First Hours in CDMX

San Jerónimo Street in Mexico City.

Just after 8 am we left our hotel on Calle San Jerónimo and entered the narrow old street. The morning sun glistened on the upper level of the brown brick buildings that seemed to bend with the contour of the street.

Most of the rolling security shutters on the shops were still down. I didn't know if that meant they were not yet open for the day or were closed permanently.

We walked along a busy road toward Mercado de La Merced, a bustling market in the center of Mexico City. Many were just now setting up shop while others pulled vending carts along the side of the road, still unassembled.

Across the street I noted the dome and bell towers of an old church. It was boxed in on both sides by so-called modern buildings, now tarnished and falling apart themselves.

Templo de San Pablo el Nuevo.

At the end of the street we arrived at the market and along the outer extremities crowds began to gather and vendors displayed their wares. On the corner a vendor had already prepared a line of taco meat that filled the air with aroma.

We entered inside the market, but to our disappointment, only a few vendors had set up shop. Looking for breakfast, we returned to the taco stand on the corner.

My mouth watered as I eyed the selection of stewed meats. I chose the alambre since I had never seen that option in the States.

He scooped the warm meat onto four corn tortillas and sprinkled them with onion and cilantro. Two tacos for me and two for Jordan. I drizzled a mystery red sauce over the meat, then we ate them standing up, using a nearby unused vending cart as a table.

The flavorful food hit the spot. The meat practically melted in my mouth. Tacos for breakfast in Mexico City. What else could we ask for ?!

Tacos de alambre.

We walked our way closer to the historic center. I was still amazed that since we had left the airport the night before, we had not seen another tourist. That still held true. Now as we ambled about the streets, they became more full and chaotic with locals on their way to work or wherever they might be going.

We passed by a plaza with yet more street vendors beginning their day. Most of them had large parasols above their booths to protect from sun and rain. They sat casually with their goods, like they had for the last thousand days, completely unaware of two gringo tourists infringing on their world.

I was amazed at how many old churches we saw dotted along the way. Most of them appeared to be from the earlier Colonial Period in the 15― or 1600's, built with gray bricks and rocks, perhaps looted from the old Aztec city.

Street market at Pino Suárez.

Parroquia de San Miguel Arcángel. 

Detail on historic building in Mexico City.

I decided to take a closer look at one of these old churches. Like the others, it too was built with gray brick. I noticed the bell tower silhouetted against the blue sky.

Then I saw the plaque on the outer wall. We moved closer and it confirmed that this was the church I had studied about. The plaque read: “Here are the remains of Hernán Cortés.”

Inside the church was simple and unpretentious. Old dim paintings hung on the wall and two lines of pews ran to the front.

At the front, behind a red plaque, embedded in the wall, were the remains of the Spanish Conquistador.⸻I've been to the graves of both Christopher Columbus and Francisco Pizarro, and Hernán Cortés certainly wins the award for the least prestigious memorial.

We returned outside, walking down José María Pino Suárez Street. As we walked I noticed the streets became cleaner and the cafes on the side became more geared toward the tourist. Buildings, it seemed, became older and more grand.⸻Then we saw it. We came to a massive plaza with the cathedral on the far side and a large Mexican flag in the center. This was the Zócalo. ♠

Church with the tomb of Hernán Cortés.

A Cemetery From the Days of Jim Crow

I wasn't sure what to expect during my visit to the Lincoln Memorial Park Cemetery. It was located in Miami, but away from the white sand and high-rise buildings of Miami Beach and the cute little restaurants with roosters in Little Havana.

Of here I had read stories of neglect, trash, homeless people sleeping amidst the graves, and crime. This was an all-Black cemetery that dated back to the days of segregation and Jim Crow. I also read that “they” were working on cleaning it up. What would I find?

We pulled off Florida State Road 112 into what is known as the Brownsville neighborhood. As we turned left onto NW 46th Street I could immediately see the cemetery on our right, but also two cop cars with their lights on at a convenience store on the corner.

