If memory serves, this day we did a tour of the old city with lunch sandwiched in between (no pun intended).  By 1773 Antigua was comprised of over 30 churches, 18 convents and monasteries, 15 hermitages, 10 chapels, five hospitals, and a university.  It is no wonder Antigua, Guatemala has been called “the colonial jewel of the Americas”.  Over the centuries the city kept rebuilding as it was repeatedly hit by earthquakes.  In 1979 UNESCO declared it to be a World Cultural Heritage site.  Restored colonial buildings resided next to those still left in ruins.  It was a haunting mixture of time preserved and time stood still.  Pictured here is my favorite — the Church of Saint Francis.  No matter where I have traveled — a wolf, the Blessed Mother, or Saint Francis always finds me; either that or I am inexplicably drawn to where they are.  Guatemala would prove to be no different.  The 1717 earthquake damaged this church severely, as did the earthquake of 1751.  It was partially destroyed in 1773 and was reconstructed some but areas of ruin still remained.  Not surprisingly, this was my favorite church before I even knew it was Franciscan.  At lunch I became enamored with Guatemala’s oldest continually produced beer dating back to 1896, a pale lager named Gallo (rooster).  It is also the most famous beer in the country.  I am not a huge beer fan and I loved it.  On the subject of poultry, I had only seen chicken buses in the movies.  The ones here were wildly colorful, intricately painted, and chromed old school buses.  I learned it is the primary way in which locals transport between towns, villages, and cities in Central America.  And I DID in fact see some chickens!  I thought I saw a goat as well but I know for sure I saw them on the backs of trucks.  Our guide was proudly Mayan and my husband and I could not get enough of his take on things like the Mayan calendar.  After speaking with him at length we also discovered he humbly called himself a Medicine Man.  I felt so lucky to have been able to ask him questions about his culture, as he did not volunteer his personal beliefs without prompting and noting our sincere interest.  When I shared my Choctaw heritage with him he really opened up.  He said they view the next cycle in the Mayan calendar as a time of great rebirth for the people; they are very hopeful.  Scottish author Samuel Smiles once said:

“Hope is like the sun, which, as we journey toward it, casts the shadow of our burden behind us.”

As we ended the tour the rays of the sun lengthened our shadows on the old cobblestones, stretching far behind us, and I found myself praying he was right.

This title is literal but not figurative.  The wedding took place inside the cloistered walls of the Hotel Casa Santo Domingo.  Pictured here is the open-air chapel of Our Lady of the Rosary, which is where the ceremony was held around sunset.  Candles flickered everywhere and once again I had the feeling of ephemeral security.  The beautiful chapel is in what I would call “working ruin” condition, which is part of what made it so unique.  To me it served as a reminder that life is temporal, but faith in Jesus Christ is eternal.  My handsome husband was a groomsman in his cousin’s wedding, and I cannot help but biasedly confess I found myself so proud to be married to the eldest and most handsome man in the family.  I am sure my cousin-in-law from Spain would disagree, as would my new cousin-in-law from Guatemala.  But the commonality we all share is being fortunate enough to be in love and to be married to the one we love.  Austrian composer Franz Schubert once said, “Happy is the man who finds a true friend, and far happier is he who finds that true friend in his wife.”

Our third day we explored Antigua.  I really had no idea what to expect.  But I felt safe and we encountered genuinely smiling faces wherever we went.  Antigua is the capital of the Sacatepequez Province of Guatemala, famous for its well-preserved Spanish Baroque influenced architecture.  For over two centuries it was the political, religious, and economic center for Spain in Central America before being abandoned due to numerous earthquakes.  The first photo I took is pictured here of the Church and convent of Nuestra Señora de la Merced.  The Mercedarian order was established in Guatemala in 1538.  However, what you see was rebuilt in 1717 after an earthquake.  The facade is perhaps the most beautiful in Antigua, featuring intricate, ornate patterns in white stucco on a yellow background.  This church serves as a good example of “earthquake baroque” architectural style popular by necessity in Central America.  Note the short bell towers as opposed to the soaring ones built in seismically less active Mexico during the same epoch.  Antigua has been regularly rocked due to being surrounded by three volcanoes:  Agua, Fuego, and Acatenango.  The aptly named Fuego (fire) is still active and we even got to see small ash clouds spewing from its mouth as we walked along the town.  We stood inside the gloomy but very impressive ruins of the giant nave of the Catedral, completed in 1680; another victim of one of Antigua’s many great earthquakes, this one in 1773.  It was an unusual experience to be surrounded by four walls but left totally bare to the open sky.  I had the feeling of ephemeral safety.  Then it struck me that “antiqua” means “antique” or “old” and I thought how fitting it was given the city seemed to be frozen in time.  And not just the city; I believe the ancient Mayan culture of the people, smiling without malice, could not be driven out, coerced out, beaten out or erased from these people.  How I wish the same were true for other Native Peoples, particularly in North America.  Indian born neuroscientist Vilayanur S. Ramachandran said this:

“Remember that politics, colonialism, imperialism and war also originate in the human brain.”

