Why teachers should just buy a dildo on Amazon

Two summers ago, I was going on a road trip with a bunch of dance friends and I thought "wouldn't it be funny to buy a bunch of sex toys and leave them on everyone's bed?" 

There's a pretty sketchy looking sex shop called "Romantic Depot" that's a good two town away from where I teach.  I am reluctant; I have made fun of this place for years without ever going in.

It's actually a lovely store, clean, not sketchy at all.  Staffed by young queer folk.  I pick out a novelty paddle, a whip, handcuffs, some cock rings, you know, the usual.

I get to the check out and the cute girl looks at my work ID which I LEFT ON, GOING INTO A SEX SHOP, and says "oh! Do you work at the High School?"

Fuck.  Caught.  Play it cool, Phillips.

"I do!" I cheerily exclaim.  She graduated about 5 years ago, I look familiar, yadda yadda, she didn't have me but maybe her friends did.  She throws some extra little toys in the bag, gives me a coupon for a 20% discount next time, wishes me a good day.

That could have been worse; I walk away unscathed.

So we're having a party at work for my friend who is getting married and two of the organizers come to me and say "Cindy, we have a cock-mergency."  We ordered some candy dicks to put on his cake and they're not going to come in time, please help.

This cake, by the way, is going to be a giant cock brownie from a giant cock brownie pan that I gifted this friend years ago.  I won it in a game show at Coney Island and she'd been unsuccessfully hiding it from her kid for years, finally telling her it was  a "rocket ship" when she found it.  This cake pan has been used many, many times, despite the stress my friend must deal with every time she lugs a giant cock brownie into a HIGH SCHOOL.

I guess then know if you need some candy cock, I'm ya girl.  No problem, back to Romantic Depot.

This time I'm smart and I take off my work badge and leave it in the car.

I walk in and some cute girl asks if I need help, and I say I need "penis bachelorette" stuff and she cheerily guides me to an aisle full of cock paraphernalia. She gives me a 20% off coupon and a shopping bag.

I think to myself, "you know, I could stand to buy a new vibrator."  Because who doesn't need a new vibrator, and with 20% off.  But, I'm remembering the last time I was in here, what if I see that student again?  Just take your dicks and leave, Phillips.

I go to check out and another cheerful girl, talking about and squeezing her own boobs, takes my things.  I ask her how much the 5-pack of dick candles are, and it's $10, and I think "where am I going to put dick candles?  I pass on the candles."

She rings me up and says "oh! Actually I have this 50% off coupon for you, the dick candles will only be $5, do you want them?"  "Sure," I say, "I'm sure there will be some occasion for me to use dick candles."  She agrees, "Everyone could use some dick candles in their life!"

She's just the cutest, bubbly and warm.  And then I look into her eyes (she's wearing a mask) and think, oh... her eyes just seem... familiar.

And is dawns on me... I think I taught this kid.

I am really glad I didn't grab myself a new dildo is all I'm thinking.

I give her a credit card, and I think, well, if she sees my name and says nothing, then it's all good.  She doesn't.  Whew!

I go to leave and she tells me to "spin the wheel," and I will get a prize!  I spin this sex toy wheel of fortune and it comes up "50% off" and now, thinking I am safe from this person who was not in fact my student, maybe I should get that dildo.  Nope.  Just... nope.  "No, I'm good, that's all I need for today."

But she was determined to give me a prize.  She whispers "spin again!" as if to hide this special treatment from a boss... and some extra toys come up which she happily tosses in my bag.  She gives me another coupon, tells me to have a great day.

I walk to my car and I see her running out of the store SCREAMING at the top of her lungs "MISS PHILLIPS!" and jump straddles me and nearly knocks me over.

Yep, my student, from 10 years ago.

She said "your VOICE, it just sounded so familiar!  But you're BLONDE! and I checked the receipt and saw your name... my friend and I were JUST talking about you!!"

And this is why teachers should buy their dildos on Amazon.

The Oaxacan Temazcal (ritual sauna)

One of Justin’s many astute observations about me is that I never open myself up to being uncomfortable, not even for a short amount of time.

I mean, I guess most people don’t enjoy being made to feel uncomfortable, but I avoid it at all costs.  I hate hiking. Sometimes I prefer to travel alone because I don’t like to be subjected to other people’s timeline on waking up, eating, shopping. If I’m at a party, most of the time I hit a point where I’ve had enough and I just want to get out of there.  I usually bring my car so that I can GTFO whenever it is convenient for me, and me alone.

I had an amazing massage at Native Spa in Oaxaca, and when I was done, Carlos said that this weekend he was taking a couple to do a native Temazcal and that if I wanted, I could go. He briefly explained to me that we would take a shared taxi there together and that it wouldn’t cost too much, and it is a ritual sauna cleansing.  I said sure, what else am I doing?  

I asked no questions.  

Carlos drove me, his partner Lucy, and Moises and Antonio, a couple from California, and me about 45 minutes to the town of Mazatlan.  On the way, we stopped on the side of the road to get a Tepache (a mildly fermented drink made of pineapple peel) and some jicama (which I don’t like at all.)  I wanted the tepache, but I don’t like trying new things or really even eating anything  in Mexico if I am going to be far from home in case I get sick, and I didn’t know how long this adventure would last.

The temezcal is a bit up the mountain and the view is magnificent.  Good thing, too, because one of the many things I didn’t know was that Moises and Antonio booked a massage first.  It was an open air massage, so I took pics (upon request) and snuggled with the many friendly cats that were hanging out. I also made it my job to keep removing one attention-seeking black and white kitten from fucking with Moises while he was getting massaged.  Carlos is wonderful.  I would say he’s in his early 30’s and has such a calm and lovely voice that just being around him while he gave a massage was almost as relaxing as getting the massage itself.

Moises brought some Pulque, a traditional, mildly alcoholic beverage made from fermented agave.  A couple of years ago, I went to Mexico city with my work buddies Marissa and Lauren, and Lauren’s ex.  We had ordered two pitchers of pulque, and it smelled SO BAD, like very pungent semen.  Lauren and I couldn’t do it.  Marissa took one sip and couldn’t do any more than that.  Lauren’s ex is the kind of person who CANNOT let food go to waste, and he made it his business to finish every last putrid, viscous drop… much to the delighted horror of the rest of us.

