Big Sweet Tooth

*G* is for Gili's (Islands in Indonesia)

G is for Gili Islands

Just off the coast of Lombok, Indonesia (and Bali) is a small patch of islands.  They're referred to as the Gili's and people come from around the world to learn to dive at one of the PADI dive centers on the island.  The water surrounding Gili Trawangan in soft baby blue and you can see Mt. Rinjani (a volcano on Lombok) in the distance.  It's a lovely bunch of islands--rustic and hip all at the same time.  It's also about a trillion degrees every single day.

Really, I was sorta blow away by just how tiny Trawangan was.  You could walk around the entire island in no time and there were just a smattering of dirt roads and paths throughout.  The heat was absolutely ungodly and I'd originally gone there to learn to dive but once I got a taste of the stillness and the blistering heat, I decided the only thing for me to do was skip learning to dive and just have some good old drinks on the beach instead.  I just couldn't bear the idea of digging thru the SCUBA book and actually trying to learn something when I was more in need of pure relaxation.  (I am going to re-approach the diving again once I hit Honduras in a few months).  I mean, the heat in the Gili's was enough to just melt you down into a full coma the second you stepped outside.  I couldn't fathom tossing on some dive gear and lugging tanks all over the place.  No thanks..one more rum drink, please!

It was pretty wild because some of the folks I met on Gili had never been off the island--not even to Lombok.  I guess when you live in paradise, why leave?  I will say, this island easily had some of the best snorkeling I've ever encountered (all you need are a bikini and snorkel gear for that treat) and once again, I grew even more addicted to my all time favorite Indo dish--nasi campur.  Plus, the smiles that the locals sport are big enough and genuine enough to move mountains.  And, they have nothing.  Nada. 

*F* is for Food (Street, Homemade & Pure)

F is for Food

Food is really the reason I travel.  Sure, I love everything about meeting new people, examining foreign cultures and traditions, and exploring hidden villages, but the usual reason that I'm so intent on hitting the road is for the food.  No way in the world would I trek somewhere that didn't have good food.  No matter how beautiful, how amazing, how incredible the place was.  It's just not what drives me.  The food--which is ultimately the history and soul of a country--is what propels me to hop on a plane or jump in my truck and GET THERE asap.

I usually start with the street food and slowly build my way up to tiny stalls, back-alley restaurants, beachside shacks and ultimately a homemade meal in a locals home.  Anything that doesn't cater to tourists is exactly what I'm looking for and it's most definitely where the best food can be found.   It's the stands, the stalls, the shacks, the rough-hewn firepits, the homemade BBQ grills and the coolers full of warm goodies that are turning out the best grub, bar none.

Everyone always tells me I must have a tummy made of steel.  And, I always laugh because I think the reason I never get sick is because I keep it simple.  I almost never eat the meat (sometimes the juice on rice or a few bites if it looks irresistible).  I eat often and with great voracity.  I stick to the most natural items I can find--those that are closest to the earth.  Rice, corn and lentils are usually in the mix somewhere (be it in Africa, Mexico, Indo, Spain, Greece, Italy, or Tanzania).  I usually spend most of my traveling dollars on food, but very little real dinero is needed when you eat at the kind of places I frequent.

All my travel memories can usually trace a very thin line back to a certain meal.  A freshly caught fish grilled at the beach and a sprinkling of stars. Maybe a stewpot full of bright red soup as a parting gift from a happy new friend.  Or a just-picked vegetables breakfast at a volunteer homestay in Indo.  For me, watching a old fella with rickety pullcart at the bottom of a busy hill somewhere in Indonesia prepare his fried goodies (with great pride and concentration) is deeper satisfaction that watching a master chef  prep food in his all teched out kitchen. 

Food is what makes the world go 'round. It's the one thing everyone on the face of the earth has in common. It breaks language barriers..and when given the proper care and attention, it's the most powerful force in the world.  Clearly I am obsessed with it~~

*E* is for Expat (Become One)

E is for Expat

In all my travels, no matter how far I go, I always run into at least one American that has uprooted their life from the USA and bolted.  Started over.  Moved to a totally foreign land and become an expat.  Even if it's just for 6 months out of the year.  They are just simply all over the place.