From what I witnessed, the ancient Mayans’ strength and resilience against the mighty powers of colonialism is truly impressive and continues to this day.  Mother Earth may have had her hand in it as well, but then Native Peoples have always needed all the help they could possibly get.  Achukma hoke.

The next day we headed out for an excursion.  Two and a half hours later we would find ourselves at Lake Atitlan.  I had no idea it was famous; I just knew it was stunning.  In the Guatemalan Highlands, it is the deepest lake in Central America whose basin is volcanic in origin.  There are three volcanoes on its southern flank; pictured here is one of them.  It was so breathtakingly beautiful words cannot adequately describe it.  Impossibly deep blue water below and bright blue sky above escorted us across the way in our boat.  We arrived at a Mayan lakeside community ready to receive tourists but still very much going about their daily lives.  Before our boat could even be pulled up and tied a skinny little boy of about eight asked if he could be our guide.  If anyone remembers reading my past travel experience regretting not carrying money I am so glad to say this time we came prepared.  It’s not as if we could not have managed on our own, but he was so proud and so darling I just could not say no.  Puffing out his boyish chest, he gallantly held out his little hand to help me off the boat and had me blushing like a school girl.  The wooden planks coming from the embankment were half worn through and rickety so actually he had already proven to be of help.  Next he said to leave the the bargaining to him and that he would take care of us.  Asking how long we had him, he proudly pronounced “the whole day!” and with an impish grin he turned and had us disappearing into the crowds.  My bandage from the day before had seeped through and was starting to drip blood.  Noticing it, my mother-in-law asked the boy if there was a farmacia.  The next thing I knew he had us making our way up a set of white wooden steps in a sketchy looking alleyway up to what appeared to be a quasi store/medical facility/living room where he started jabbering away to an older woman.  With my mother-in-law looking on, I heard her conveying it needed to be cleaned and that we also needed fresh bandages.  The older woman nodded knowingly and I have to confess the boy proved himself useful yet again.  How I wish I could remember his name; I fell in love with him the second he helped me off that boat.  We went on to visit a Catholic church there which was an interesting mix of incense, rose petals, and ceremonies with rituals I suspect the Church may have turned a blind eye toward, or simply has tried to incorporate into something Christian.  Mayan culture and religion is still very active and prevalent.  I found comfort in seeing the corn husks, the weavers, and looking at Indian ways so similar to my own (Choctaw) which originated in the southeastern United States.  I have never been a fan of masks (they creep me out) but I found several that were fantastic (wolves, of course) and so it was here that I really added to my wolf mask collection.  I picked up several — all intricately painted wood with different colors: some with big ears and some with little; some with teeth bared but not menacingly; some with snouts that were longer and some that were shorter, and one who even had his tongue sticking out.  It was a wonderful day and bittersweet waving good-bye to our noble guide who was just a boy.  I am so glad Burk tipped him extra; he deserved it.  German explorer and naturalist Alexander von Humboldt called Lake Atitlan “the most beautiful lake in the world”.  From my travel experience so far, I would have to agree.