Moises promised me that the viscosity and flavor is different depending on the plant (insert obvious ejaculate analogy here) and Carlos said it’s traditional to have pulque before the ceremony.  It was in fact delicious, like a less-burny kombucha.

We left Oaxaca city at 3, and the ceremony didn’t start until after sundown.  This is where I start thinking that I should have eaten something more substantial than a salad and some guac for lunch.  

Like I said, I didn’t ask any questions.

The ceremony starts with all of us, another group of 4 Mexicans on vacation, the older lady (who everyone called abuela) and her granddaughter who run the temazcal around a circle made of flowers and herbs, some crystals, a painted conch shell.  Carlos speaks for some time, having us turn to the north, south, east, and west, and give thanks to the ancestors and the earth for, well, everything. Even though Carlos is young, he is very good at this. I didn’t once want to roll my eyes like I did every time I tried yoga and some young blond in a ponytail would try to get me to connect to my inner self and shit.

Abuela comes to me, tells me to close my eyes and spread my arms wide and she blesses me by patting me down with a bouquet of local herbs and allowing a plume of copal (tree sap) smoke to wash over me.  And under my skirt.  I knew this would include some kind of vaginal steaming.  I was half right. Vaginal smoking.

We are one by one brought into the Temazcal, which is a round brick (?) sauna.  We sit in a circle, there are some tea lights next to us.  One guy brings in some large rocks that have been sitting in the fire.  This is how the sauna heats up.

We are asked to go around the circle and introduce ourselves and why we’re at a temazcal.  When it came to my turn, I squeezed out some very poorly constructed spanish sentences about how I’ve never been a spiritual person in my whole life, but I am trying, and that it is just a true honor to be there.  My spanish is generally good, and when I am made to speak it for a while it’s excellent, but I was nervous as hell about what I was about to subject myself to.  They all welcomed me warmly and said “A’ho,” which is like “I hear you,” or “amen.”

This is where I say that I am not good in the heat.  I suffer from somewhat low blood pressure, and am prone to getting dizzy and lightheaded in the heat, when I take a hot bath, even when the shower is too hot.  I also dehydrate pretty quickly.

And I’m claustrophobic.  

Therefore, none of this is a great idea, in my opinion.  

I didn’t know how long we were going to be in there.

I didn’t know how hot it was going to get.

I didn’t know that an essential part of this process is ridding yourself of your bad and angry thoughts, your sickness both mental and physical, by coughing, yelling, sometimes spitting on the ground.

DURING COVID.

So here I am, in a completely closed space, in the darkness, with unmasked strangers who are singing, chanting, coughing, spitting.  

This was a TERRIBLE idea.

I wore my K95 mask the entire time.  In a SAUNA.  I was the only one.

Carlos and the granddaughter spoke and sang the entire time.  I have to say, it was very comforting.  I can’t recall exactly what was said, or what was sung, because it was a lot.  I guess standard spiritual stuff, reconnect with yourself, let your bad shit go, you are a god/dess, you are a warrior. 

I think this is where people start getting very emotional, between the heat and the spiritual positivity.

To repeat, I am NOT a spiritual person.  The good news, is that I tried to think of all of the things I needed to let go, and I realized I don’t have ANYTHING to let go. I have no anger, no stress, no tension, nothing to worry about in my job.  When I left New York, a number of people said something to me like “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” as if this trip was going to be some kind of “eat, pray, love” adventure for me.  It was not a spiritual journey, it was a very physical one. I hated being in New York during a pandemic, I hated working.  And after 2 months of not being in New York, and not working, I am feeling truly great. I really don’t have a worry in the world right now. 

Despite the fact that the singing, the chanting, the drumming, and the uplifting positivity didn’t affect me spiritually at all, I was happy for the distraction.  It was hot in there.  We batted ourselves with herb bouquets.  I smelled great, and felt like an herby soup after a short amount of time.  I am not a “live in the moment” kind of person.  This sauna was uncomfortable.  I have no idea how long we were in there but I was drenched.  We were offered water and tea at random intervals to re-hydrate but I didn’t want to get sick from the water.  Took the tea, figuring it was boiled at some point.  It was lukewarm.  I’m concerned about the water, I’m concerned about COVID, although my COVID concerns were not enough to make me insult or offend this Zapotec abuela and her home and traditions.  I told myself not to be a pussy and just remember that I could still breathe, that I am still wearing a mask.  What is the efficacy of a K95 that was been steamed?  Probably low, but what am I going to do at this point?  Hopefully it’s hot enough in there to kill whatever COVID is among us.  

I’m guessing we were in there over an hour before Carlos said we were going to open the door to let out all of the bad energy we expelled from our lungs and body.  Oh my god, I did it.  I made it, I thought.  He opens the door and the sauna cools down quickly from the fresh, chilly mountain air.  I am thrilled.  Thrilled I made it.  Thrilled it was over.  I was hot as fuck, dizzy, and hungry.

And then Carlos says “OK, this second stage is probably going to be difficult for many of you.”

It was like a cosmic practical joke.

I considered turning to the people next to me and saying “Is anyone else thinking that he’s kidding?” There’s very few situations where I think a joke isn’t warranted, but I didn’t say anything.  I could not believe there was more.

Guillermo, one of the people there not inside the temazcal, shovels new rocks into the pit in the center of the temazcal. These rocks are glowing red from the heat.  Carlos closes the door, puts a blanket on the door to further block the light.  The candles have long burned out, it is now pitch black.  It re-heats VERY quickly.  The chanting, the singing, the yelping, the drumming, is louder and more intense.  

I’m now in tears.  My mask is DRENCHED and every breath I take is like I am waterboarding myself with my own sweat.  I want OUT.  I CANNOT do this anymore.

I wait for the chanting to pause, and Carlos asks if anyone needs water.  I say “I’m sorry, I REALLY don’t feel well,” and Carlos and Guillermo quickly escort my completely weak and drenched body out of the temazcal.  I can barely walk.  I tear off my mask.  Fuck COVID, I don’t care anymore.

