A Quick Bit of Staistics

Sept 10, 2009
Johnson, VT

I am slightly obsessive about certain things and I have quietly hid these little obsessions over the years. I have decided to embrace them as I approach the end of my 30 years.

30 gigs of data / digital images were created on this last trip
63 rolls of film shot which equals 1032 frames of images. 451 frames made it through the first edit and have been scanned. 43.7% of film shot made it through the initial edit to move on to the second round. Not a bad shooting average at all.

Chichicastenago Surprise

Sept 9, 2009
Johnson, Vermont

As some of you know, the market at Chichicastenago in Guatemala was slightly underwhelming for me. Yet sometimes the places that you didn't think much of can surprise you with an amazing shot that make the early morning worth while and rewrite your impression of that day, that market, that moment forever. This is part of the magic of photography. This is part of the wonder of film.

One of my favorite thing about shooting film is that you don't get to see it right away. You have wait. By the time you get your proof sheets back, its been days and days and days since you shot that roll, since you been to that place. It is familiar to look at each shot as you remember most of them and also a surprise too cause there are ones that are long forgotten.

I would say that I had the best market experience in Central America at San Juan Chamula. But I am not sure that I have a GREAT shot from that day. Chichicastenago might have been slightly disappointing as far as the market was concerned, but look what I brought home with me, look at this moment that I caught on film.

A Delicate Balance

Sept 9, 2009
Johnson, Vermont

It is day 10 here at the artist residency and I am still having trouble finding that perfect balance. I have so much work that I need to get through before I am back on the road again. Editing, scanning, cleaning and dealing with the images from the last trip is a month's worth of work and I am trying to get it completed in 2 weeks. I want to do a little bit more research on the next project and maybe get that started. I would like to get some writing done. There are lots and lots of ideas kicking around up there, the hamsters have been working over time and there is an avalanche that needs to come out. In short, there is a lot of work to do.

Yet, I am in Johnson Vermont, a small town, surrounded by some wonderful artists, writers, beautiful beautiful people who have a uniquely different perspective on life, art and what not. I would like to get to know them. I would like to know their stories and what they dream about. I am being offered a community of like minded people and I want to take advantage of that.

Its a struggle every day between locking myself away in the studio and work until I can't keep my eyes open anymore or go out and socialize with the other artists. A delicate balance of work and play that I seem to have trouble finding. I know I am not the only one. This very same conversation of balance comes up during meals (I know that its ridiculous that I think it takes too much time out of my day to share 3 meals a day with the other artists) and I am comforted to know that I am not the only workaholic present.

Is it weird to feel that life was a lot easier on the road? I shoot in the morning when its not a day spent in transit. I walk around the rest of the day and photograph whatever else that captures my imagination. The hours in between the nitty gritty of survival (food, laundry and lodging) is for me to read, to wonder, to sight see, to day dream, to write, to hunt down coffee and Oreos. The residency is supposed to take away all the distractions of daily life yet I find myself even more perplexed and stressed than I would be otherwise.

Life is a constant push and pull of opposites and you just hope that you can make it to the end without being torn apart by the force fields.

*Photograph courtsey of Frank Jackson, a dear dear friend and a fantastic photographer.

Chicken with a GIANT Egg

Sept 3, 2009
Johnson, VT

I have been scanning film from this last trip since Monday. I came across this image today, I had forgotten about it. There is a GIANT egg in the cage with the chickens. I wonder which chicken had laid that egg, or has any of them tried to sit on it?

Logic vs Gut Instinct in hand to hand combat in an all White Room

Aug 31, 209
Johnson, Vermont
Elevation 157m

I am sitting in my all white studio space with a window looking out into the parking lot with a perfect view of the construction workers using the porter potty. I know that photography is on the low end of the totem pole in the art world, but did that need to be made so obvious with a view of the shit house? (I am certain that my studio assignment does not reflect anything other than what is practical and convenient).

I am editing through 63 rolls of film from Mexico and Central America. I shot markets in 13 different cities and 4 countries. I can usually look at the proof sheet and tell you which town that market is as no two markets are a like. I am looking at 3 proof sheets of meat isles and meat stalls and I cannot tell you which country it was in, much less what town. I remember being at that particular market, I remember shooting the images, I remember each of the isles, but I cannot remember anything else. By the process of elimination, logic tells me that this mystery market is not in El Salvador or Nicaragua, but my gut instinct tells me that I shot these images late in the trip which means that it is El Salvador or Nicaragua. OMG! I feel like I am going crazy. My gut is certain, but logic dictates otherwise.

Maybe its not good for me to be in an all white room. Maybe I should staples some pads to the walls....

Sierra Norte Trek

July 14, 2009
Sierra Norte, Oaxaca Mexico

*This post is being posted out of sync with linear time...