I mean, why would you live in the USA full time when you can live like a champ in the tropics of Indonesia for 1/5 of what you pay to live in some cookie-cutter suburb?   Why drop $15 on lunch every day when you can spend $2 on the best fish tacos you ever had in Baja?  Why drop $500 for a car payment when you can tool around back alleys in Greece on a $500 moped?

I've seen Expats doin' it every which way:  Living on the beach in Baja out of campers and tents, house-sitting in small villages dotting the coast of South Africa, holing up in tiny apartments in Spain overlooking the marina, relaxing on their postage-stamp size terrace on island villages in Greece sipping a cafe and attempting to learn the language, snatching up old villas in colonial Mexican cities and fixing them up, selling all their crapola and on a whim investing in 40' sailboats so they liveaboard and cruise the world.  The options never really end.  Some people just choose to live differently...and I still think one of the coolest places to drop out is down in Baja. 

Most people have only been either to Cabo, Rosarito, or Ensenada, but the very best of Baja can be found down on the magical Sea of Cortez. It's still so remote and untouched and if you are self-sufficient, you can live a rollicking good life for practically nothing.  It's all about the beach, the boats, the snorkeling, the kayaking, the fishing, the beer and the tacos.  Not much else. 

Mulege and Loreto are a couple of cool towns that have some amenities, some quirky expats and some excellent (and cheap) living options.  But, if I had to do it, I'd stay right in Bahia Concepcion in my little trailer...as close to nature as possible.  I'd dive into some intense Spanish classes.  I'd eat fish every single day.  I'd remaster the art of a perfect margarita.  I'd read 'til my eyes crossed.  I'd explore dusty dirt roads that led to nowhere.  I'd snorkel with fishies and kayak from bay to bay, camping out each night. 

When you choose to live a little bit on the untraditional side of life, it's simply an investigation into what you are truly made of.  Why would you not want to challenge that part of your soul?

*D* is for Drinkin' (Alone)

D is for Drinkin' (Alone)

I always travel by myself.  I just have vastly different experiences when I roll solo than I would every have with a gaggle of pals.  And, of course, the very first thing I do when I arrive somewhere new is saddle up to a
mighty fine cocktail.  It just takes the edge off and makes me truly tap into the feeling of being straight up GONE.  Outta sight.

Drinking alone is the best way for me to get true grasp of what the local environment is all about.  When people start drinking, they start talking.  And, that's how ya get a little deeper into the spirit of a place.
That old glazed feeling balms your mind and sets the scene for a whole lot of dreaming and scheming. 

You can chat it up about ideas, or just write in your journal, or flip thru a magazine, or mark up a map, or read a book, or jot down some plans on a napkin...whatever...just layin' out a future gameplan is my total idea of happiness/freedom/joy.  Especially when I have a cold drink to go along with it~

*C* is for Candidasa (Bali)

C is for Candidasa

Easily one of my top fave places in the world, Candidasa, Bali is everything you could want from a totally-out-of-reach getaway.

It's a tiny village perched on the beach.  The snorkeling is always good.  The food is beyond amazing and  balls-out dirt cheap (especially my addiction, nasi campur--30 cents).  The people are always friendly (and by the time you leave, everyone in town will know you and stop for a chat).  There are volunteer opportunities.  You can trek nearby  volcanoes and hike baby mountains every day.  You can walk everywhere.  There is a decent used bookstore for when you run out of poolside reading material. My fave beachside bungalow hotel ever is there (Lotus Bungalow).  The beer is very cold at pretty much every establishment.  There is just enough of a small influx of foreigners to keep the bar tales flowing.  They have some kind of caramel-tinged rum that is stone delish (Jamaica).  You can learn to dive.  There are dolphins in the bay and you can take a fishing boat out in the early AM to watch them play.  It's just a few minutes from Padang Bai, a port town (so you can take the $3 ferry to Lombok at a moments notice).  The living is cheap, cheap, cheap.  Hour long massages are $6.  The sunsets and sunrises are epic.  The short outta-nowhere rain showers top even those--especially when you frolick in the pool during them.  I could go on and on...

When I was there, peeps were always stunned that I was an American.  Seems not too many from the USA make it over to that side of the island (really, even Bali in general).  But, man...people do not know what they are missing.  If you choose to go one place this year--and especially if you are on limited funds--you can live like a king on this too-good-to-be-true island.  Just don't believe everything you read about the world.  Especially the bad stuff.  Go see for yourself...and like I said, listen to those who've been.