Guillermo wraps my arm around him and he brings me to a room with blankets on the floor.  He sits me on the blanket in lotus pose and from behind, wraps his arm around my stomach and with a very calm and soothing voice asks me if he can tap me on my spine, as it will help get my heart back to a normal heartbeat, and that I can rest on him if I need to.  Yeah, Guillermo, do whatever you have to do, man.  I’m just happy to be out of there.  

Guillermo taps me gently up and down on my spine, explaining what he is doing and going to do next, which included having me do some standing and seated breathing exercises. “Cindy, do you have low blood pressure?”  Yes.  “Cindy do you have asthma?” Yes.  Ah, ok, I just need to get more used to temazcales, this is perfectly normal, he assures me.  After the breathing exercises, he has me lie down in fetal position and he covers me with blankets so I can rest and regain my consciousness.  But after, it’s very important that he rinses me off with cold water to close my pores but he needed to wait until I felt better.

Whatever, Guillermo, I was just happy to lie down and be out of that sauna.

The cold water rinsing was also not pleasant.  I guess if you do it right out of the sauna it feels great, but I had already cooled off under the blanket.  Whatever, it was the least of my issues at that point.

I asked everyone’s forgiveness and said I hoped I didn’t ruin it for anyone.  Lucy told me she’s done a temazcal many times and she left soon after I did.  It was too much for her.  She said “he doesn’t usually do a second stage.”    Either way, she assured me, we were victorious.

I was given some cold atole made of toasted corn to drink, and a bowl of hot vegetable soup.  Vegetable soup never tasted so good.  About a half hour later, the rest of the group emerged.  Moises told me that it was really rough at the end, and he’s done temazcales before.  Carlos came out and Guillermo said, “I put A LOT of rocks in there!”  Evidently this one was a real doozy for everyone.  

Guillermo made tlayudas (giant empanadas) one and a half times the size of my head for everyone and Lucy and I destroyed ours.  She forgot to eat lunch entirely.  By the time I got back to the apartment, it was midnight.

I have to say that it was an overall positive experience.  It truly was an honor to be able to partake in a ritual that is old as hell, in the place where it originated. Very special.  Carlos is just wonderful at what he does, and the location was very beautiful.  Pretty sure I would NEVER do that again, but I would recommend it very highly, as you are going to be well taken care of no matter how you react.

I am hoping the ancestors are with me as I was told, protecting me from harm and COVID from being in an incubator with strangers during a pandemic.

What my days in Oaxaca are like

 I got an airbnb in Barrio de Xochimilco, a quiet and safe little neighborhood just north of the commercial hub of the city, known as Centro.  The Airbnb has a large, magnificent cactus and regional foliage-filled courtyard and as I am the only gues right now it is all mine, with the exception of the few times the owner has had her business meetings here.  

I wake up and make myself a pour-over with some excellent Oaxacan espresso.  Oaxaca is known for its coffee, and has a lot of fancy coffee shops, but one thing I really like is NOT having to leave my place to have my coffee.  I have a multi-course breakfast, a combination of pan dulce, eggs, cheese, and fruit.  Current fruit favorites are guava (tiny and yellow here), sapodilla (a pod about the size of the nectarine containing passionfruit-like pulp that sweeter and more fragrant) and zapote negro.  Zapote negro is green on the outside, black on the inside, and the creamy dense fruit inside is likened to a dense, less sweet, chocolate pudding.  I usually save the zapote for dessert in the evening, as I find most mexican desserts a little sweet for my liking. I only really like tropical fruit, and almost never eat anything but banana and coconut at home, so this is a real treat.  I also credit my daily fruit binge with giving me all the vitamins I need to help the fight against getting COVID.

Oaxaca is in a valley, so the mornings and the evenings are cool and breezy, about 50 degrees, so I spend some time in the morning crafting until it warms up a bit.  I brought some embroidery with me and knitting. Handicrafts like this are sources of income for people of this region, and I am sure local people are very confused when I take my knitting out at a bar. This once happened to me in NY too… I was knitting on a subway platform and a mexican man asked me where I sell my work… I said I was doing it for fun and he told me I could just buy a sweater very cheaply.

What is there to do in Oaxaca under normal conditions?  Eat, shop, drink mezcal, see ruins. When I first started traveling, I was fascinated by ruins. I have never been into history, but I was very into ancient greek philosophy, so one of my life goals was to go to Greece to see the ruins.  Well, I have done that.  In Greece, Turkey, Italy, Mexico…. I’m done with ruins.  And I have been to Oaxaca before, I don’t really need to see the ruins again.  And as much as I love food, I certainly can’t eat (or drink) all day, so shop it is.

I leave the apartment about 11 am with a bottle of frozen water and a bottle of electrolyte liquid.  I down one of these bad boys every day as a preventative.  Oaxaca is about a mile up, and 85-90 degrees every day, very dry.  You don’t feel yourself sweat, and I am prone to dehydration and altitude sickness.  The electrolyte liquid is an off-brand pedialyte and is so popular they sell it everywhere, and in many places if you buy two they give you a free cup of noodles.  They come in fun local flavors like jamaica (hibiscus), horchata (cinnamon rice milk), guava, coconut. 

Right outside the airbnb is a bus stop.  It’s hard to figure out the bus routes here.  Every bus has a list of places on the windshield that it goes to, and I don’t know where and of these places are, but every bus that passes by passes through the center of town so I just hop on any one and it saves me the 25 minute walk to the center of town.  I do love a walk, and walking to the center of the town is downhill but I have learned that if I don’t take some shortcuts, by the end of the day I am completely exhausted and dehydrated.  Without the bus up and down, one day I walked 29,000 steps and couldn’t feel my legs at the end of the day.  Too much.

In the center of town, there are a number of small taxi stands that go to other villages of Oaxaca.  You just find the stand (thanks internet) that has the terminal town on the windshield and get in.  These red shared taxis are called “collectivos” and they cost anywhere from $1-2 to take you on a ride to these villages.  If you don’t make it to the taxi stand, the taxi drivers will honk the horn as they drive down the street, with fingers out the window to indicate how many spots left are in the taxi.  It’s a very efficient system, and all the collectivo drivers have been very honest about the price of the ride and where they are going.  There’s a lot of scamming in Mexico but this isn’t one of them.  If I ask someone if they are going somewhere, and they aren’t, they say so AND help direct me to the collectivo that does.  

