Beto Perez, Marioneta (zumba)

Going back to yoga is not easy. The body remembers but the strength is not always there. And to be back means exerting both: memory and strength, to achieve some sense of alignment. My neck feels amazing, I had a car crash back in May and though bone wise, everything seemed normal, my side to side mobility hurt sometimes.

I will try to figure more about this, but the yoga teacher told me about working with the yin and yang of yoga. On one hand, seeking for a good alignment while at some points just surrendering to gravity or the natural flow of things. It felt really good.

Temazcal

Peter of Saint Joseph Betancur

Trailing is fun around here, you can move through the coastline, from almost town to town. It's easier if you take a boat but then you would miss so much: avocado trees (which they use here in a delicious chocolate cake recipe), huge plants, wooden boats left by the shore, a goat named Robina, an rusty old plate found over a rock, many many stranded or owned dogs that follow you by the trail, that smell like burnt wood on a common fire, ones with really funny names like Zumba or Mango.

On my way, I found many of the people working at the hotel or people just working on large houses cutting grass or big branches, keeping everything tidy and clean. There is not one single sign you're going the right way and just when you think the trail is closed, you walk behind a little shack and sure enough, keep going.

My favourite encounter of the day was an old indigenous woman, probably older than my grandmother. She had brown, dark skin, really skinny and with a rope to her head, she was holding a pack of wood on her back. She was very courteous and not once I felt pity for her, I felt she was so lucky, thinking of herself as this unstoppable force that comes from need. She had a place in the world and was useful to herself and hopefully her grandsons or granddaughters.

K'iche is not a dead tongue here and I'm really happy to listen to it. It sounds like a small locomotive, halting, then some bits of Spanish, then choo-chooing away in the most earthly way, one close to the blue, fluttering dragonflies and the patient fishing on the lake. Whatever is said, sounds like Latin, wise, emanating from the bark of an old tree or fresh water from a spring.

I love Santa Cruz, I'm a patriot