My past travel experience had not prepared me for my week in this colorful and impoverished country.  It felt as if extreme wealth for the very few contrasted heartbreakingly with the masses struggling but with cheerful hearts.  I think I saw my first machine guns here.  Guards with huge automatic weaponry were in front of a wealthy home which was behind gates and our hotel had guards in front of the walls which used to house monks.  In 1542 the Dominican Friars built the Santo Domingo Monastery.  Today it is called the Hotel Casa Santo Domingo.  It is a noted five star hotel and museum in Antigua, a city once the capital of Spain’s South American confederacy.  I have been fortunate to stay in some lovely hotels, but this by far, for me, was the nicest and most interesting.  The picture above was taken outside of our room where my husband and I had the privilege of staying.  We were there because his cousin was marrying a Guatemalan.  I think the hotel fulfilled every notion of romance I have ever had.  Shadows reflected the light of hundreds of burning candles that were literally everywhere — from the echoing corridors of old stone walls to the crumbling outside steps of one of the many gardens.  Upon our arrival I slipped down a mossy stairway and got the worst bruise of my life coupled with a nasty scrape on my arm.  I kept defensively telling everyone I had not had a thing to drink; and I hadn’t as we had just gotten there!  The poor maid must’ve nearly fainted the next morning; after I woke up I noticed what appeared to be a ton of blood smeared all over the pristine white bedsheets.  It would seem my scrape was superficial but a real bleeder.  I was appalled and embarrassed.  But part of what made the hotel so charming was the precise lack of obvious, superfluous, cautionary safety signage.  And it was perfectly sound; I just had an accident.  The views were unspoiled, with no railings or gates to mar the sight of old courtyards and cloisters surrounded by lush bougainvilleas, huge parrots peeking from between long, flowered vines, and the delicate scent of rose petals changed daily that floated in old stone bowls throughout.  I’m sure the bowls had a name and I tried to look it up but could not find what they are called.  Watering troughs?  Perhaps if you are reading this you may be laughing at my lack of knowledge.  But I do know sumptuous beauty alive when I see it.  I felt it everywhere as I walked the once hallowed grounds.  Instead of a big block behemoth, rooms were located by twisting and turning in the winding old monk’s maze.  I remember we always passed a big fountain in the wall and a compelling, lifelike statue of Mary Magdalene I instinctively knew was at least last century and incredibly valuable.  She was not encased behind sterilizing glass, but rather seemed to look beseeching as she reached out perpetually perhaps for our Lord.  I wanted to touch her but I respected her sanctity to much to do so.  And so this protected earthly paradise would be what I got to see, hear, touch, smell, taste and experience during our stay.  And it was a memorable one.

“To love.  To be loved.  To never forget your own insignificance.  To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you.  To seek joy in the saddest places.  To pursue beauty to its lair.  To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple.  To respect strength, never power.  Above all, to watch.  To try and understand.  To never look away.  And never, never to forget.” ~ Arundhati Roy, “The Cost Of Living”

It was our last day in New Orleans.  We had seen Rodrigue’s Blue Dog paintings, taken a walking tour led by a Choctaw guide, visited Louisiana’s oldest museum (The Confederate Memorial Hall), and had done some souvenir shopping.  This would be followed by the best dinner I would have in my entire life:  Antoine’s.  American author William S. Burroughs said, “You can’t fake quality any more than you can fake a good meal.”  Everything about it was perfection.  By this time I had been lucky enough to dine in Paris, Venice, New York, Quebec, Spain, and other places, plus all of Dallas’ finest restaurants over the years.  Antoine’s graciously surpassed them all with a superlative mix of French/Southern cuisine, charm, hospitality, and eloquence.  It was like stepping back in time and I was so glad we’d chosen to have our anniversary dinner here.  Next to “Little House on the Prairie”, my all-time favorite TV show is “Frasier”.  In one episode the Crane brothers decided to buy their favorite restaurant which was closing.  They renamed it Le Frères Heureux (The Happy Brothers) and of course they meddled so much on opening night it was a disaster.  All through the evening they each kept furtively adding a “‘soupçon'” of brandy to the Cherries Jubilee.  In the end one hears a loud “whump” followed by a flash of light coming from the dining room.  The kitchen doors blow inward and a billow of smoke wafts in followed by the poor woman who lit the dessert.  Her face was covered in soot, her hair standing on end, and her dress stained red.  With a stunned look of wide-eyed shock she delivered one of the funniest lines ever:  “Big blue flash … cherries everywhere …”  I could not help grinning so widely my molars were probably seen as I recalled this during our heavenly finish to the perfect dinner.  Voila, pictured here is our Cherries Jubilee.  Antoine’s started in 1840 and the staff, upon discovering it was our anniversary, graciously gave us a copy of their famous cookbook signed by the family.  It contains a collection of original recipes from classic drinks like the Mint Julep to incredible sauces, Béchamel and Bourguignonne being two of my favorites, as well as desserts — like Cerises Jubilee.