In fact, EVERYONE in Oaxaca is so nice and helpful.  I was looking for paper filters for my coffee and this store didn’t have them (almost nobody does btw) and the gentleman directed me to a nearby store that did.  I have experienced this everywhere I have been here.

Oaxaca is part of mexico with a high indigenous population, and much of the tradition has lasted to this day.  One of the ways this can be seen is through the town’s “market days” known as tianguis.  Every little town in the Oaxacan valley has its own market day, and on that day the center of town is filled to the brim with people selling produce, meat, local cheeses, and handicrafts particular to the area.  I LOVE doing this.  The produce is so fresh and stupidly cheap.  They might be marking up the prices when they see me just a little, but if so, not by much. A kilo of avocados or limes are about 30 pesos.  That’s $1.50.  Unfortunately it took me some time to recognize that I kilo of ANYTHING is pretty hard to go through when you’re one person.  I made a lot of guacamole last week.  So it’s not a lot of money but I hate wasting food and I have no one to give the extra to.  This is my biggest problem so far.

I have developed over the years a love of folk art.  My apartment is full of mexican sacred hearts; I’m a little obsessed with them and bought a lot back from Guadalajara last year.  There are a few kinds of pottery that this area is known for: barro negro, which is all black with intricate geometric designs carved into out out of them, glazed to a high shine.  I have come to like this a lot and went to the village San Bartolo Coyotepec to buy some.  All of the artisans live right off the main road, and if the village is a bit away from the main road then you can take a tuk-tuk mototaxi) to the village easily.  I went into every store on the main drag of coyotepec and not one artisan was pushy.  This is the best part to me.  They welcome you in, they let you walk around, they don’t really bother you, and they quoted me very reasonable prices and were happy you were buying anything.  I do NOT know how I am going to get all these hearts home safely but I guess it’s going to involve wrapping them all lovingly in the mass quantity of brazilian spandex I procured in Bahia.

There is a green glazed pottery that is known to leach lead into the food it holds.  I’ll be passing on that.

I also go to the Village of Teotitlan del Valle, known for its traditional Zapotec weavings.  They still hand-card (brushing to straighten and clean) and hand-spin wool, and use natural plant and animal dyes, and weave by hand.  I am not so into rugs thank god, because finding a way to bring expensive rugs back home is not on my agenda.  But they are magnificent.  I stopped into one shop, and the guy just told me to enjoy myself and wander around.  I couldn’t help to buy a few skeins of yarn from him.  He wasn’t even trying.  The wool is very scratchy and the hay still needs to be picked out of it and is definitely more suited for weaving than knitting, but I am still excited to have it, and at $5 a very large skein of wool, how can I not.  Now I want to take up loom weaving.

I have some food at one of the food stalls in the market.  I have a VERY weak stomach despite my love for spicy and heavily seasoned food.  I also have a hard time digesting things that are fried. This doesn’t even touch upon the “Montezuma’s revenge” that tourists are prone to get.  I have been to mexico a good 4 or 5 times, and I have gotten violently ill all but once.  This does NOT stop me from eating what I want to eat or returning.  But it also means that every time I eat something, I say a little prayer that if I get sick, I can at least make it back to the apartment where I have a working toilet and a supply of electrolyte solution, bread, and a cup of noodles.  So far, I have been OK but there’s only so long you can avoid the inevitable.

I take a collectivo back to the center of town and lately I have been going to the central market for some nieves.  Nieves are creme or water ices that are made the old-fashioned way, by putting a vat in another vat with rock salt to lower the freezing temperature of the water.  They’re delicious.  Is it a bad idea to eat ices in Mexico?  Probably.  

I also want to try the local drink called tejate but am a little afraid of what it’s going to do to my gut.  It’s a pre-columbian beverage made from ground cacao, pits of zapote, corn and is mixed by hand with water in a giant bowl.  I am guessing that in the center of Oaxaca, that normally sees a lot of tourism, the tejate is made with purified water.  I know I can ask, but am I going to get the real answer anyway? 

At this point I am completely exhausted and want to rest, so even though alcohol is a bad idea when you’re dehydrated, it seems like it’s the appropriate thing to do especially when some of the rooftop bars have such a lovely view of the mountains and the church.  This is mezcal country, not tequila country, and I DO love mezcal but that shit is strong, and combined with the altitude and the heat, well… there’s only so much mezcal this body will tolerate.  And it is ONE.  ONE mezcal is all I can do here.  Oaxaca has a mix of the old and the new.  There are cheap taquerias and fancy restaurants.  There are cantinas with swinging doors and there are hipster cocktail bars.  I hate overpriced hipster bullshit, and I’m one of those self-loathing americans who hates being around other americans when I travel.  So I found this lovely place called Mezquite that has a GREAT cocktail menu with a great view but isn’t too packed.  I don’t know what it’s like normally, during non-covid times.  The cocktails are $5 or less, the service is excellent.

I got an amazing massage one day… they guy used a combination of techniques including swedish, chiropractic, native zapotec… place was called Native Spa and I would go back every day if I was really treating myself.  I am also taking a little trip with them today to get a traditional temazcal experience in the mountains with native herbal steaming.  I’m pretty excited about this.

Then I head back to the apartment.  I’m usually wiped out at this point.  The bars are all open, and although almost everyone is wearing masks in the street and the stores, nobody is wearing them in the bars.  I went to listen to some music and hopefully dance a song or two the other night; I was the only one wearing a mask, and the one dance I allowed myself was pretty terrible.  And the music only lasted an hour because of the government covid regulations.  

Sometimes I make dinner, sometimes I go back out to eat, depends on whether or not I can tolerate one more tortilla that day.  I love mole, which is what Oaxaca is best known for, and they have 7 traditional types of mole.  I’ve had 4 at this point: negro, amarillo, coloradito, and almendrado (black, yellow, reddish, and almonds.)  They’re all great, but I’m done.  In Oaxaca, the mole (sauce) is the star, and the protein is minimal; I’d prefer it the other way around.  At least there is protein; I was taken for a special anniversary dinner to the very highly rated NYC upscale-mexican place and we ordered a $30 plate of mole.  It was just the sauce and some tortillas, and we just laughed.  No protein.  To me, it was the emperor’s new clothes of meals.  Everyone else loves it, I thought it was total bullshit.  I can’t even remember the name of the place but every time I think of mole I laugh.