We purposely continued past the cemetery, just to scope things out. An iron-slatted fence surrounded the graveyard and through the slats I could see the gray tombs. Honestly, even with the two cop cars, it seemed like a very peaceful, but humble neighborhood. Finally we pulled to a stop beneath a large shade tree across from the only entrance to the cemetery.

The cemetery opened in 1924. One of the unique features are the above-ground burial vaults. I read that this style imitated the “Bahamian tradition,” referring to graveyards in the Bahamas. There the graves were placed mostly above the ground because of the high water table.

I began walking through the cemetery with interest. Most of the graves were in similar stone vaults, nearly all of them so close together that there was no room to walk between. There were very few headstones.  Most of the inscriptions were on the vaults, most of which were eroded and illegible. A small number of the boxes were whitewashed or painted pink, but most were a stone-gray. The earliest death date I found was 1928 and the newest 2021.

One of the vaults was broken on the front and I could peer inside and see a casket. It made me wonder if the lids on these were sealed or if someone could pull them off and look inside.

Some had a bas-relief of a cross on the lid. Others were decorated with trinkets. A very small portion had flowers on top. The vast majority of the tombs had nothing to distinguish them from the others. They appeared nearly identical.

Who were the people buried in this cemetery? Obviously they were African Americans who lived after the days of slavery, but still during an era of segregation. According to one article, many of these people worked in Coral Gables or other wealthy areas of Miami, but were not allowed to live near their employment. Many came to the Brownsville neighborhood where they lived and were buried.

There is an interesting story associated with the beginnings of the cemetery. Originally it was a vacant lot owned by a white realtor, F.B. Miller. During the days of lynchings, one of the local black men, Kelsey Leroy Pharr, would cut the victims from the rope. Then at night he would come to the lot and secretly bury them. One night Mr. Miller caught Mr. Pharr burying a corpse. Instead of becoming irate, Miller had compassion and decided to deed the lot to Pharr to use as an African American burial ground.

One of the few mausoleums in Lincoln Memorial Park.

In the center of the cemetery was a house. Supposedly this was where the owners lived. I expected someone to come out and either say hello, or kick me out. But no one did. I was the only person in the cemetery the entire time I was there.

I didn't think the cemetery looked too dirty. There was very little trash. In a few places vines had grown over the graves. A handful of vaults had been broken, including one lid that was placed directly in the walkway. But I would say that overall it was very clean, especially considering it had a history of neglect and disrepair.

There are some questions I always have at any cemetery I visit: Do the descendants of these people know their ancestors are buried here? Do they visit them? And in this case, are they able to identify the graves?

Searching on sites such as Find a Grave and Family Search, I was able to find small nuggets of biographical information. The first came in the form of a death certificate.

Allen Stokes was born in 1870 in Branchville, South Carolina. His father was Landis Stokes and his mother unknown. His race, colored. His marital status was listed as “married,” and occupation as “retired grocer.” It doesn't state the manner in which Allen Stokes died, just that he died in Miami, Dade County Florida on July 13, 1931.

Grave of Allen Stokes. 

Within the cemetery there are a few family plots that are fenced off. One of these belongs to the Wilkinson family. The patriarch is Samuel Charles Wilkinson. I was able to find a short bio of him.

He and his wife Sophia were born in the Bahamas. They moved to Key West in 1879 or 1880. In the official records they were both described as being mulatto, meaning they had a mixed ancestry of Black and White. In the 1910 census, Sophia indicated she had had 14 live births. In the 1920's, Sam and Sophia followed their adult kids to Miami. At least four of his kids are buried in the Lincoln Cemetery. One of his granddaughters, Athalie Range, became an influential civil rights activist. She fought for better school conditions for Black children and was the first Black American to serve on the Miami City Commission.

Gated plot for the family of Samuel Charles Wilkinson. 