*B* is for Bluefields (Mosquito Coast)

B is for Bluefields.

A few years ago, I did a TV show for The Travel Channel called, "Craving Adventure."  And, the location I chose to film at was a tiny speck of land off the coast of Nicaragua called Little Corn Island (It had always been on my TO GO list for the mad, mad snorkeling--though I did almost drown with a bunch of nurse sharks circling nearby).

Getting there was an journey unto itself.  You had to fly to Managua, overnight there, hop a flight to Bluefields, then take a flight to Big Corn Island, snatch a taxi to a boat packed with peeps at the tiny harbor and the finally, cruise on over to LCI.  It took forever, but was totally worth it....for the killer mojitos at Casa Iguana, for the ropa vieja at the Cuban place, for the Italian hideaway and ice cold panna cotta at Paula's, for the homemade tamales sold out of buckets, for the steamy mid-afternoon rainstorms, for the beach bonfires with fresh fish on coconut bread, and for a trillion other reasons.

I just remember jumping off the little hopper plane in Bluefields...3 rum and cokes down...and thinking, "Wait a second, I'm in Nicaragua, making my own friggin' TV show...and I'm the Host!"  It was pretty surreal because I'd done the pilot on a total whim down in Mexico with a bunch of pals and even though I knew way deep down that the food/adventure show was something that Travel Channel would dig, it was kinda crazy when they actually bough the idea...and let me direct, produce and write it to boot.  Plus show my crazy mug!  I saw it again on Travel the other night and was like, "Oh right...I guess I was on TV once..."

When my team crossed over the old Mosquito Coast, all I could think about was being a scuffed up little kid again, watching that movie with Harrison Ford and River Phoenix and wanting to be down there in that foreign space and live the adventures they were living..and how nuts it was that at that moment, I was flying over all that exotic history about to make my own little TV show. 

It just all looked so green, lush and sweltering.  Even now, I wonder...what the hell is going on in all that jungle??

*A* is for Alvarado (Mexico)

I'm going to work my way around the world thru the Alphabet these next few weeks as I wrap out this job in LA.  I can write about a yummy food find, past travels, crazy ideas, upcoming trips, random adventure thoughts, or whatever..it's just gotta inspire a fleck of wanderlust.  That's all.

Let me begin with A. 
Alvarado (Mexico)

The wildly lush state of Veracruz, Mexico is loaded with bustling port cities, towns and villages...but the one I happened to stop in (and in a weird way, fall for) was Alvarado.  Really, the thing that captured me about this Cuban-inspired town was the plethora of dusty villages that lined the outskirts.  Tiny, no-hotel, road side sling-ups that all sold vast quantities of one thing.  Oysters.  I mean, the most delicious oysters you've ever had in your life. 

There were giant stacks of them on old wooden tables and you could have a dozen freshly-shucked while you slurped a cold Pacifico and watched the wild-eyed truckers fly past.  A couple of dozen sprinkled with hot sauce and a few icy beers was well under a five-spot and just knowing that they were hand-harvested (by local peeps aged 14-70) made them all the better.

I feel like I find places like this only in moments of deep, immersion style travel.  The kind of places you never really read about in a glossy travel magazine, but you have to be let in on.  By someone whose been there and lived the moment.

I mean, come on...if someone spoke passionately about insanely fresh oysters harvested daily by long tongs and well-worn, very experienced hands from a narrow wooden boat in a off-grid seaside port town somewhere on the Eastern coast of Mexico, wouldn't you just immediately think, "I gotta go."

Chef Diesy, The Panuch Queen

When I say I miss Mexican food, these little babies are what I am talking about.  While I was on Isla Mujeres, I used to head over to Jorge and Diesy's house for lunch in their bright pink kitchen every couple of days.  Diesy would have spent the morning (usually with a string of kids flipping around) putting together panuchos...sometimes they were smeared in beans, other times they just had a little cheese, egg, onion, cilantro and tomato.  And, always, always, I'd douse them in giant squirts of crema and a hit of crazy spicy charred pepper...and for real, they were the most delicious thing ever.  Lis almost had a heart attack when I took her over there for breakfast one morning..the first bite is literally that breathtaking.  So clean, simple, fresh and homemade.