I take a bus into sierra norte to a town called cuajimoloyas at elevation 3180m. I am surprised by the cold as the temp just drop at least 15 degrees from Oaxaca. I throw on another tank top, a t-shirt and zips my light water proof shell tight. I did not pack very well for this journey, I packed for the tropics and heat and where I am headed will be cold. My trekking partner is a 26 year old french Canadian idealist named felix who came to mexico to monitor the election for the OAS. We set off around 10:30 with our local guide (whose name I didn't catch). It is so beautiful here, so lush, so green, the sky so blue. Never in my life would I think that this is what Mexico looks like. There are green meadows with wildflowers everywhere, alpine trees and streams. We stay more or less at this altitude for the next couple of hours. Our guide tells us that there are 8 remote zapotec villages here and they are self sustaining as they grow everything they need. they have collectively pooled their resources and share the revenue from the logging and eco-tourism program. Each person has to do something to contribute and so some volunteer as guides and other work once in a while in logging and etc. They are not paid individually, the money is shared by all the villages.

Our guide walks us by this three pools (about 15 feet in diameter each) and tells us that his brother is farming some kind of fish in there, using the water from the near by stream. I ask what the sling shot hanging on the fence is for? To shoot at the hawks that come for the fish.

We reach a look out point and peer into the valley down below, there is a guy waiting for us, we are switching guides. Our new guide's name is Salvador. He points to the base of the valley and tells us that is where he lives and where we will have lunch. Half way up the opposite side of the mountain is a town called Latuvi and that is where we will spend the night.

We now start our descend, its steep and slippery but we are in the middle of alpines and I just couldn't be happier. By 3 we make it to Salvador's house where felix and I watch them catch fish out of their ponds for us for lunch. Meanwhile, felix and I fall asleep on the table waiting for lunch. This is me and felix's first fish here in mexico, a nice change from the non-stop parade of meat.

We ask salvador how much more do we have to go and he looks at me and says maybe an hour. We set off and starts climbing up. Felix and I covered the ascend to 2400m in 35 min. I don't know the altitude of salvador's house but its a bit ways down. I haven't had any trouble all these days here in the higher elevation but I could really feel it on the ascend. As we climb, we stop at one point and salvador points out where the look out is where we meet him. Wow, we have covered quiet a bit of distance here. An elder lady w a burro carrying vegetables comes along side of us and we chat with her as we climb. She asks where we are headed tomorrow and felix tells her that he will be turning around to head south while I continue north. She says why are you leaving your girlfriend? No, no, we are just friends.

We finally arrive and gets all the logistical details settled. Felix and I are sharing a cabin as we both only paid for a shared room. The cabin is super nice, better than any hostel I have been in.

As I write, I am swinging in a hammock watching the cloud formation change a top the mountain range, the goats are settling their unfinished business in the background as the day is about to end. I could not be happier.

---

We watch the sunset, share a great meal made for us by the lady running the store. We share a beer and a smoke and talk about the 14km that we covered today. Its been a great day, its been fucking perfect!

Oh, before I forget, sierra norte does not observe day light savings, so there was much discussion as to when we will head out tomorrow, 8am Oaxaca time? 8am sierra norte time? What the hell? I don't understand!

Day 2, I have another 14km ahead of me and I need to cover that distance by mid day as I have a bus tonight. We poke our heads out of our room and everything is shrouded in white. We are in midst of clouds and its beautiful. Another great meal, another smoke, a handful of advil, before felix heads south and I north.

My guide is salvador again and he really likes to stop to tell you about the local flora and faunas. Both days we see what is left of where the villages used to be as they shift and relocate with the moving river. I think salvador really enjoys being a guide. The scenery is different today, different vegetation and a different vibe.

For part of the trek we are down by the river and parts of it we are along the side of the mountains. Its up and down all 14kms. Every now and the, we stop and my guide points to where we are headed or to where we have been. Its quiet a bit of mountain range I have trekked. Felix and I both agree that there is no way we could have done is by ourselves as the trails are poorly marked. I switch guides again and he is young and not very talkative.

I arrive at my final village Amatlan just before 1pm, 14km in 4 hours, not too bad. Now I am just waiting for a collectivio so I can get to a bigger town where I can then find my way back to Oaxaca.

I could easily do another day of this, but at last, there is a bus with my name on it tonight. So I must leave this very simple life, this very amazing scenery, walk out of the woods and reclaim my camera, film and the best of my belongings and keep heading south.

*PS. No jaguar sightings, so sad...

Condition of Absorption

Aug 3, 2009
Juayua, El Salvador

This is the first morning since June 30th have I had the chance to read the paper with coffee. Some rituals just feel so good and so right.

I come across the following piece in today's New York Times.