After visiting the cemetery we went to a Black-owned barbeque pit a few blocks away. I ordered a beef rib sandwich, which to my surprise included the bones. The barbeque sauce was yellow and a mess to eat, but tasted wonderful. The lady behind the counter called me “love” and Jenelle “ma'am.”

Afterward, an elderly Black man offered to throw away my food. I soon learned he was a beggar wanting money. I gave him five dollars. Later, as we drove away, I saw him eating off one of the bones I had left in the box. ♠

Savory beef ribs.

Brother and Sisters Barbeque Pit.

Hearty Food of Poland

I was really surprised at how much I loved the Polish cuisine during our visit to the country. It's hard to put a finger on it, but I think it had to do with the simplicity, and of how relatable it is was with the dishes we have in North America. There is nothing exotic like what you might find in Asia, nor does it use hard-to-find foreign ingredients like an odd variety of potato from the Andes.

I feel like Poland takes ingredients that could be easily grown in the United States such as beets, cabbage, barley and potatoes, and uses them in a way that we would never consider. They are simple, cheap and nutritious ingredients.

Here's a list of foods and meals I ate while in Poland, along with a little commentary on each one.

Buckwheat groats.

Kasza gryczana z masłem (steamed buckwheat groats with butter). This was one of the most basic, but satisfying foods I ate. This savory dish only had three ingredients: buckwheat, butter and salt. Even before I stirred in the butter it had a buttery taste. Full of nutrition, inexpensive, flavorful, and basic. Just how I like it!

White borscht.

Żurek z kiełbasą i ziemniakami (white borscht with sausage and potatoes). Known in English as “white borscht,” this soup isn't at all like borscht made with beets. Instead it is a sour soup, made of either a fermented soup base, or in modern times to speed up the process, sour cream. The soup I had came with potatoes and sausage, which resembled the kielbasa found at stores in the States. I couldn't tell you what else was in it. The soup was good, but probably wouldn't get the vote for my favorite Polish dish. 

Cold beet (drinkable) soup.

Chłodnik (cold beet soup). Chłodnik is the Polish version of gazpacho. It is super easy to make at home with ingredients such as beets, radishes, pickles, garlic, dill, chives and kefir. As you can see, it is also extremely nutritious. When I was in Poland I only had this once, and it was blended up in a drink that came from a bottle at the store. If you love beets like I do, chłodnik will be pure heaven. If not, this dish may not be for you.

Beef roll in hunter's sauce, barley, and beet salad (in background).

Zraz w sosie myśliwskim (beef roll in hunter's sauce). When I ate this I felt as if I was eating meatloaf. Instead, it is a flattened patty mixed with spices and grated onion, and fried in oil. The hunter's sauce, from what I gather, commonly comes in a bag. After sauteeing carrots, bell pepper and mushrooms, pour on the hunter's sauce and let it simmer, then bring in the beef rolls and let it all simmer together. This dish is often served with groats and beetroot salad.

Jęczmienna (barley groats). This was served with the beef roll and hunter's sauce. It was very delicious and nutritious. I don't know why we haven't thought about serving barley as a side-dish in the United States.

Surówka z buraków (beetroot salad). When we think of salad in the United States, we usually think of lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers and maybe cheese or croutons. But this dish of beetroot salad completely changed the way I think. It is extremely simple. Cooked beets, grated. Perhaps an apple, also grated, or an onion finely diced. Mix it all together with oil and salt. Of course, there are variations. This colorful salad is very nutritious and from what I could discern, it is very common in Poland.

Bagel vendor in Krakow.

Krakow-style bagels, which are slightly different than normal bagels. 

Obwarzanek krakowski (Kraków-style bagels). Okay, so this is technically not a bagel, but somewhat of a cross between a bagel and a pretzel. I will admit that as I ate this on a park bench in Kraków, I thought I was eating a bagel. Like the bagel, it originated in Kraków, and like the bagel, it is boiled before it is baked. We bought ours from a street cart. The obwarzanek had a chewy texture on the outside and was fluffy in the middle. It appeared topped with cheese before it was baked. Jenelle and I both enjoyed our filling snack, but agreed it wasn't as spectacular as we hoped it would be. We also agreed that if it were sold in the States, it would come with dipping sauce.