I'm not sure I've ever had panuchos before being welcomed into Diesy's kitchen, but these little treats ( I could easily chow on four in one sitting) are what I am on the hunt for while I am out here in LA.  It's tough to go on a for real MST discovery fest, especially since all I do is work and I've got less than 3 weeks left here, but I promise, I will make it to East LA before I roll.  I want tostadas and panuchos--real ones. 

2008 is Finally Starting to Unfold....

Ah, to continue the Central America trip...I am on it bigtime as soon as this job in LA ends.  The plan slowly comes together--some days it's all solid, some days it's loose as a goose. 

But, that is what travel is all about, especially long-winded travel.  That's why I work like a maniac for 3 months (literally 18 hour days every day) on shows...it's so I can hit the road and not worry about life...it's so I can just make up my mind on a whim--while quaffing a cold one, while cruising down a back road, while getting all jacked up on some exotic pictures in a magazine.  Whatever I want (I'm sure that is the exact reason I'm still happily single, too).

Here's what the rest of 2008 is looking like--though things tend to change at the very last minute.  As it must for the real adventures to unfold.

I am thinking that mid-May I will drive from LA to my parents place in TN--just to visit with them a spell and eat biscuits and gravy all the live long day.  After that, it's a trip back to my place in Chicago--which is gonna be perfect because I missed ALL OF WINTER.  I wanna chill there a month or so and just regroup, do yoga and pilates, freak out on my place, spring/summer clean, and get my life even more streamlined.   And, hopefully see my pal J before she moves to Germany and gets married!

Then...it's time to get back on the road again.  I'm gonna head back to San Miguel de Allende first--I gotta check in on Yatz, my little trailer and hang out in this wildly special mountain oasis for a bit more.  Explore the magic a little deeper; volunteer some; eat many more pieces of goat cheese cheesecake from Natura; drink loads of cortados from tiny two stool coffee shops and most of all---dive back into my Spanish lessons (rollingrs.com, here I come again)!  *If you are interested in seeing a charming documentary on SMA, check out Caren Cross' take on what its like to become an expat in San Miguel. Good stuff.

After San Miguel, I feel like a pitstop over on my fave little island, Isla Mujeres is in order.  God, maybe a few weeks or a month of snorkeling, early AM Pacifico's at Manana and reading, reading, reading.  Deep tan, more Spanish with Miguel, Jorge and his whole family, the best tostadas ever and a whole lot more of NADA.

Then, it's time for whole new countries...each and every one of them...all the way to Panama.  I've set up volunteering missions in each country, so at least a few weeks will be spent in each one...continuing my research so I can finalize my own NGO that I am working on creating--4th World Love.   

After I hit Panama and the Darien Gap (and check out at 50' schooner that is for sale down there)...well,  hmmmm....that is a whole new beast that I prefer not to tackle quite yet, lest I get overwhelmed.  But, there are the loose plans of heading down to Bolivia to visit a pal I wanna do a TV show with; I gotta get back over to Indonesia to get the first leg of 4th World up and running; I was hoping to pick olives in Italy in late October (for my b-day); I have a whole Turkey/Croatia/Montenegro trip I need to flush out...the list just goes on forever.  Oh, and there's that book I gotta write, too.  And a monster trip back to Africa somewhere on the horizon.  So much...but all such good stuff.

Just over a month, man...and I am back in my true element.  Driving, thinking, assessing, brainstorming, eating, chilling, laughing and living~~and most of all, drinking margarita after margarita~~

Hyderabad House and Briyani Blues... {From The Raving Dish}

There's a town in India famous for its briyani. It's a sprawling IT metropolis named Hyderabad, and people come from around the world to sample this ancient, soldiers-once-scarfed-it staple. Made with basmati rice, onions, saffron, lemon and various spices, the fluffy pile of starch is usually ladled with giant portions of mutton and served steaming hot with generous vessels of water. Spicy is the name of the game with Indian food, especially that which has a direct link to the City of Pearls.

What does any of this have to do with Chicago, you ask? Well, troll on down Devon Avenue and look for a tiny scrap of a building surrounded by junk cars and still warm cabs, and you'll have your answer. Hyderabad is alive and kicking in the side streets of Chicago, and my belly is a whole lot happier for it.