I am having a great time here, and the COVID situation here is much better, and the town is much safer here than it has been in the other places I’ve been so it’s just nice and relaxing.  I have 5 more days here and I am sure it will be more of the same and I’m super happy about that.

Sao Paulo during a quarantine

 Sao Paulo during a quarantine

Things that are good

My apartment is serving me well. It's a perfect size for one person, a one bedroom with a stove and a fridge and microwave. It's sparse, but I am making it work. It's in a safe neighborhhod right next to a hopspital (if God forbid I need it) surrounded by supermarkets and convenience stores, close to two metro stations. It's in a gated building with a security guard and a doorman. There's a balcony that doesn't overlook anything interesting but it lets in lots of light and fresh air and just having that in my life right now is very refeshing and calming. There's daily maid service which I didn't know I paid for and although I don't really want anyone in here it is nice and clean every day.

The cooking utensil and pan situation is a little lacking for my tastes but I am very good at playing the "let's see what I got that I can work with" game. I am pretty proud of the salad dressing I made with oil, vinagre, and a small packet of chimichurri spice mix. I know, salad dressing is not hard. But whatever, it's delcious. I made a massive amount of vegetable fried rice and a (way too large) pot of beans and I've eaten that almost every day with a bit of protein thrown on it. I've managed to mostly avoid red meat in the land where red meat is king (I don't have any issue with red meat really, but I haven't really had a taste for it in a while.) I am already officially sick of eating all the food I made (and already getting tired of coxinha and myriad meat baked in bread) but the supermarkets have an array of other stuff I would be happy to buy once I'm in a place for more than a week. Considering I usually buy my food in bulk, even as a person who lives alone, I have to constantly remind myself to buy portions of things that are as small as possible. I'm pretty close to an amazing gourmet market that has almost anything I could want including a wide variety of tropical fruit that I am loving eating every day. What fruit is that? Who cares. I just hope I'm not allergic to any of it... so far so good.

The weather is just perfect. Between 70-85 degrees every day with a cool breeze. Except for a daily downpour (it's the rainiest month in SP) which I've so far managed to avoid. Perfect for walking, which is great because there is not much to do during this time besides walk. And I'm WALKING. 15,000 to 22,000 steps a day. The city is HUGE and the metro stations are very far apart, and the bus system is comprehensive but I am completely intimidated by the buses. Uber here is very cheap and very reliable, but where is the fun in that? I walk around til I can't feel my legs anymore and wear myself out like one does to a small child. I came here to get exercise and be out in the sun, so here we are. I already feel more fit, considering what I was doing at home was sitting on the couch for 8 hours a day just biding my time until I had to go to my dreaded job the next day.

In regards to walking everywhere: I have researched the relative safety of the neighborhoods I go to, and only in one case did I exit the station and feel uncomfortable. I walked swiftly and closely behind a group of construction workers until I felt safe. That's right, safer behind a group of construction workers. Turns out one side of the huge subway station was completely desolate and the other was perfectly fine. I found out that this side of the station is not-so-affectionately known as "cracolandia," you know, as in crack.

When I leave the apartment, I tuck my cash in various pockets (and in my bra... reminds me of a COVID meme that had a sign on a bodega door that said "no titty money" and I just laugh every time I put money there.) I put my phone in my front pocket and have a sweatshirt wrapped around my waist even though it's too warm to bring a sweatshirt anywhere. I only take my phone out to quickly check directions and I make sure I am somewhere full of normal looking people when I do it. When I take a picture, I do it very quickly and only if I see an open store near me that I can run to if someone comes at me. I don't take out my ipad to read, nor my english language book. I don't sit alone anywhere not populated by couples and families. I don't text, I don't talk on the phone.

I got here on Christmas day, and the whole state of Sao Paulo declared itself a red zone to try to control the holiday spread of COVID. It was a red zone from Dec 25 - Dec 27, and will be one again Jan 1-2. Much like New York, even in a red zone, all of the essential services were open so I could get groceries and prepared foods at bakeries and delis. Luncheonettes are open.

The stores that are closed... a good half of them still have people working in them. They're re-stocking and re-arranging. I guess the stores are thinking... you're getting paid, you're gonna work, even if there's nobody allowed in to buy this shit. Then there's a number of places that have their metal gates open halfway with an employee sitting in the front and letting people in on the sly.

I have already had a 2-hour private lesson in Portuguese and my teacher is adorable and very good. She said she already loves me because I like forro and already know about Bahian food. The language school I've chosen in Bahia is currently not running group classes, only 10-hour sessions of private lessons. It's less than $200 for 10 hours of lessons, which is great. She said that Bahia is more open (as in physically, stuff is open) than Sao Paulo, and there are still group activities run by the school in the evenings because they are outdoors. I don't know how many other idiots have decided to come to Bahia to learn portuguese during COVID but I guess I will meet them.

Things that are less good

The COVID situation in Brazil is currently the worst in the world, and there are currently zero travel restrictions. This is how I was able to come here. Although I did take a PCR AND a rapid test before I boarded the plane, it was not required and was not asked for. The plane was filled to capacity. When I went through customs, even the customs agent looked at me and said "tourism?!" quizically. It's bad. The upside is that everyone in Sao Paulo, EVEN THE PEOPLE SLEEPING ON THE STREET, are wearing masks. Even when walking or biking outside alone. There are hand sanitizing stations everywhere and people use them. There are public notices on the subways and in the street reminding people that the mask goes OVER the mouth and nose and that wearing them is obligatory. Sao Paolo, I think, much like New York, sees itself as more refined as the rest of the country and is trying its best to do its part in keeping people from getting sick. I'm not sure it's working but maybe it's working better than in other places.