Clear beet soup.

Barszcz czerwony (clear beet soup). Just to be clear, I believe barszcz czerwony translates to any kind of beet soup or borscht. The kind of borscht I had while in Poland was the clear variety, meaning in had no chunks and was served in a cup like broth. I'm certainly not an expert, but I believe this borscht is cooked with soup bones and other vegetables, which are ultimately strained to give a clean texture. From what I understand, it is commonly served on Christmas Eve. The one time I drank it, it certainly had the red color, but not the strong beet taste that one would expect.

Potato pancake.

Placki ziemniaczane (potato pancake). This is a simple recipe consisting of grated potatoes, grated onions, an egg, possibly flour, salt and pepper. It is then fried (but not deep-fried) in oil and topped with sour cream. We ate this while sitting on a bench in Zakopane. It was very delicious, but also extremely greasy. I've made it once since returning home and it was equally tasty, but best eaten fresh. From what little I can glean, there is a debate in Poland as to whether it should be made with grated or mashed potatoes.

Zapienkanka, or open-faced sandwich. 

Zapienkanka (open-faced sandwiches). This has been a popular street food in Poland for many decades, but as for us, we only saw it in one place, and that was in the Old Jewish Quarter of Kraków. It is served on a sliced-halfwise baguette, topped with about any combination you can think of, but most typically with sautéed mushrooms and onions, smoked cheese and ketchup. The one I ate was very flavorful. It had smoked ham, cheese, cranberry sauce and crispy onions.

Pierogi.

Pierogi (dumplings). My first meal in Poland included pierogi ruskie, which were dumplings filled with a mashed potato-like substance, and topped with fried ham or bacon. It tasted good. I believed it would be one of many times I would eat it on our trip, but it turned out to be the only time. Pierogi is quite popular in Poland and arguably the most popular food there. Fillings vary and can include ground meat, cheese, mushrooms, cabbage and even an assortment of fruit.

Breaded chicken rolls with a creamy middle of herbs and melted sheep cheese. 

Oscypek (smoked cheese made of salted sheep milk). This tasty cheese is made in the Tatra Mountain region of Poland. There is a similar variety of it across the border into Slovakia. After it has been turned into cottage cheese and repeatedly rinsed in boiling water, it is pressed into a decorative spindle shape. It is then placed in brine for a couple days, followed by two weeks of being cured over hot smoke. Oscypek, along with other regional cheeses, are sold throughout Poland. We saw many being sold on the streets of Zakopane.

Panierowane roladki drobiowe (breaded chicken rolls). On the outside, these looked like croquettes, but in reality they were ovals of chicken. The inside of each had a small hollow space filled with oscypek cheese and herbs that oozed out when cut in half. It provided a very tasty meal.

Kwasnica, or sauerkraut soup.

Kwaśnica (sauerkraut soup). This is another dish that comes from the Tatra Mountains. It is traditionally made with mutton or pork. I ordered this at a Milk Bar in Zakopane. The broth had a smoky, but sour flavor to it. It is a simple dish using only a handful of ingredients: pork ribs, smoked bacon, sauerkraut, potatoes, onions and spices.

Lard spread on onion bread, served with pickled mushrooms and cucumbers.

Smalec (lard spread). I was pleasantly surprised by this concoction. With my meal I ordered lard spread, which they generously applied to my onion bread. They say that lard is the poor man's butter. This lard was flavored with bacon, garlic, onion and spices. It was served with pickled mushrooms and cucumbers, which complimented it well.

Hunter's stew.