###

Averted Vision
By Tim KreiderIn
1996 I rode the circus train to Mexico City where I lived for a month, pretending to be someone's husband. (Don't even ask.) I remember my time there as we remember most of our travels — vivid and thrilling, everything new and strange. My ex-fake-wife Carolyn and I often reminisce nostalgically about our honeymoon there: ordering un balde hielo from room service to cool our Coronas every afternoon, the black-velvet painting of the devil on the toilet that she made me buy, our shared hilarious terror of kidnapping and murder, the giant pork rind I wrangled through customs. Which is funny, since, if I think back honestly, while I was actually there I did not feel "happy." In fact, as mi esposa did not hesitate to point out to me at the time, I griped incessantly about the noise and stink of the city — the car horns playing shrill, uptempo versions of the theme from "The Godfather" or "La Cucaracha" every second, the noxious mix of diesel fumes and urine, the air so filthy we'd been there a week before I learned we had a view of the mountains.

I was similarly miserable throughout the happiest summer I ever spent in New York City. I was recovering from an affair that had ended badly, and during my convalescence I was subletting a cool, airy apartment a block from Tompkins Square Park, with a kitchen window that looked out on a community garden. A theater troupe was rehearsing a production of "The Tempest" out there, and I got used to the warped rattling crash of sheet-metal thunder in the evenings. I happened to catch "The Passion of St. Joan of Arc" on cable for the first time late one night, a film I knew nothing about — it was grotesque and beautiful, astonishing. One of the happiest memories of my life is of sitting on top of the little knoll in the park with my friend Ellen, eating a sweet Hawaiian pizza and waiting to see what movie would play on the outdoor screen that was being inflated in front of us. (It turned out to be "Raiders of the Lost Ark.") Even though this whole time I was preoccupied with thoughts of the woman I'd lost and torturing myself with jealousy and insane fantasies of vengeance, in retrospect it's obvious now that the main thing I was doing that summer was falling in love.

I wonder, sometimes, whether it is a perversity peculiar to my own mind or just the common lot of humanity to experience happiness mainly in retrospect. I have of course considered the theory that I am an idiot who fails to appreciate anything when he actually has it and only loves what he's lost. Or perhaps this is all just what Michael Chabon called "the ruinous work of nostalgia, which obliterates the past." But I think I recall that summer with such clarity and affection for much the same reason that I remember my month in Mexico City so fondly. The fresh heartbreak was, in a sense, like being in a foreign country; everything seemed alien, brilliant and glinting. It was as if I'd been flayed, so that even the air hurt. When you're that unhappy, any glimmer of beauty or consolation feels like running into an old friend abroad, or seeing mountaintops through smog. Maybe we mistakenly think we want "happiness," which we tend to picture in very vague, soft-focus terms, when what we really crave is the harder-edged intensity of experience.

We do each have a handful of those moments, the ones we only take out to treasure rarely, like jewels, when we looked up from our lives and realized: "I'm happy." One of the last times this happened to me, inexplicably, I was driving on Maryland's unsublime Route 40 with the window down, looking at a peeling Burger King billboard while Van Halen played on the radio. But this kind of intense and present happiness is heartbreakingly ephemeral; as soon as you notice it you dispel it, like blocking yourself from remembering a word by trying too hard to retrieve it. And our attempts to contrive this feeling through any kind of replicable method — with drinking or drugs or sexual seduction, buying new stuff, listening to the same old songs that reliably give us shivers — never quite recapture the spontaneous, profligate joy of the real thing. In other words be advised that Burger King billboards and Van Halen are not a sure-fire combination, any more than are scotch and cigars.

I didn't always enjoy being a cartoonist. During the 12 years of my career, if I can call it that, I bored my friends and colleagues by complaining bitterly about the insulting pay, the lack of recognition, the short half-life of political cartoons as art. And yet, if I'm allowed any final accounting of my days, I may find, to my surprise, that I reckon those Fridays when I woke up without an idea in my head and only started drawing around noon, calling friends at work for emergency humor consultations, doing frantic Google image searches for "Scott McClellan" or "chacmool," eating whatever crud was in the fridge, laughing out loud at my own jokes, and somehow ended up getting a finished cartoon in by deadline, feeling like an evil genius, to have been among my best. But during the time I was actually focused on drawing — whipping out a perfect line, spontaneous but precise, or gauging the exact cant of an eyelid to evoke an expression, or immersed in the microscopic universe of cross-hatching — I wasn't conscious of feeling "happy," or of feeling anything at all. I was in the closest approximation to happiness that we can consistently achieve by any kind of deliberate effort: the condition of absorption. My senses were so integrated that, on those occasions when I had to re-draw something entirely, I often found that I would spontaneously recall the same measure of music or line of dialog I'd been listening to when I'd drawn it the first time; the memory had become inextricably encoded in the line. It is this state that rock-climbers and pinball players and libertines are all seeking: an absorption in the immediate so intense and complete that the idiot chatter of your brain shuts up for once and you temporarily lose yourself, to your relief. I suspect there is something inherently misguided and self-defeating and hopeless about any deliberate campaign to achieve happiness. Perhaps the reason we so often experience happiness only in hindsight, and that chasing it is such a fool's errand, is that happiness isn't a goal in itself but is only an aftereffect. It's the consequence of having lived in the way that we're supposed to — by which I don't mean ethically correctly so much as just consciously, fully engaged in the business of living. In this respect it resembles averted vision, a phenomena familiar to backyard astronomers whereby, in order to pick out a very faint star, you have to let your gaze drift casually to the space just next to it; if you look directly at it, it vanishes. And it's also true, come to think of it, that the only stars we ever see are not the "real" stars, those cataclysms taking place in the present, but always only the light of the untouchable past.