One of the greatest joys of travel for me is the people.  As we were out walking the next day we heard, “I’ve got okra; I’ve got peaches” being sung over a loudspeaker in a colorful truck.  I thought it was the coolest thing ever!  I loved everything about it:  fresh fruits and vegetables delivered right to you, his catchy tune with his deep base voice, and the produce pickup painted so groovy.  Burk loved it too and it became sort of our theme song for the rest of our time in New Orleans.  One of us would start under our breath and the other would do the next line.  We would keep adding food until we ran out of things to think up and then grin at each other before starting over again.  We sang it on the little streetcar we took down through the Garden District.  From the heat and cement of Bourbon Street in the French Quarter to the shaded tree-lined Canal Street with rows of old Southern mansions, we sang Mr. Okra’s jingle from one end of town to the other.  Then we stopped and got out so I could take pictures of the prettiest fence I have ever seen.  The whole thing was verdigris wrought iron made to look like endless stalks of corn rising up out the the ground.  It was made all the more enchanting by the fragrant wisteria that wound itself in and out of the metal rows.  I found myself wishing we could have bought from Mr. Okra as the day wore on.  Again another resolution to begin carrying a little cash.  Actor Damian Lewis said, “People need revelation, and then they need resolution.”  New Orleans had given me both.

Mama and Daddy were not big drinkers, but Mama always kept her Hurricane glass from Pat O’Brien’s they got on their honeymoon.  Growing up I’d look at it and it seemed so exotic.  So I was excited to visit the same place they went all those years ago.  I suspected it had not changed much.  Burk and I are not really bar people but for some reason we both really liked this place.  No techno music was blaring and, to my husband’s delight, they offered free, unlimited bags of cheese popcorn.  They may have lost money on him.  Of course I ordered a Hurricane and kept the glass.  It now lives next to Mama and Daddy’s and they both look pretty much the same even after over four decades.  We sat outside by this fountain called “Fire and Ice” because of its mix of water and flames which was really cool.  It felt Parisian in the sense that the place was small with a certain intimacy and had a courtyard with no blaring TVs.  Inside it was dark without feeling gritty.  We had a fun time.  With the hubs sufficiently “filled” I decided to take him antique shopping in the good stores by our hotel.  We went in one place that carried more Limoges than I’d seen in Paris.  I did not go crazy but I did get an old brass fox door knocker which I love.  Since we have wolf hybrids as pets I gravitate toward any wolves and coyotes or foxes which are their cousins.  Ironically, we may have purchased it at a store called The Brass Monkey.  I cannot recall.  But I love taking pictures of historical markers and other placards I find interesting, including one I snapped of an old, rusted metal sign by the New Orleans police department which read, “Beware of Pickpockets and Loose Women”.  Walking to dinner we encountered a guy who stopped us and asked our names.  Burk was simply intent upon reaching Arnaud’s.  I told him our first names and he immediately launched into a rap.  My normally good natured husband was becoming silently agitated as this guy was literally standing between him and dinner.  Finally Burk just hollered, “Baby Doll let’s go; I’m hungry!” as I smiled and tried to look apologetic.  I had no idea he expected money for his rap.  It reminded me of taking Elmo’s picture the year before in New York and not knowing we were supposed to tip.  The rapper was clever and outgoing, working to make some money and not asking for a handout.  Burk would have tipped him I know; we just never carried cash on trips except to leave to the porters and maids.  I promised myself from that moment on we would never be without a small amount of extra cash.  The last thing I heard as Burk was yanking me by the hand moving us steadily toward the restaurant was, “Laura, Laura; she so sweet.  But she gots to go ’cause Burk gotta eat.”

