for 7-9 minutes and drain. 

if the sauce is too thick, you can add more water. if it's too thin, try adding some tomato paste. i thought the consistency was great. 

better than delivery sweet and sour chicken

I didn't eat Chinese food until I was in college (say what?!). I was a picky kid with a boring palette. I blame it on not being exposed to much variety - especially international cuisines, as I grew up. It's par for the course, probably, in a single parent household - and in Georgia, no less! We ate a lot of pasta, Hamburger Helper (gag! I can never stomach that gloopy gloppy fake cheese stuff again!), hamburgers and hot dogs, mac and cheese, chicken fingers, barbequed chicken, etc. You know, basic kid foods. That said, my mom is an awesome cook. You don't like meatloaf? My Mom's will make you a believer!

In college, I had to like Chinese. I didn't have a choice. You see, my freshman year I lived next door to Ellie - who would become my closest friend through college and post-college roommate here in D.C. We've been through "all sorts of terrain," as we joke, together. Ellie loves Chinese. She could live solely off of Chinese takeout, I really believe. 

Her family was gracious enough to take me in as another kid of their own during a few holidays when Georgia was just too far away to get home. When I stayed with them, I joined in on a lifetime long tradition of "Chinese and a movie Sundays." They rent a movie, order takeout, and spend the evening together as a family. I fell in love with general tso's chicken, egg drop soup, beef and broccoli - you name it. 

Over the years, I like to think my fondness for Chinese food has developed, that my palette has gained some depth. So when I went to China for 10 days several years ago, I expected to enjoy all the delicacies and learn names of foods I'd never heard. 

That went out in the window in a matter of hours. 

Real Chinese food in China? That stuff is sca-ry. You never know what you're eating, not ever. At the first restaurant we went to after getting to our hotel in a small area of Beijing, we lucked out by having a server that spoke a smattering of English words. We pointed to a picture on the menu that looked delicious and confidently ordered it. He shook his head and grimaced, slightly. He hunkered down and wrote, his eyes coming back up to only briefly meet ours, that pained, nervous expression still there. 

We pulled out our phrase books. 

"Beef?" We asked him. Is it? 

He nodded no. 

"Chicken?" 

No. 

"Pig?" We hoped. 

He nodded his head yes. Then no.

He floundered for a minute trying to find the words. "The foot," he finally said, pointing down at his own.

Pig's feet. 

And that was normal. And mild. And edible. We steered clear of restaurants without English descriptions after that. 

So Chinese is the one international cuisine that I will willingly admit to avoiding the "real" stuff. The Americanized versions? Get in my belly! (Gosh, I hate myself right now. Do you hate me? But it's the truth, sad as it is!)

In the last year or so I've found that I really do like sweet and sour chicken, a dish that had never been my favorite. But I can never eat more than a few bites of it before feeling sick from the surgary, gelatinous sauce. So I got very excited when I came across a recipe on pinterest for a homemade, lighter version of the dish. When I first read through the recipe, though, I stopped cold, and almost didn't "pin" it. The sauce included ketchup. Ketchup! I know I'm admitting to liking less-than-authentic Chinese food, but KETCHUP?! That's gone too far. 

But I went to the blogger's site, and oh my goodness, she has over 500 comments on this recipe. From a scan through them, they nearly all seem to be raving about this dish. So what the heck? Let's break out the ketchup and make some sweet and sour chicken, I thought. 

Holy cow. I'm never ordering this dish out again. It's delicious. Better than pig's feet, even. 

Recipe (slightly) adapted from Mel's Kitchen Cafe

chicken ingredients

3-4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cubed (1" pieces, or whatever you like - thighs would work too!)

salt and pepper

1 cup cornstarch

2 large eggs, beaten (in a separate bowl)

1/4 cup canola oil (olive oil would probably be a fine substitute)

Sriracha (I used about 1/8 cup - but use according to taste - I like it spicy!)

sauce ingredients

1 cup sugar (3/4 would work just as well)

8 tablespoons ketchup

1 cup apple cider vinegar

2 tablespoons soy sauce (i use less sodium)

2 teaspoons garlic powder + more because there's never enough garlic

brown (or white) rice, steamed

chopped broccoli, carrots, onions, green and red pepper, and whatever other veggies you like!

steps

preheat the over to 350F

cube your chicken and season with salt, pepper, and garlic powder

pour the cornstarch into a large ziploc bag - put the raw, cubed chicken in, seal, and toss to coat

dip the cornstarch-coated chicken (it will feel almost plasticy!) into the egg (coat evenly)

heat your oil in a large (large!) skillet over medium heat (it will take several minutes to get hot)

place your cornstarch + egg coated chicken in the skillet in a single layer 

cook for 1-2 minutes and flip as evenly as you can and cook for another 1-2 minutes until brown (don't cook all the way through!) 