Eating LA

Lately, I've been complaining about food in LA to anyone who will listen.  Not that there isn't good stuff out there, it's just that you have to haul so far to acquire it.  I'm used to having the world at my feet back in Chicago--every cuisine you can imagine just around the corner.  Not so here in always-perfect LA.  It's all just one big sprawl across dozens of miles and you gotta really be on the lookout to spot a place that isn't So-Cal influenced.  I've almost wrecked a trillion times on my random food quests.

I have to admit, though...I have managed to have some good food--not great, mind-blowing, daydream about it all the livelong day food--but good nonetheless.

There was some fantastic goi cuon (with a Tiger, of course) at a small, jam-packed Vietnamese place in Silverlake; I wolfed some interesting Peruvian food--tofu mixed with french fries and doused in lime--in Burbank (Choza Mama); I inhaled a buffet of Indian goodies washed down with a big fat Kingfisher just off Montana Ave. (with one very new, very confused waitress making a mess of the order); there was some insanely rich shrimp in a bath of cream sauce at a fish place on the edge of Venice (the seared tuna sandwich was even better, though I was sick as a dog after the meal); and I've been privy to a whole lot of faux Mexican. Gross.

Nothing has really made my heart swell here--and I believe it's just because I haven't had time to truly research or explore as I'm used to.  Too much work (which I try not to do), too much fast food (which I never eat), too much orange Fanta (which I never drink), and too much time spent driving all over the place (though traffic is def. not as bad as in Chicago).

I did spy a stretch of eateries along Santa Monica Blvd. today--as I was heading toward Westwood and a bit of Indonesain food (my new extreme favorite hideaway).  That tumble of restaurants is definitely gonna be my next stomping grounds when I have a minute (There was Oaxacan, Lebanese, Persian, Thai and Indian--all lookin' cheap and good...and all in strip malls).

Oh..and there was a just fried donut shovedown topped by a just-baked cupcake attack that put me into a coma soon thereafter.  Healthy in LA...not so much.  Full in LA...all the time.  Ready to beat it?  And then some.

Cheap Livin' But The Best Life

The past few years or so have been so dotted with incredible amounts of worldwide travel for me that when I sit down and really think about it, even I am blown away.  Spain, Nicaragua, South Africa, Indonesia, Mexico, the Virgin Islands, all over the USA, Zanzibar, etc....And, the question I get asked the most is always, always--how the hell can you afford all of this? 

I guess I wonder, how could I afford not to?  First of all, I work alot internationally on TV shows.  That gets me to places free and with a per diem. I try to sked a side trip afterward as a treat for the living hell that was my life during the production.  Second, I have a crapload of frequent flyer miles (all my credit cards gain me FF miles)...so like for instance, on my past two trips to Indonesia, I was able to fly first class for $5.  For real.  I also am very selective about where I travel.  Third World countries are really the only way to go because the dollar stretches on and on and on. 

I do things like buy a sailboat and use it for a season...maybe fix it up a little...and then sell it for more than I paid for it.  I have a little $1000 solar-powered vintage travel trailer that I just hauled through all of Mexico and once this LA job is over in a few months, will continue to drive all the way to the Panama Canal.  No $100 hotel nights for me--it's more like $300 a month in a funky little RV camp (free wi-fi included).  Or,  I do an apartment switch with a couple from Barcelona.  They get my Chicago place and I get theirs--in one of the most expensive cities in the world.  Thanks craigslist.com! 

Plus, I chose wisely and secured an affordable condo right on Lake Michigan in Chicago--in an up-and-coming hood, instead of the friggin' Gold Coast. If I was freaking out about a $2500 a month mortgage every month, life would not be as sweet.  Instead I have a mortgage that is cheaper than when I was paying rent in Roscoe Village.  And, I have more money to spend on personal pilates sessions or day-long spa treatments or volunteer excursions or donations to worthy causes.  Things that are more of a balm to my soul than a pair of $300 sunglasses.

I also double dip alot and have a gazillion jobs going on at once.  I write about food and travel, I work on top-notch TV shows, I produce Pilates/Volunteer retreats...I mean, you gotta keep the ball rolling and have multiple sources of income flowing in all the time.  Never put all the cookies in one basket, you know?