###

This last month of traveling has been good to me. This last month on the road has made me very happy. Whether be it caused by the "condition of absorption" or just simply that being out here has eliminated all things that was causing me pain previously, its been good. Any other time, I would agree with Mr Tim KreiderIn that our happiness is often us nostalgically reminiscing on the lights of the faded glory, but I must say my current state of being has nothing to do with that. Everyday, every morning, every cup of coffee, every smoke, every bus ride, I am happy. Let's just credit it to the "condition of absorption" so we can tone down the gloating a little. Wishing all of you the same.

Charlie Grosso

www.charliegrosso.com

310-592-0895

Children...

July 19, 2009
San Cristobal, Mexico
Elevation 2349m

There is some sort of fire department demonstration in the plaza today. The fireman rigs the children up in a harness and they are pulled to the higher end and let go, they are essentially sliding down a zip line. There are these two small boys, selling gum and candy out of the little wooden tray they carry, they stand there and watch the other kids go up and down the zip line.

The haves and the have nots. Right there in front of me, as children.

A few days back when I was at Bonampak, there were these three girls running around the ruins. The youngest (5 years old) would ask for money when people want to take her pictures. I sat down in a shady spot for a little bit while waiting for my group and the girls surrounds me wanting to see what shiny things I had with me.

I don't make a practice of giving anyone money in exchange for a photo but if I have any kind of candy or pen or chap sticks on me, I am happy to give it to them. But mostly, I just talk to them, even if its out of a phrase book. I try to make them laugh and try to understand a little bit more.

As we are leaving, the girls are following behind, saying something to me in Spanish and I don't understand them. This American woman who is part of my group asks me if I gave them any money and then started to tell me about how she turned down leopards in India. How sometimes the parents would purposely hurt the child so the child would be better at begging. I know what she is telling me to be true. I tell her that I know but does she not feel bad for them? She says that she doesn't.

They are FUCKING children. How could you not feel bad? Where the fuck is your compassion? Even if there is not much you can do in the situation, you can at least feel, you can at least have compassion.

She Tried to Throw a Broom at Me

July 19, 2009
San Cristobal De Las Casas, Mexico
Elevation 2349m



San Juan Chamula, a village that is outside of San Cristobal. Its market day. It's 6:30 am, I make myself leave my warm bed, grab my cameras and thank god there is coffee at this hour, I get on a collectivo and head out.

The market is the size of the town square. I am the only foreigner here. You can buy everything here. Pots and pans, live poultry, shoes, clothing, yarn, some sort of animal pelt, bread, produce, shoe polish, flowers, just about everything. This market has no structure or logic in the way that its laid out. I think the vendors just arrive, they find an empty spot and they lay their goods down. As the day wears on, it gets harder and hard to walk through the market. I am constantly walking in between stalls or forced to jump over a pile of chiles so that I don´t get run over by the carts, people and poultry. There are children every where; some are crying, some are breast feeding. There are dogs roaming looking for a scrap off the butcher´s table. I saw this one boy trying to shove a giant piece of salted dry fish into his backpack...it made me laugh so hard as the fish is clearly bigger than his bag.

The shooting today is a little easier than it was yesterday. The people are still resistent but there is so much going on here that they pay less attention to me. Although this one woman did try to throw a broom at me. She won´t even let me take a picture of her chickens. Oh well....

I smile at everyone I see, I greet them good day. The men return my smile and are a little easier with me being there, the children seem to respond to my hellos as well. Howeve, the women just look at me and well....they just look at me. I guess my charm only goes so far here in Mexico.