place all your gorgeous, browned chicken into cookie sheet or baking dish

mix all of your sauce ingredients

pour half of the mixture over the chicken in the pan 

bake for 30-45 minutes - feel free to flip the chicken once to make sure both sides get saucy

while the chicken is baking, stir fry your veggies in a small amount of oil - season with salt & pepper, garlic, and a little of your sauce

heat your remaining sauce in a small saucepan and let simmer until it heats and thickens 

serve your chicken over steamed rice with veggies and add as much sauce as you like!

follow me for more recipes & pics of what i'm cooking and eating 

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instagram.com/dccyndi

twitter.com/dccyndi

 

To Tulum, Mexico!

Hi from sunny Tulum, Mexico!!! Zander and I arrived yesterday on an air conditioned bus playing Scarface from the Cancun airport. We'll be here until next sunday. I won't be posting much (let's be honest - at all!), but I am tracking and detailing our adventures on Instagram, foursquare, Facebook, and twitter. Follow me and the hashtag #totulum to see where I'm going, how much trouble I'm causing, and just how many margaritas I'm drinking! And also prices, ruins, locals, food, tours, beaches, etc! I'm also playing with Zan's fancy pants grown up camera so I hope to have some beautiful photos to share when I'm back! Until next week, adios amigos!

Twitter: @dccyndi
Facebook: Cyndi Waite (University of Nebraska)
Foursquare: Cyndi Waite
Instagram: dccyndi

travel tuesday | chicago by nightfall

I was in bed last night in my sparkling clean, new apartment (to me) for the first time, and without internet or cable set up, I spent my last sleepy 40 minutes awake editing the handful of photos I took in Chicago last week. I kept stopping myself, wondering why I was doing it. I only spent 48 hours in The Windy City, and 90% of it was indoors, attending a conference for work. Why would I post the few measly shots I managed to get out in the city on the blog? But I kept editing, knowing I was going to write about it anyway. 

I hear from a lot of people that a trip isn't really "travel" unless they have ample time to take in every sight, sound, exhibit, restaurant, etc. It's not a trip worthy of committing to memory unless we have the time to take it all in. I don't think that's true at all. 

I couldn't tell you much about the city of Chicago. I couldn't tell you the must sees and the must dos, or how to get around to different areas of town. I couldn't tell you the best scenic running route, or what it's like to stand inside Wrigley Field. I don't know what exhibits are on display, and I've never seen a play in the theater district. I've never cheered on "da Bears" or eaten one of those famously messy hot dogs they have there. 

But I've seen Chicago from above the clouds. I know what the horizon looks like, with clouds pillowing and folding and bunching and letting loose right before dipping down into the mesmerizing grid of city lights blurred by rushing wind, high rises, and a snow fall that blankets everything white. 

I know the locals are fast moving in a crowd, their heads lowered, knowing like the back of their hands their routes so they never need to look up and feel the full force of winter on their faces. I can spot other tourists, other first timers to the city: we're the only ones looking up, up, up, at the towering buildings - taking in the sharp angles of the city, the perpendicular lines, the neat placement of it all, like Chicago's city planners were an organized bunch. I know so intimately that 15 degrees in Chicago means -3 with wind chill.

Chicago felt draped in an aura of mystery and pulsing energy that I wanted to keep breathing in, keep being a part of. Chicago felt like Gotham City to me -- probably because, as I just learned, some of The Dark Knight was filmed there. Movies make the unfamiliar familiar sometimes.

We don't need a week or 10 days or any number of days we've arbitrarily decided is the "right" amount of time to feel like we've traveled to a new place. Forty-eight hours is a trip. It's travel. 

Where's your next micro-trip?

Chicago | workshopping me

I've been in Chicago since Wednesday evening for a conference on Connected Learning for work. I'm still brand spanking new to the education policy world, so it has been an especially interesting experience. Within the context of the intense workshops, I've learned as much about myself as the topic at hand. Here are a few of the things I've learned... 

• I am capable. 
• I know more than I vocalize. 
• I am funny - my wit is ignited around intellect, senses of humor, and open spaces. 
• I'm comfortable leading the charge. 
• I love public speaking. 
• I draw within myself when someone takes unilateral control without encouraging others' voices. 
• I love to learn; I'm a fast learner. 
• I have a huge amount of potential to be great when I'm engaged. (As I write a blog post during a session.)
• Chicago is Gotham City. 
• Stuffed, deep-dish pizza is life-altering. 

What have you learned about yourself this week?