I own my truck--and it's 10 years old.  I don't buy $600 boots.  I live lean and mean (most of my $ goes for travel books, magazines and tech gadgets).  I have no kids.  No high overhead.  I eat out a ton and usually write about where I am eating at, so that is paid for quite often.  I'm a corporation, so the majority of my travel is a total write-off.  I invest wisely--all green for the most part (mutual funds, stocks, ingdirect).   

It's really quite simple actually.  You just gotta be smarter than the system.  Just a little Mistylivin'101 for all you folks who've been askin' lately.

Almost to the Border and LA Mexican Food

The closer I got the the USA border, the more I panicked.  No more ceviche tostadas for me.  Over the past few months of cruising thru Mexico, I'd developed a wicked addiction to not only ceviche, but to very fresh, very crunchy tostadas. All with big, juicy squirts of lime and dots of super spicy homemade salsa.

This one above was a $2 bit--from a roadstand just outside of Mazatlan.  They were shucking oysters out front (which is why I pulled over) and mixing fresh shrimp ceviche to order.  Full depression on the state of Mexican food in LA...but then....oh, but then.....

I got a rageful email the other day from a reader about Mexican food in LA.  See below:

"Obviously you have not left the coast.  The Mexican restaurants are east of the ocean:  La Cabanita in Glendale, Tortas Mexico in Glendale, Lilliana's Tamales in East LA, El Gallo Mexican Bakery in East LA.  The Gradn Central Market in Downtown LA. It sounds like  you have not explored LA.  There is little food of any worth on the coastline itself.  You have to get in your car and drive!  Rogers Park is a neighborhood of the city.  What if I only went as far as Michigan & Wacker and declared there is no ethnic food in Chicago.   Come on!"

Looks like I will have to venture over the the East side.  More soon on tostada trampings from LA.  Thanks reader.

PURE Pilates Retreat Heads to Yelapa, Mexico in March 2009

PURE is hosting another Pilates retreat in 2009. This time though, it will be held in my favorite little village on the Pacific Coast of Mexico---a tiny gem called Yelapa.  This you-can-only-get-there-by-boat hideaway is where I filmed my first TV show (that went on to become Craving Adventure on The Travel Channel) and is literally one of my favorite places in the WORLD. 

We're gonna be kickin' it at Hotel Lagunita and have lined up all sorts of fun things:  jungle trekking to remote waterfalls, medicinal herb workshops, volunteering with children at the local art center, snorkeling with blue-footed boobies on Marietas Island (you can only see them here and the Galapagos), paragliding on the beach, and loads more.  Of course, there's also great food and two Pilates classes per day!

Email me for more details and everything will be spelled out soon on the PURE website.  I can't wait to get back to Yelapa...those stars...that tortilla soup...that just-speared octopus...that limpet scraped off a salty boulder and doused with lime...oh, the joy of it all!

March 23-29, 2009

San Carlos, Mexico & More Cops to the Rescue

San Carlos, Mexico has been on my go-to list for eons.  Ever since I started looking for a place to shelter away a sailboat on the crazy-blue Sea of Cortez.  I had read about it, researched it, followed blogs on it, talked to sailboat owners about it, google mapped it...pretty much everything but visited it.  As I rocketed up the coast towards the border, I was finally headed straight for it--a quick lunch pit stop.

Let's just say another one off the list.

It was just like being in America.  Just like being in any coastal town, full of bright signs, a slightly garish strip...with houses clinging to hills.  Thank the good Lord I actually make it to these towns before I plunk down dough into them.  I gotta stop being the sight-unseen girl. 

On the way out of town, I pulled into the sand to take a photo of the bay (it really is lovely) and managed to get stuck in the sand within 30 seconds.  Awesome.  No food yet.  Starving.  Itching to beat it.  And, then...out of nowhere...three guys (2 being cops) rolled out like a mirage to help me dig my truck out.  Barely a word was spoken--one got behind the wheel and two helped me push.  We were all clear in about a minute and then they just sorta faded away across the sand dune. 

I now have a soft spot in my heart for San Carlos.  But, still..I couldn't wait to scram. 