Bigos (Hunter's Stew). This is a hearty stew that I learned to make several years before our trip to Poland. It contains pork (formerly venison), smoked bacon, sauerkraut, cabbage, mushrooms, and sausage. I was very much looking forward to eating it in Kraków, which I did in a small shop on Grodzka Street. I was not disappointed, but the stew tasted different from that which I made at home. It looked the same, but there was something divergent in the flavor, and I couldn't quite place my finger on it. It was likely using different sausage or meat, varieties found only in the mother country.

Kielbasa.

Kiełbasa (Polish sausage). I ate kiełbasa three times while I was in Poland. Twice it was thick, smoky and hearty, much different (and better) than what I see sold in the United States. This kind was served with a dollop of mustard or mayo, and with a roll, or “bun.” My favorite experience with this was the Blue Kiełbasa Van in Kraków. There was also another variety of kiełbasa that was softer and nearly identical in flavor and texture as the kind sold in the United States. This was the kind served in my bowl of white borscht soup (mentioned above).

Polish doughnuts.

Pączki (doughnuts). I am no expert on Polish doughnuts, but I wish I were! They are similar to jelly-filled doughnuts in the United States, but are slightly different. I couldn't tell you how. I only had the privilege of eating two during our brief stay. According to the internet, they are often filled with plum jam, petal jam, strawberry jam, blueberry jam or Bavarian cream, among many other flavors. The surface can be sprinkled with granulated sugar. I can say with confidence that my mouth is watering as I write this. ♠

Peak #31

This hike was a one and done. I told Jordan on the way down that I would never hike it again. Having said that, it was an adventure we would never forget.

It began the night before when we drove to the foothills of rugged dry mountains on the edge of the Mojave Desert. There we sat in camp chairs and cooked two cans of chili in a cast-iron skillet over a small propane stove. Distant neon lights now came to life and we could see as far as Mesquite. We slept in the back of the Trailblazer, me in a sleeping bag and Jordan only in his jacket and a beenie (because he forgot his bag!).

We began our long journey at dawn before the sun rose over the cliffs. For being a desert, this landscape was very much alive with barrel cactus, cholla, prickly pear and creosote bushes. Here and there we spotted small colorful flowers, but it was still too early for most of them.

Sometimes we walked in the dry wash, over thousands upon thousands of small white pebbles. As we got closer to the side of the hill we spotted several caverns that were ripe for exploration . . . but for another time.

Setting out at sunrise. 

Interesting caves in the cliffs.

Then we arrived at the edge of the cliffs and into the mouth of a long mysterious canyon. I had seen this slit in the rock from a distance and had studied its topographical lines on a map many times. It's contents, the inner soul of this bulk of rock, was a secret. Although in plain view for everyone to see, I doubted if many took the effort to enter its depths.

Within the first few minutes of entering the slot canyon we were immediately deterred by a dry fall. We had no means of scaling it, but luckily were able to climb the hill to the left and bypass the obstacle.

The canyon opened wider temporarily, then narrowed. Again we came to a dry fall that threatened to stop our course. With a little trepidation we climbed to the top, searching for hand-grasps and niches to place our feet. Once standing safely on the upper shelf, we both agreed that going down would be riskier.

One of many dry falls. 

The temperature inside the canyon was cool. We still hadn't seen the sun peer over the canyon walls and the sky thus far remained overcast. It was certainly a lot cooler than the 88° F predicted on the weather. But the day was still young.

We walked across sand and climbed over boulders to make our way up the canyon. Jordan watched a horned-toad scamper beneath a bush, but other than that we didn't encounter another being. After a mile and a half we came to a junction and here we had to make a decision.

Jordan in the bottom of the canyon. 

In front of us stood a series of nasty-looking cliffs. This was the front side of a ridge we needed to traverse to reach our peak. Either we had to scale it from the front (which we now saw was impossible), or gain it from another angle further up by continuing in the dry wash, either the north or south side. We chose to walk the south-side wash.

I will admit that I was never fully confident we would reach the peak. There was no trail and the peak had no name. I found its topographical prominence on Google Maps and thought it would make for an adventurous excursion and have awesome views.