This town, San Cristobal, Chiapas, it reminds me so much of Tibet, I don´t know why. The market is make shift at best; tables, tarps, ropes and nothing more. All of this choas and beauty will be gone by mid-day. The morning is wearing on and I have done 4-5 laps around, in and out, the tourist are starting to arrive, its time to wrap it up. Just as I am about to finish the last few frames on this last roll of film, I see a pile of red delicious apples imported from good o´US of A. Red Delicious apples sitting pretty amongst fruits and veggies that are just in from the hill side. I guess you can´t stop progress/invasion.

I stop at one of the many ¨stalls,¨ grab a seat in the tiny chair and have a hot horcheta and a tamale for breakfast. The warm horcheta makes me think of porridage and it reminds me of home. I guess when you grow up with nothing, your taste for peasant food (as my mother likes to call them) never really goes away.

Out of Focus Frames

July 18, 2009
San Crisotbal De Las Casas, Mexico
Elevation 2349m

The market today was incredible, bright and lively. I think my favorit thing might be how the women tie the chickens by their feet and wear them around their wrists like they are some sort of bracelets as they stand there selling them. I had a little trouble shooting at the market today. I have encountered resistence before to being photographed, but today it seemed harder. For the most part, if they really don´t want their picture taken, I respect that and I walk away. I have read and heard a bit about how the indigenous tribes here in Chiapas do not like their photos taken so I purposely left the Hasselblad and only went out with the Xpan. I thought maybe a smaller camera would let me fly under the radar a bit more (Yes, me, unnoticed as the only Asian in town.) It was difficult today. I would try to pull focus at something that was close to them but not them and then pan back to them and see if I can pull the shot off, this usually works decently in the pass, but not so much today. I ended up shooting a lot of the same frame hoping that maybe there would be one that would work. I have a feeling that I am going to end up with a lot of out of focused frames here.

Tomorrow I will head out to a near by town where market day is supposed to draw a great crowd from all the villages. I imagine it would be even harder then. But I have to at least try.

For Love, For Faith, For Pure Pleasure?

July 18, 2009
San Cristobal De Las Casas, Mexico
Elevation 2349m

When I think of fresh cut flowers I think of hot houses, first world nations, and florists. I was astounded to find so much flowers for sale at the market today. I wondered do they just grow wild? It can´t be grown in a hot house like it is in the US? Then I wonder who buys them and what do they buy the flowers for? For their wifes and their love? For their god and their faith? Or do the good people of Chiapas just buy them because they are pretty and who wouldn¨t want fresh flowers in their homes?

Recorded Time

July 15, 2009
Palenque, Mexico
Elevation 80m

I joined a tour group today because it was easier and cheaper to get to some of the Mayan ruins (Yaxchilan and Bonampak) I wanted to see. The van picked me up at a quater pass six and we headed south east. I was awake to see the sunrise, then I nodded off from there on.

The driver likes to slow down to nearly a complete stop for each and every speed bump, but he would put pedal to the metal for all the in between. He would drive at full speed and pass all the other tour vans on the road. Is there a door prize for the group that gets there first? Do we each get a howler monkey?

I have seen a lot of ruins in my time and I am sure that I will see a lot more. Seeing these murals and carvings, reading what little Mayan history it be can gather from it, I wonder about our impulse to record. From the ancient murals to every tourist with their cameras (me included), me writing this blog, you and your journals, we compulsively record. Why are we compelled to document what we have done, who we have conquered, what we have seen, and what we have experienced?

Do we record these things so that they don't fade away with time and the decay of our memory? Do we record so that we can ensure our version of the story gets told? Do we record cause we instinctively understand our mortality and want to leave something behind? Does our existence not matter unless it is documented somewhere?

If what you did with your life changed the world, but there will be no record of it, would that be ok? Or would you prefer to live a life that is well documented but didn't matter in the slightest bit?

Wondering Minsterals

July 15, 2009
Palenque, Mexico
Elevation 80m

There are men who get on the bus at random stops, they play you a couple of songs on their guitar and you give them a little money if you like. They are literally wondering minstrels. I took this while I was on the city bus I had to take yesterday to get back into Oaxaca center. The guy in white saw me snap this picture. After he got off the bus, he blows me a kiss waved me goodbye.

Long Distance Bus Ride

July 14, 2009
In transit between Oaxaca to Palenque via Villahermosa, Mexico

What is the hardest thing NOT to do while you are on a long distance bus ride?

A) pee in your pants
B) sing along to your ipod and annoy all
C) fall asleep, snuggle up to the passenger next to you and drool all over them
Charlie Grosso
www.charliegrosso.com
310-592-0895

And back onto itself again...

July 12, 2009

Oaxaca, Mexico



I was at the Centro Cultural Santo Domingo yesterday.



Maybe because it used to be a convent, it was quiet, peaceful. I thought about how much I liked the place for a moment and of course that maybe I should join a convent. But I quickly rejected that thought as I am sure that no convent would tolerate me yet the sense of peace at the place was comforting.