Rosamorada = Top Westcoast Colonial Village in Mexico

Rosamorada...it's one of my personal Top 5 favorite villages I blew through on the Western side of Mexico.  Colonial, small, friendly locals, crazy clean, beautiful church, and not a single white face to be seen.  I loved it.  I was on the hunt for lunch--something good--and after cruising through the entire town in less than three minutes, I stopped at a restaurant just before you exit out onto the main road (a busy place on the left, under the giant structure welcoming you to the village).

The pretty much toothless sweetie running the joint totally got my vibe when I requested just beans, tortillas, and rice with lime.  She brought me a big plate of the just made food...all doled out from big clay pots and patted me on the back each time I inhaled a mouthful.  Every few seconds her daughter would run over with a piping hot tortilla and stuff it in the basket that I was sharing with two truckers. 

Coulda been one of the best meals to date in Mexico.

Roadside Shrimp Tamales

Mexico is a patchwork criss-cross of tiny villages, each touting their own specialty.  They sling up stands along the side of the road and every single vendor sells the exact same thing.  Pretty much identical to the core.  How the heck do you even know where to stop?  Sometimes it's oysters.  Could be truck campers.  Might be  elote.  Maybe dried shrimp packs.  Anytime you stumble across a little town that is obviously very proud of their goods, you might as well stop. 

Sometimes you even run across something you've never had.  Like shrimp tamales. 

Never have I seen shrimp tamales, so when I left San Blas and almost immediately hit up a slew of shrimp tamale coolers along a strip of arid desert, I had to have one.  Hmmmm...it was interesting.  Not quite what I was expecting--the shell was still on--and then as I dove into it a bit further, I noticed a couple of black beads. HELLO SHRIMP EYES BIG AS BLUEBERRIES. 

Good Christ, that was a hunger drainer.  I quietly wrapped my tamale back in its husk and slammed a Nescafe. 

Turns out these tamales are famous in the state of Nayarit...but it's just a wee bit too much sea for me.

How To Get Off Grid in a Vintage Travel Trailer

In case any of you were wondering how the heck to buy your own little vintage travel trailer, pimp it out and hit the road...here is a simple little How-To Guide I just wrote for The Traveler's Notebook, one of the best travel websites out there.  Check out the full story here.

Here's a quick sample bite from the story...
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HOW TO GET OFF GRID IN A VINTAGE TRAVEL TRAILER
It’s so simple to buy a cheap vintage travel trailer and experience a whole new way of living that I’m stunned more folks haven’t figured it out. Is it a big secret? Too intimidating? It is considered kooky? Well, if you’ve ever dreamed of ditching it all and heading south of the border, here’s a handy guide to get you started on the road to freedom.

1. Acknowledge the Beast Within

Oh, you know what I’m talking about. That little sing-song voice inside calling out when you least expect it. It’s saying, “Are you kidding me, this is my life? Is this all there is? And, I pay how much rent for this dumpy apartment?” If you can just answer with “It’s time to change things” the next time the monster kicks in, you might find yourself calling a tin can box home. And, trust me, you will be the envy of everyone you come into contact with.

2. Research Galore

There are a bundle of websites out there with vintage trailers for sale. You can buy one already restored or you can buy a way old-school one and put your own flair into it. I opted for my own flair. Going this do-it-yourself route allowed me the opportunity to explore options I might not have run across. Things to think about: Do you really need a bathroom? How important is a fridge vs. icebox? Is a shower imperative? For me, none of these things mattered and by not giving a hoot about luxuries, I managed to save loads of money.

**You can read the rest of the story on via the above link and seriously, I cannot wait to get back to CAmer to resume my journey. Just a few more months now....mst

Kiko's Meat Market: Meat Lovers Paradise {From The Raving Dish}

Today I stood at the edge of the Pacific Ocean. Nothing but huge thrashing waves and a dark, moody blue attitude. Its unruly ferociousness matched the puddle of emotions welling up inside of me—little nuggets that have been building up since I left the easy-come-easy-go interior of Mexico and landed in L.A. a scant few weeks ago for a short, three-month gig. At first, I wasn't sure why I was so melancholy. The weather has been fantastic, the job has been great and the little apartment I am calling home is two blocks from the beach. What could possibly be wrong with this scenario? After inhaling some chicken noodle soup loaded with saltines and a big bowl of chocolate pudding, I realized what was brewing around in my confused mind. I'm homesick for Chicago. Simple as that.