We started the day by heading out to the world famous Cafe du Monde for their coffee and beignets.  This is where I became hooked on chicory in my coffee and to this day it is all we drink at home.  The original stand was established in 1862 in the New Orleans French Market.  It is open 24 hours a day seven days a week and only closes on Christmas Day or if a hurricane passes too close according to their website.  The beignets reminded me a lot of Indian fry bread and I did not know the Choctaw people had been in Louisiana for so long!  This was a huge and wonderfully unexpected surprise for me.  My Grandmother was Choctaw and of course I knew Nanih Waiya (sacred ground) in Mississippi.  They were the first nation to get removed in the Trail of Tears to what was then Indian Territory (now Oklahoma).  I knew a century later many had been pushed off that land and “encouraged” to settle in big cities like Dallas.  But I never knew how far my people went back in what is now New Orleans.  Next we visited Jackson Square and the St. Louis Cathedral.  Dedicated to St. Louis of France and founded in 1720, it is the oldest Catholic cathedral in continual use in the United States.  Adjacent is the Cabildo which was once the seat of colonial government and is now a museum.  It was the site of the Louisiana Purchase transfer ceremonies in 1803.  On our honeymoon I asked Burk if we could have our portraits made at Montmartre and he reluctantly agreed.  On our first wedding anniversary I asked for another.  Burk says he looks like a serial killer in our Paris one and that he looks 12 from the one in New York.  To my delight there was a wonderful portrait artist right on the square.  I intensely dislike caricatures so I try to find more talented artists that are able to sketch more realistically.  I asked Burk if we could try again here.  The third cajoling was not as easy.  This was a woman who worked in colored chalk and drew us separately so Burk was free to roam while I sat up straight and prayed this one would turn out.  He was quite happy until I called him back for his sitting.  She was a true hippie from the 60’s who had actually studied art.  To say that my husband is reserved and conservative would be an understatement.  I remember he did not want the maid to see his feet on our honeymoon.  So while I was happily strolling the square our portrait artist proceeded to regale my poor husband with stories of all her past lovers.  I knew something was wrong when I went back to check on him and his face was beet red.  Knowing it could not bode well, I set out to find him food.  Hot food goes a long way with him.  And that is when I discovered another wonderful surprise:  you can walk around with alcohol!  Just walk the streets enjoying a drink!  It was lovely … and a lifesaver.  I pressed a giant beer into his hand along with a huge hot po’boy and scampered off before he could rebel.  He sat for so long I brought him another beer while I heard snippets of “and then there was Jean Claude …”  By the time he was released from the woman’s clutches he looked both relieved and murderous.  For the record she HAS made the best portrait of us to date.  Irish playwright Oscar Wilde said, “Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.”  We left the square as the afternoon shadows began to lengthen; both pleased with our portrait … and happy that it was done.

It was our second year wedding anniversary and we chose to go to New Orleans, Louisiana.  Since our honeymoon was in Paris and we went to Quebec for our one year anniversary, I thought this would be in keeping with my love of visiting French places.  My mother-in-law joked by the next year we’d be in Paris, Texas.  Little did I know, no one knows any French in New Orleans; the one exception of course being the infamous phrase, “Laissez les bons temps rouler” (Let the good times roll).  But there are wonderful reminders of France all over the city, from Chartres street to the ever-present fleur-de-lis, and St. Louis to Orleans itself named after the Duke of Orleans.  He reigned as Regent for Louis XV from 1715 to 1723 and the city was “established” by French colonists who strongly influenced it by their culture.  During the American Revolutionary War New Orleans was an important port for smuggling aid to the rebels and for transporting military equipment and supplies up the Mississippi River.  Napoleon sold Louisiana (New France) to the United States in 1803.  As a native Texan who grew up under the “Six Flags of Texas” it was always something of a bragging right.  Imagine my complete surprise to discover Louisiana has flown under ELEVEN flags as well as having been an independent nation like Texas!  I was as fascinated as I was impressed by their lack of un-Texan braggadocio.  My folks went to New Orleans on their honeymoon so that also made it special for me.  Usually we are pretty intense and frankly do not relax enough on trips.  Burk and I were staying at the Hotel Monteleone which was established in 1866.  It boasts the famous Carousel Bar, which actually revolves and is covered with lights and painted just like a traditional carousel.  One can see the famed Royal Street in the heart of the French Quarter from behind a huge set of windows as the bar slowly rotates.  After settling in we strolled just steps down to the Mississippi River where we took a steamboat dinner cruise.  Confession:  I am allergic to seafood and I detest that “ya da da da da” type jazz.  That’s pretty much what I associated with New Orleans before this other than booze.  We sat outside the historic boat on the old, white wooden top deck savoring drinks while a live jazz band played.  They were really good and it was a sultry evening with a light breeze coming off the water.  For once we were not rushed and I was happy and relaxed sitting there next to my handsome husband.  It was one of the most memorable evenings of my life.  The food was great (plenty for a vegetarian), then afterward we got to tour the steamship which was fascinating.  And that was all we did our first day!  We simply slowed down and enjoyed life in the moment.  American author Mandy Hale said, “You will get there when you are meant to get there and not one moment sooner … so relax, breathe, and be patient.”  Our trip up and down the river was pleasingly slow and we were able to actually see the scenery as we were passing by.  The steam rose high above us while the water churned the big red paddle wheel below us and the night sky began to glisten with stars.  This trip would hold a lot of pleasant surprises for me.  But the Big Easy forced me to take it easy in order for me to discover them.