The layout of the place is strange, its all inter connected and it essentially folds back onto itself. As I walk through it, the place keeps on re-framing itself through the windows and arches. It is keep on folding and unfolding all at the same time. One minute you are looking at this one set of domes and the next you are seeing it from a different side. like an Escher drawing except you don't feel like you are lost. Every view is different, it keeps on presenting itself in a different way. Even though you have seen those arches, those windows, that courtyard once before, there it is again and just a little different each time.



I will post pictures once I get back from trekking in Sierra Norte.

Charlie Grosso

www.charliegrosso.com

310-592-0895

Mystery Spice

July 10, 2009
Ocotlan, Mexico
Elevation 1500m

I went out to a town called Ocotlan, 45 min by bus (no chicken bus yet, severely disappointed) since it is their big market day. The market was vibrant and amazing. There are these two girls selling some sort of spices and they came up and tried to talk to me. At first I thought they wanted their photo taken, but they one of them got shy and changed their mind. We tried to talk some more and then they decided that I could take a photo if I bought some of what they were selling. Mind you I have no idea what it is that they are selling. I asked her what its for (once again, poor poor spanish skills on my part), the girl took some and put it in her mouth. Ok, so its edible. She offered me some, I had a taste, can't say that I could tell you what it is or what it tasted like either. But for 5 pesos, I will buy a small bag of this mystery spice to help the girl out and took a picture in exchange. I hope I don't dream of purple elephants.

Free

July 9, 2009
Oaxaca City, Mexico
Elevation 1550m

I read "A Portrait of a Young Man as an Artist" by James Joyce when I was 17. Something Joyce said has really stayed with me. He believes that a man cannot truly be free unless he can sever the ties of family, religion and country. I revisit this idea every so often as I consider myself to be "free," or would like to be.

At 17, I had no national allegiance as I didn't feel like an American nor did I feel like I was Chinese either. I did not have faith nor religion and family was something that I couldn't wait to walk away from as they have been troublesome to say the least.

I am reminded of the movie "Into the Wild" and a line of lyrics from it, "I got my wish to up and disappear." They both seem appropriate at this moment as I wonder through Mexico and beyond. There are some problems that I have with the movie but the notion of him wanting to walk away from everything and see if he could survive on the land alone certainly holds my imagination. In the end though, he writes as he is dying, "happiness is only real when shared." Which only goes prove Joyce's point in my opinion, that being truly free is not that easy.

As I hyper-ventilated over the temporary lost of my blackberry, my life line to the world, I can't help but think of Joyce and his idea of being free. Which then makes me ask a different question, do I want to be that free? That untethered to the world?

Things have changed and I am not who I once was since I last read Joyce. The question of faith and cultural identity aside I am glad for the family that I have now. Whether be it blood ties or family of our own choosing, I am a better person with them than I would be w/o them. Other than the fact that my blackberry allows me to conduct business while I am on the road, it allows me to share bits of my day with people that I care about. "Happiness is only real when shared."

When I was 17, I thought being that free was something to strive for. Now, I wonder if Joyce's point is more to the impossibility of it and that we are the ties that binds us. Our family, faith and culture defines us and if we allow it, it can make us better. I think I will go dig out my copy of "Portrait" when I get back to the States and have another read.

Charlie Grosso

www.charliegrosso.com

310-592-0895

Moments.....

July 9, 2009

In transit to Oaxaca, Mexico



I am in the middle of a 6.5 hour bus ride to Oaxaca, so I have sometime to share a bit more w/ you.



Tuesday morning I took the subway down to coyoacan again and walked through the Viveros (park/nursery) on my way to the market.



I came upon people practicing bull fighting in the middle of the park. I was hypothesized, I was mesmerized. There was a young man, 15 maybe, practicing w/ the cape and an elder gentleman giving him instructions. There was another young man practicing and the elder guy who had a set of bull horns so they were both mimicking the rhythm and motion. I don't know how I feel about bull fighting as I have never experienced one. So I will reserve judgment until I have had more experiences w/ it. As I watch these guys practice, mimicking the motion of life and death in the middle of the park, under the mid day sun, the care taken in every turn, the articulation of each motion, the ritual, the sacrifice...I came upon beauty that rendered me speechless.



That same day, I spent the afternoon at the museo nacional de antropologia. I consider myself a curious student of anthropology but I am certainly not very well versed in it, my knowledge is skin deep at best. I must confess that I am not that interested in "objects" of the past. Clay bowls, urns, spear heads, they just don't get me that excited. If there is a way for the spears to tell me about the hunt, the wine goblet to describe the drunken debauchery, then I would be super excited.



Yet at the mueso, I found myself enthralled by all the tiny clay figures and their faces. These figures don't really serve a functional need yet they were made and I think that is part of the reason why I love them. All of faces were different, all of them expressive. I found the faces of history staring at me.