It wasn't until I spied a full pantry yesterday at a friend's house that I even remembered that I have a home in Chicago. A cute home, right on Lake Michigan, dotted with my global treasures and really, my entire life. I've spent the past few months traveling around Mexico in my 14-foot solar travel trailer and before that, I was volunteering in Indonesia. It's been such a busy few months I've not had time to stop and remember and think and reminisce. Blame it on another perfectly sunny day in L.A. because this afternoon, when I thought about my heavily ethnic neighborhood, Rogers Park, and all of the 'round-the-world food that is within a few miles of my front door, I almost broke down in tears. I just want some good food. Some dirt-cheap, standout grub from an unsuspecting hole-in-the-wall, much like the kind that Kiko's Market and Restaurant on North Lincoln Avenue slings out.

Finally, the Pacific Coast and a San Blas Pitstop

I'm the kind of girl who reads about a place and just wants to pick up and move there.  Immediately.  Like one of those sell everything, start over and live on the beach type of mindsets is what I am blessed/cursed with.  I almost did it last year (a hundred times) when I found an adorable casa in San Blas, Mexico for sale.  Never mind that I'd never been there.  Never mind that I was ensconced in a half-year-long, huge television production.  I was just ready to go....sight unseen.  But, then I started to research the San Blas area a bit more and I found out that the seaside village gets huge infestations of flies every summer that nearly drives people mad and I was like, oh...well...thank god I read that before committing my life savings to a shack on the beach.  Next location!

But,  I still wanted to see the place.  It was still in the back of my mind as a tiny, off-radar travel spot, so when I left Isla Mujeres, I knew that I was headed toward the Pac coast and the San Blas area.  I rolled into the Western section of Mexico about 10 PM (from Mexico City)--headed toward SB--and was weaving through mighty dense jungle that smelled EXACTLY like the rice fields in Bali.  I mean to the T.  I almost had to pull over because I was so overwhelmed by its intensely familiar, and breathtaking, scent.  Instead, though, I just rolled down my windows and gazed at the full moon drooping over--and lighting up--the deserted hills. 

The small town square was all abuzz with bustling cafes, smiling expats and grills charring up fresh fish.  At close to midnight.  It was kinda kooky to see all that activity in such a tiny village, but I just made my way straight to a nice hotel (time to treat myself), checked in, and then headed out for a few beers.  A restaurant just down the street from my hotel had a mariachi band bellowing out old Mexican love songs and I sat and drank and poured over my map, plotting my journey the next day (I was longing to see San Carlos as well).  Somehow the singer made his way to my table (again, I must have APPROACH ME, POR FAVOR on my forehead), but we had a nice chat and a few laughs.  I was just praying he wasn't going to serenade me in the middle of the dining room.  Instead he asked me out and gave me a rose.  Very sweet.  I will say this---NEVER go to Mexico if you want to be alone.  Friends in the making are all across this lovely country.

The next AM, I tore out of bed at the crack of dawn and made my way to the beach.  Instantly I spotted a lone sailboat heading North.  To where, I wondered?  I wanted to transplant myself from the sandy beach onto the bow of that boat so bad, but instead I loaded back into my truck and hit the road.  Next stop San Carlos---via bumpy, no-traffic backroads, thank you very much~~

Tamales & Backroads

Remind me to never eat chicken again. Poor things, just crammed in a cage on the back of a dusty truck, getting ready to die.  It just makes me sad.  But, as I was staring into this truck of doom...I glanced over and spotted a tamale sign.  Yeah!

After my Mexico City fiasco, I'd decided to take smaller back roads the rest of the way to the Pacific Coast (I was headed to the San Blas area) and not 20 minutes outside of the city, I stumbled upon what turned out to the THE BEST TAMALE EVER.  (except for La Unica in Chicago).  This little lady was hawking them for 50 cents each and I had to grab a few to go--they were that good.  Of course, I shoved them down within seconds of getting back in my truck.  Nescafe, cheese and chile tamales and backroads are the way to go.  Also, I saw some guy get his tamale tucked into the bread that you make tortas with--like a tamale sandwich.  Brilliant!

I also wolfed a bag of cukes in salt and lime.  Literally the most refreshing thing ever.