What little portuguese I have is practically useless at the moment. I took a year of Portuguese and I am generally quick to pick up and retain language but there are forces working against me. I'm being so careful to not draw attention to myself because I'm alone and a foreigner at a time where there is very little tourism and there's COVID... it's hard to pick up where you left off when you're trying very hard to have as little interaction with people as possible. I understand almost everything I read but I can't understand what anyone is saying to me. My auditory comprehension in other languages is pretty dismal. There's 4 facets of learning a foreign language and they don't all develop at the same rate: hearing, reading, speaking, and writing. You'd think they all develop at the same time, but they don't. And even in Spanish, which at one point I was fluent, I always had a harder time understanding than I did with anything else. To be honest, maybe I'm just a shit listener because a lot of times I need people to repeat what they've said to me in English, too. The mask situation makes it so much worse. It feels like I'm in a city of mumblers. And my spoken portuguese... I need to cut myself a break because I've only been here a couple of days but I feel like the words are in my head but I can't make them come out of my mouth. It just sounds like shitty, garbled spanish.

Most of the restaurants are closed. This isn't the worst thing in the world for me; as of January 4 I won't be earning a salary. This will help encourage me to eat more cheaply and cook for myself. What IS open is the snack bars and luncheonettes. This is slightly challenging on a couple of fronts.

Luncheonettes mostly serve very traditional regional Brazilian food at very low prices. VERY heavy, very meat and pasta forward. Feijoada everywhere, which I love, but I learned to make it myself (and it's pretty damned good if I do say so myself) and it's not something I want to put in my body when it's 85 degrees outside. In general, none of this food is what I want to put in my body in the heat. Yes, I know about acai and ice cream. That's not food, people.




The bigger concern is that I rarely see women eating alone. Am I afraid someone is going to do something to me? Not exactly. But aside from making the seemingly reckless decision to leave my salaried job for a few months and travel to COVIDlandia, I'm erring on the side of caution on all things. I do n't want to attract any unwanted attention, either by sitting alone in a place full of men, or ordering in my shitty portuguese, or taking out my english language book or ipad to keep myself busy. So I don't do it. I don't sit alone anywhere, really. There are definitely places where I see more women... places that are slightly more upscale but as I am trying to live simply, I am avoiding it right now. I am sure when I'm in Bahia, whose regional cuisine is a little more exciting to me, I will be more adventurous. But right now, it's fruit, stuff I've cooked myself, and stuff I've procured from the bakery across the street.

The poverty in Brazil is very upsetting. There's homeless people everywhere and some of them look just... awful. Even many people who don't look like they're in that bad a shape ... I have to imagine that COVID has made the economy much worse here for the down-and-out. It's everywhere. I saw a man deftly steal a towel from a store I was in. Just slipped it in his slightly open backpack while he was wearing it on his back. I saw a woman in a dress decide to completely hike it up in the middle of the street so she could scratch it. Saw her entire ass as she walked down the street, giving zero fucks. This is not THAT different from NYC but you know, when you're in a foreign place I think you notice it more. And you're more wary.

I am still incredulous that this is something I chose to do, followed through on, and did. It is NOT in my programming to just decide not to have a salary for a couple of months. To walk away from my responsibility, my kids. I travel a lot, and for weeks at a time, but I have never planned on being away for two months, maybe three. But I have felt so trapped in New York for so long now, and one day it hit me that I just couldn't do it anymore. I felt like I was in a hamster wheel, waking up to go to work which had just become something I dreaded every day. It was so empty, so unfulfilling, so sad. I know it's temporary; I love teaching and I love math and I love my students. Generally. But this year I just couldn't say the same, and very few can. But I was coming home at 3:30 in the afternoon to an empty house and what felt like an empty life, even though I know my life is far from empty. It's just on pause. But I couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness. And on top of that, I felt so much guilt knowing that I had it SO much better than so many other people and I still couldn't shake that feeling. My parents were in good health, I was getting paid, I could afford my apartment, I have so many supportive and loving friends. It still felt like it wasn't enough, and I felt like I couldn't hang on and patiently wait and suffer for a little bit longer.

The bottom line: I feel less lonely in a place where I know no one than I did in a city where I knew so many people but I wasn't able to have a normal life with them. This is an oxymoron, I know. All I know is the second I got here I felt better. I haven't felt this good in months. I hope it's not a temporary thing; I have a long way to go.

Summer salsa fest Varna

The Varna Summer salsa festival

I arrived in Varna from Sozopol, a family “resort” area a couple for hours south.  Varna is a hub on the Black Sea of Bulgaria.  

I had already decided that I was coming to Bulgaria earlier this year, and when i found out that there was a salsa festival in the area, I planned around it.  It is the 8th year of the festival, and the website didn’t make it look like a very big deal, and you couldn’t buy tickets online.  I was hoping for the best but I had very low expectations.  Also, a typical New Yorker, I just felt like nothing is probably going to compare my dancing experience in the US or Cuba.

I showed up in Varna on a Friday, having missed the beach pre- party the day before.  I was in no rush.  The festival is in a small community called Alen Mak just outside of Golden Sands resort town.  Golden sands is your typical all-inclusive resort town... huge hotels, lakeside pools.  I’m guessing Alen Mak, despite being on a small local beach called kabucum, is know for nothing except this small university called Varna free university where the festival is centered.  I booked a guest house a 7-minute walk away.  booking.com has the address wrong, and it takes a couple of phone calls to find this guesthouse... the taxi driver is determined to find if for me and not only won’t just let me off where i pinned the correct location (the entrance is in a dirt road alley)...he seems pissed at the lady for not having the right address down.

I usually avoid cabs in foreign places like the plague because in a lot of places, they scam you, and I just don’t want to deal with that situation.  This guy was great.

The guest house is beautiful.  There’s about 18 rooms, centered around an immaculate courtyard with a barbecue oven, a pool, swings.  My room is large and has a double bed, an efficiency kitchen and a washing machine.  All of this is $25 a night.  Bulgaria is very inexpensive, and this little town is REALLY inexpensive.

The lady explains to me that basically everyone in the guest house is going to this festival... I tell her that’s why I am here!  After I check in, unbeknownst to me, she tells all of the other guests that there is an American girl all by herself and that maybe they should include me.  She is SO sweet.  I skip the beach party that afternoon.  I find it difficult to dance on the beach, and I was really tired from traveling all day.  I’d go to the show at 10 and the party after for a while.