Charlie Grosso

www.charliegrosso.com

310-592-0895

Hi, my name is Charlie, and I am an addict.

July 7, 2009
Mexico City, Mexico

Its been an very pleasant day, in fact, maybe one of my best days here so far. But as the afternoon gets late, I am tired and just want to go back to the apt for a little while. So I opted for a cab ride home instead of taking the metro during rush hour.

I get back to the apt, half way undressed, thinking about either a shower or a nap, maybe both when I realized that I have lost my blackberry. OMG!!! Sheer panic that sets in! I rummage through my backpack, NOTHING! I call Rebecca and have her call the cafe where I was at last, although I am pretty convinced that I have left it in the cab. The thought of being w/o my blackberry is unbearable when I am in the States, much less now when its my life line! Its not at the cafe, Rebecca calls me back. She then calls my 310 number hoping that someone will answer. The cab driver picks up and says that he will bring the phone back to me in 30 mins.

So I go downstairs, waiting at the curb w/ such anticipation and worry that I am reminded of my mom telling me the story of my first day of school. Of how she waited so eagerly at the bus stop in the afternoon for my return. The sheer anxiety. Yes, I do realize that I have just compared my feelings for my blackberry to that of my mother towards me, her only child.
In the mean time, the security guard at Eric's apt where I am staying starts to tell me something about the apt. The best I could make out is that the bathroom is leaking and its leaking down into the apt below. Ok, so we call Rebecca again to translate and see if they would like to come up to the apt regarding the leak.

Now I am in the apt w/ the maintance guy and guard, and I automatically pull the door to my room shut as there are stuff EVERYWHERE. We now discover that there is no water in the apt. Great! I am getting anxious as we are approaching the half hour mark for the promised return of my phone. I put my hand on the door knob to my room only to find that its LOCKED! Of course I don't have a key to this particular door! OH MY GOD!!! Ok, so now I am climbing through the window into my room from the balcony of the apt which by the way is on the fourteenth floor.

Alright, with the door open and reward money in hand for the return of my phone, we all go back downstairs. One thing at a time here. Miraculously, the cab pulls up 5 min past the promised half an hour and hands me back my blackberry. I gladly hand him 100 pesos in gratitude, and thank the lord!!!

Now, there is still no water in the apt and tomorrow I have a meeting w/ a gallery regarding a potential exhibit here in DF. I am a mess and would very much so like a shower before I attend to my meeting tomorrow afternoon. But all is right w/ the world because I have my blackberry in hand and there is nothing I can't do!

Charlie Grosso

www.charliegrosso.com

310-592-0895

Big planets, small planets

July 6, 2009

Mexico City, Mexico



I went out this evening to a local cantina with a friend of a friend, an ex-pat of 15 years. He knew the bartender and some of the patrons. Pepe is a local and a friend of my friend. We are a couple of drinks in and talking about how I plan on visiting the museum of anthropology tomorrow after I am done w the markets.



Pepe then offered up his theory of "evolution." From what I could understand, and Pepe spoke the Queen's language well, that he does not believe in Darwin per se, but that there are big planets and small planets. On the big planets, there are very evolved humans who could levitate, practice tele-kenethisis, and alike and they are the ones who reproduce. Earth is too small of a planet for us humans to have evolved from a single celled organism to where we are this fast in such short span of time. Pepe does not believe that there is a missing link.



Pepe believes that we are put here on earth by the humans on the big planets. They drop humans off on other planets and are doing so w the hopes that we will be able to populate other smaller planets in time. But Pepe does not think we will be able to do that because earth is too small of a planet and that we have major disasters coming that will end life on earth. Pepe is predicting a north american tsunami that will take place north of Oregon state.



All the mean while, there is a drunken Mexican lady next to me at the bar, yelling to no one in particular, or yelling at my new ex-pat friend from time to time.



There is always something surreal just beneath the surface.

Charlie Grosso

www.charliegrosso.com

310-592-0895

Pushy Asian has you beat!

July 6, 2009

Teotihuacan, Mexico

Elevation: 2300m



The ancient city of Teotihuacan with the piramide del sol y luna. Piramide del Sol was completed in 150AD and its the third largest in the world. The base is 222m long and its 70m in height. Its build from 3 million tons of stone without the use of the wheel. Impressive hum?!



What is often more fascinating at archaeological sites such as this are the hawkers who are trying to sell you cheap trinkets. I was fore warned about the vendors here so I came mentally prepared. Let's just say that these Mexican vendors have nothing on the Asian hawkers. There are middle age women offering to carry you up the Great Wall of China since the climb is steep. There are barefooted Cambodian children following you around selling you post cards and what not. There are hawkers in Asia where they will just follow you silently until you relent and part with your money. These Mexican vendors take no for an answer and is rather polite in comparison.