The wash got steeper and there were more steps in elevation we had to climb. Within a half-mile, we came to another dry fall. This one clearly had a way up, but included a sketchy section with lots of loose rock that could result in a bad fall.  We decided to circumvent the dry fall by climbing up the side of the hill.

Even that was sketchy. The slope of the hill was still steep, but felt safer than the dry fall. At least here there were bushes of which I could grab the limbs for support.

As we climbed higher, we realized that maybe we didn't want to go down and return to the wash. Our climb was on the same ridge we needed to scale, so we decided to continue angling upward and hoped for the best. We decided that if we came to a dead-end, or got cliffed out, we would return the way we came and abort our efforts to the summit. It was now becoming late in the day.

Walking up the hill toward the ridge.  You can see how steep it is. 

Continuing toward the ridge. This is our first glimpse of the peak.

We stayed close to a cliff wall and followed it in a diagonal direction up the hill. This area was still steep and I used sapling branches to help pull me up. We had to be careful where we walked, as some places were more dangerous than others. I had no confidence this route would work. I expected a dead-end around every corner.

Also of high importance for us was to remember our exact route so we could retrace it on the way back. This was the type of place that was unforgiving if we went in the wrong direction or came down to the wash in the wrong place.

This section was slow-going. It took us an hour and forty minutes to travel just half a mile in distance and gain over 1,000 feet. It was also along this section that we came across our first full glimpse of the peak.

Almost to the ridge.  More caves.

A garter snake (I believe).

Jordan standing on the ridge. 

We didn't come to a dead-end and eventually arrived at the ridge. The peak was now less than a mile in front of us, but it felt much further. The hiking from this point was no longer dangerous, although we were very conscious about conserving water. I also worried about completing our hike with sufficient daylight.  We were foolish enough not to bring flashlights.

After six hours of hiking we finally arrived at the summit. What a relief! Did I mention that this was my first peak of the year? My body was certainly not ready for a hike this rough. We were both very happy to be at the top.

From the peak looking west toward West Mountain Peak and Pine Valley Mountains.

Zoomed in shot, looking across the gorge toward St. George and Pine Valley Mountains. 

Our view was certainly grand. We could see pretty much the entire Virgin River Gorge, but none of the river and only a sliver of the freeway. In the distant west I saw Moapa Peak, which seems to captivate the eye wherever I am in this area.

Far to the north I spotted West Mountain Peak, the highest summit in the Beaver Dam Mountains. To the northeast of that were the Pine Valley Mountains.

To the south sat a rugged landscape I was unfamiliar with. Much of this, I believed, was part of the Paiute Wilderness. Southwest of that I was able to recognize Virgin Peak.

Looking south-south east across Sullivan Canyon and toward the Paiute Wilderness.

Looking northwest at the ridge we just climbed. 

A southwest angle, the Virgin Mountains are on the right in the distance. Probably Mount Bangs on left with snow.

We didn't stay long. Even though we were both exhausted, we knew we had a long trip back. This was not the kind of country you wanted to get lost or injured in. It was very remote and access was difficult.

The route back was long, and in some parts tedious. We retraced our same route down the ridge and successfully climbed down or circumvented all the dry falls.

The sun had set before we arrived back at the vehicle, but there was enough of an alpenglow to find our way. The lights in Beaver Dam and Mesquite were now alive and flashing. Luckily I still had a little juice left in my cell phone and we didn't need a flashlight.

On the way back, but still in the canyon.

Beautiful glow upon exiting the canyon. 

This hike was brutal, and like I stated in the beginning, I'll never hike it again. There's probably a reason the peak has no name. But that's not to say I will never return here. There's a lot of unexplored territory. ♠

Peak #31

Distance from car (one way): 5 miles

Net elevation gain to peak: 4,435 feet

Final elevation: 6,624 feet

Total elevation gain: 4,855 feet

Total round-trip distance: 10.3 miles

Total time: 11 h 35 m