Early that evening while I’m failing at napping,I get a knock on my door and Demeter from Sofia (the capital) introduces himself in his nervous English and invites me to walk with him to the festival later that evening.  I accept, because it seems rude not to, even though I am wondering what I’m going to say to this guy for 7 minutes.

Demeter is just lovely.  His English isn’t as bad as he gave off.  He’s a bachata dancer.  The stage for the show is at the bottom of a steeply sloped hill, so that no matter where you sit, you can see.  There are mats on the floor for everyone to sit on.  Demeter takes out some wipes and cleans it up for us so that I won’t get dirty.

The show is a mix of Latin styles.  This isn’t really a salsa festival, it’s a Latin dance festival.  The workshops feature salsa (NY, LA, Cuban style,) kizomba, semba, bachata.  A LOT of bachata.  I don’t bachata.  The schedule of workshops  had been released relatively shortly before the festival began, and I was disappointed to find out that there were relatively very few Cuban style workshops.  It was also a bit disappointing to find out that there were NO beginner workshops... there were some called “open level” but it became clear to me later on that this was NOT a festival for beginners.  I don’t really want to bachata, but man, people really like bachata, so if you’re at an event and the music comes on, i think it’s pretty helpful if at least you can do the bare minimum.

The show is good.  The acts were of varying ability, but definitely enjoyable.  

The dance party starts at 11:30.  I’m tired, but I’m ready to dance.  Demeter says goodbye and goes off to his bachata room.  There’s 4 different areas segregate by style.  There’s a Cuban area, where I’ll spend all my time, an area for LA/NY/Cha-Cha-chá, one called “romantic space for bachata” and one called “romantic space for kizomba/semba”.  I’m not even going NEAR any romantic space.  I think I’m growing more prudish in my old age, but I want NO PART of a Romantic space.

I look at the schedule, and go to the hall 1, right in front. I hear some Cuban Timba.  I’m ready to go, and within a minute someone has asked me to dance.  The code is simple... stand by the edge of the dance floor, you want to dance.  Stand or sit anywhere else, you don’t.  The majority of the people here are from Bulgaria, I think.  People speak a varying level of English, but really it’s just a hand extended with no words, (or some words in Bulgarian followed by “ah” when I tell them I don’t speak it) and a thank you at the end.  Everyone is here to dance, that’s it.

Now, I was prepared to experience something different here, different from what I’m used to at home.  But I’m doing TERRIBLY.  I can barely follow, and as much as I try, I’m not really getting much better.  I spend some time backing off, looking around, doing the “is it them or is it me?” thing.  Do they just use different moves? It it that no one knows who I am, so I’m only attracting people who prey on newbies?  Am I terrible?  Is this some kind of European fusion situation?  No idea.  This goes on for a good hour and a half, and although two of the guys who asked me were DEFINITELY not great, I naturally blame myself.  One dipped me hard and pulled me back up and slammed his head into mine.  I feel a little disheartened and go back to my abode.  I would have felt MUCH worse had I not just spent 2 weeks in Cuba dancing, and dancing just fine.  I just don’t get it... I’m fine in New York, fine in CUBA for chrissake... but here?!?  I don’t know.  I’m just confused.  It’s fine; I’ll just focus on the workshops.

The first Cuban workshop is at 10 am with a really great Italian dancer.  So the workshop is PACKED.  The outdoor space they set aside for it was way too small for the number of people who showed up.  We’re all on top of each other, and although everyone is nice and trying to be respectful about everyone’s dancing space, it’s really hard.  Eastern Europeans are tall, and I’m one of the shortest people there.  I can’t see shit.  They change lines every now and again, but not enough, and at some point I decide I’m so short nobody will care if I just stick myself in the far front-left corner and stay there.  They didn’t, and in the front far-right corner I see a kindred, short spirit do the same.  The workshop is really good, but the second one was also so packed and was a partnering workshop instead of solo work... I REALLLY can’t see... I get so annoyed that within 10 minutes I decide I’m done.

I skip the beach party again.  I don’t like dancing on the beach in the sun, it’s exhausting.  Also, I successfully convinced my friend Lauren to come to town, and she broke her ankle earlier in her trip, so I just taxied over to where she was and we hung out in resorty golden sands.  No worries, even if I manage a couple of workshops and the parties and shows in the evening, that’s pretty well worth the experience and the pretty cheap 60 euro price I paid for the weekend (Well, cheap by festival standards, expensive by Bulgarian standards, considering I don’t think I’ve spent 60 euros on food all week!)  I’m also trying to rest for later because I haven’t been sleeping well, and i wanted to get better at dancing whatever the fuck they’re dancing later on.

Lauren cabs it to me to come to the show... she can’t manage to get down the stairs on her crutches.  I plop her right in front of where I was dancing last night so that she can see, and I explain to her last night’s problem.  She watches, and tells me I’m great...I still know I’m not.  Lauren only makes it about an hour, and I go to look at the “romantic sensual bachata” room for a good laugh.  So much hair twirling... I think it’s hysterical.

I walk down stairs to the next place... and I’m hit in the face with very loud Cuban Timba music, and EVERYONE IS DANCING EXACTLY HOW I’M USED TO.  I recognize it instantly.  I ask a guy to dance.  YES, THIS IS HOW WE DANCE.  no problems.  I tell this guy what I did, and we’re both laughing at my idiocy.  He’s a Salsa instructor, and tells me I’m great and has me dance with his friend, who is also great. 

It turns out I was on the LA floor. I misread the schedule.  I don’t know anything about LA style salsa, and there were enough moves that I *could* follow, and I was so focused on my own shortcomings that I totally didn’t notice that the DJ was actually playing a mix of different styles of salsa music, and everyone was still just dancing this same style I was failing at.  I’m still a relatively inexperienced salsa dancer, and I just wasn’t paying attention.  

I feel a little annoyed that I was so stupid, and annoyed that I lost so much time, but at this point, it’s 12:30, and I’m reinvigorated.  I dance my ass off for 2 hours.  I was elated.  The party went to about 5 in the morning.  