There is this one vendor as he tried to sell you something, he says the word, "jaguar" in English and then you hear a sound of a fake jaguar growl. It made me laugh. At first, I thought the vendor was making the sound, now I think its actually a toy that you blow into.



The Aztec build this giant pyramid by the sheer force of will so they could worship the sun. The hawkers and children stand out in the sun day in and day out just to survive. Is there anything that you won´t do for your art, your faith, your child?

Charlie Grosso

www.charliegrosso.com

310-592-0895

As you wish

July 4, 2009

Mexico City, Mexico

Elevation 2240 Meters



Market day. One in particular has all manners of animals for sale. Chickens and various varieties of poultry, baby chicks, pigeons, goats, turkey, rabbits, puppies, kittens, turtle, iguanas, finches and other birds, mice, rats, guinea pigs. Lots and lots of animals all alive and in cages.



Now I am getting confused. Are these animals for sale or for eating? The chicken, poultry and goats seems like they would be for food but the puppies and kittens doesn't seem to be quiet for the Mexican palate. So, I call my friend Rebecca and ask her if she could ask the shop keepers what is the purpose of these animals, food or pets. I hand the phone over to a man who was just trying to sell me a chicken moments before and patiently wait for the answer.



Apparently, the man had told Rebecca, the animals are for whatever you want, dinner or pets. What is most important is that they are fresh.

Charlie Grosso

www.charliegrosso.com

310-592-0895

My Mexican Father

July 1, 2009
Mexico City, Mexico

I meet a very nice elder gentleman on the flight. He is a professor at the university of mexico, some sort of corn, fungus,research based field. He has been teaching there for 40 years. He first started asking me about my travels (I was reading my LP guide on the flight) and when he found out I was by myself, he gave me his number and his daughter's number in case I ever needed anything. After a long nice chat on the flight, He insisted on taking me to the apt in a cab, paid for the cab fare and also gave me 500 pesos cause he didn't want me to visit an atm at night. He wouldn't even accept my US greenback in exchange for the pesos. He also decided that he was gonna adopt me and be my Mexican father and wanted me to come and stay w him and his wife next time.

Its times like this that makes me think there is still hope for humanity.

Charlie Grosso
www.charliegrosso.com
310-592-0895

A Life Open to the World

Nov 25, 2008
Los Angeles, Ca

The recent issue of The New Yorker has an article about Jeffery Alford and Naomi Duguid. They are cookbook authors but a more accurate description would be culinary anthropologists or culinary geographers. They have published 6 cookbooks since 1995 and I currently own "Hot, Sour, Salty, Sweet" while the rest are logged into my 28 page wish list on Amazon.

The thing that really caught my attention in the profile piece about Alford and Duguid is not just the partnership that they have and how they essentially raised two child on the road but their attitude towards traveling..."they travel light, on anything headed in the right direction - a riverboat, a mountain bus...when nothing shows up, they hitchhike or rent a bike or walk....[Duguid] call this 'staying vulnerable' to the people, the place, and the possibility of a new taste where ever they get dropped off...they talk about arriving in a place and having no idea of what they'll find there. The awe that comes with that - it's always present."

This idea of staying vulnerable to possibilities is I think one of my favorite things about traveling and why I think I am always itching to get back on the road. Yet something happens once the plane hits the tarmac at LAX - somehow the mind shifts and I becomes less vulnerable. Why do we feel less safe at "home" than we do in a strange land? Is it because when we are here, we feel that we are measured by our accomplishments and if we don't have enough then we must fake it? Especially in a place like Los Angeles?

How do we stay vulnerable to possibilities and yet still protect ourselves?

Where to next is a frequent question that I get at my Q&A sections and I have been thinking of South / Central America and Africa. Yet I have had Central Asia and Mongolia stuck in my teeth for over a year now - and Burma since this summer. The article ends with Alford and Durguid writing a cookbook that is focused on Burma. Burma again - is the Universe trying to tell me something? Meanwhile, I am tentatively slated to go down to Mexico / Cuba next spring and Chile next winter. But all of this could change depending on my grant status.

As I try to define and refine the "partnership" I wish to have, I can't help but look at the Alford/Durguid model to be a measuring stick of sorts. The profile describes them to be opposites yet symbiotic. They were able to agree on all the big important life questions within days after they meet in the low oxygen city of Lhasa at 3600km.

Irrespective of what the final definition is, what I do know is that I would like a life that is open to the world, where I am vulnerable to possibilities, adventures, regardless whether I am in LA, New York or a nameless town in middle of no where.

Nov 24, 2008, The New Yorker, The Hungry Travellers by Jane Kramer