Having walked around a bit, and having actually found the goddamn Timba, I noticed something.... there’s a STUPID number of people here.  Hundreds.  This is no small festival.  It’s HUGE.  And almost everyone is a GREAT dancer.  Every dance I had, and I sat very few out, was really, REALLY good. 

During one song, this really good dancer gives me a “vacuna,” which is a movement in rumba that simulates impregnating the woman.  It’s (usually) a non-sexual movement to the casual outsider... it could be a flick of the hand or a knee jerk.  What the follower is supposed to do is literally cover her vagina  with her hand and indicate that she doesn’t want it.  This has been a running joke in my crowd of friends... I gave one right back to him.  This is not only ridiculous, because as much as I might like to, I can’t either figuratively or literally impregnate anyone, and considering rumba is a very traditional dance style, it’s just not a thing that happens.  The guy, also an instructor, stops dead in his tracks, knees buckle, and he’s dying laughing.  He makes me do it to his friends.  My friends at home cheer me on for bringing a little NY to Bulgaria.

I pretty sure I’m the only American at this whole thing.  Everyone is incredulous that I am here. 

No one is really talking, just dancing,but I do wind up telling one particularly smiley guy named bolshedar (sp?) about my LA style mishap.  He laughs.  He tells me that I HAVE to go to the beach party... it’s really great.

I take a workshop in the morning, it’s great.  And less crowded... not only is Cuban style the minority here (still, LOTS of people) but I’m guessing that most of the festival stayed out dancing until 5am.

The beach party is at the “cabacum castle beach bar.” Google doesn’t recognize this name.  I asked someone at the event how to get there..she says I have to “take the lift.”  I don’t really know what she means by this... I put in some random beach bar and google map my way there.  

Google takes me on a 20 minute walk in a completely unpopulated area for a good 15 minutes... but full of HUGE houses, beautiful yards, pear and fig trees everywhere.  I’m thinking that google should probably develop a route system that warns the single female walker that maybe she should have her mace out or take a cab... especially since the route includes a walk along a downhill stream next to about 2000 steps and the whole time I see only two other people.  I was more worried about nature than being attacked, to be honest.  I have felt very safe walking around all of Bulgaria, with the exception of the Bulgarians swerving on the narrow road that takes me back and forth to the festival.

Where the fuck is this bar?  I google again.  No clue.  I’m about to ask someone, but I look up and at the end of the path is a ruined castle.  Ah, castle beach bar,  makes sense now.  The party is in full force when I arrive, and at this point, equipped with the newly acquired knowledge of what LA style salsa looks like, I stand off to the side for the rueda class to start.

The rueda lesson is given completely in Bulgarian, but punctuated by the Spanish calls that I’m mostly familiar with.  They do some things *slightly* differently from home, but I’m familiar enough with being in a rueda that I acclimate instantly. My friend who told me to come to the beach grabs me to bring me into the inner circle with the instructor and the people he knows.  It’s the best place to be.  I learn a couple of new calls... we do straight rueda for over an hour.  It was SO much fun.

The beach is clean, the water is clean, with a bit more seaweed than I like, but clean.  Two lounge chairs and a sun umbrella cost... get this... a grand total of $6!!  I know I am fixating on the prices of things but i can’t get over how excellent the quality of things are here for the price.  In Western Europe I’ve paid 5 times that.

I walk a little to try to find a way up that doesn’t involve a walk up all those damned stairs and i see it... a CHAIR lift.  Not a lift like an elevator, a chairlift.  Of course.  A lift.  It’s old and rickety and looks like something old school Coney Island.  The guy guides me on it, and I think to myself “wow, this is pretty steep to have NO RAIL GUARD.”  But then I see people coming down when I’m going up... they have a guard...OH of course, I’m supposed to do it MYSELF.  It randomly stops for a couple of minutes and I’m the only person I see.  Well, it’s comfy up there.  It starts up again, no problem.  There’s also nobody up at the top to tell me when to get off. Standard of safety are really different in America.  There is a really beautiful view of the beach on the way down and if I had more time, I would have taken the trip at sunset to do it.

I get back to the guesthouse and tell the lady Elena how much I loved the festival, and how you would never have gotten that impression from the very minimalist website.  She said that that’s how it often is in Bulgaria... there’s a lot of really great stuff going on and no one seems to want to tell anyone about it.

Well, I’m going to tell EVERYONE.

Elena tells me that I should just use the website triumftaxi to order a cab to the airport.  The website doesn’t allow for advanced reservations.  I get up after not sleeping and order the taxi a little before 6 am, which is plenty of time to make it for a 9am flight.  Now I’m nervous... and now that the festival is over the streets are empty.  A car comes by and stops for me... this car either has no meter so the guy tells me 60 BGN, which is more than double what it’s supposed to cost.  It doesn’t matter, and he knows it.  

Up until that point, Bulgaria has once again exceeded every expectation I had for it.  I absolutely love it here, and I’m going to ruin this paradise by telling you why.

The beaches and the water are really clean and well serviced.

Although you’ll hear almost no English outside the major cities (and even less American English), most everything is written in English as well as Bulgarian.  They don’t really expect anyone to understand Bulgarian or pronounce Cyrillic.

Bulgarians are tickled that Americans visit.  Everyone in the restaurants and the shops seemed thrilled to take care of me and are very warm and friendly.

The food, although not terribly diverse and kind of eastern-European bland, is stupidly cheap.  Think fish, mussels, barbecued meat and kebab.  More salads than I expected.  Excellent produce.  In the resort area, I didn’t spend any more than $18 on a meal, including an appetizer and two glasses of wine.  Lunches were usually $7 or less, and that sometimes was a whole fresh grilled fish.  Everything is stupidly cheap.  You can get a whole beach bed/umbrella setup for <$10.  Hour Massage, $35 max.  guesthouse with air con, a terrace, a fridge and a shower in the room for <$30 a night.

It’s been about 85 degree during the day and 65 at night, low humidity.  Perfect summer weather.

Adorable street kittens everywhere 

Everyone has been super helpful and really nice.  Tourists seem to be very welcome.

Anyone wanna come with?