We left behind the structure of our school, Habla, the center for language and culture. This tightly wound educational immersion structure that surrounded us unwound like shedding the city highway by highway from Parque Central to the outer periferico.

My Siri, a cultured sounding Irishman, patiently called out directions. “In one mile stay in the second lane from the right and merge onto the Anillo Periferico Licenciado Manuel Berzunza.” He kindly redirected us a few times, when his directions seemed dubious, until we headed out of Merida and straight away.

All we knew was that we were heading for the small coastal town of Celestun, leaving our familiar apartment and neighborhood behind. We will miss the crazy traffic flow around and through the glorietas (roundabouts) under the care of our personal stream of Uber drivers. All fast and sure despite such low fares it seemed impossible to make a profit. In the morning we could practice Spanish with them. But on the way home we were too stymied to talk, with visions of verb conjugations flattening our brains.

Car by car the traffic dropped away. The last few miles, the two-lane road was smooth. Terry relaxed into the drivers seat with mask off, and symptoms in the rear view. And then a hint of the approaching ocean air found us. Terry enthusiastically deemed this road as one he must bike even though there were none. It did promise a salubrious affect of coasting to the sea without a care.

We didn’t have reservations, and we didn’t concern ourselves with viewing images or knowing a damn thing about this place except we had heard there were Flamingos. So Terry had called the flamingo guy who said, “Segaro que tenemos flamencos. Encuéntranos a las 8:00 en la playa.”

Terry announced, “I think it’s set. We’re meeting a guy at the beach at 8:00. I think I heard him say mañana. We’ll get up early and just go and see.”

We drove into the town. The promise of flamingos kept us buoyant despite the main square presenting a bleak looking affair. The road down the beach front only had an occasional car. Dogs ruled. They walked right down the middle of the Main Street giving way to nothing and no body. They were well-nourished and self-assured. They didn’t hang near garbage or people. They swaggered slowly and occasionally looked at other dogs while giving one another berth and a nod and a smirk. You could find a dog on a balcony looking down on you. Or on the crisply ironed table cloth in a restaurant. Some ascended to the rooftops. The more experienced climbers jumped to a neighboring roof. In groups they would hit the water to surf. In groups they would torment a lone cat.

Our hotel room was colorful but uncomfortable. Plastic sheets, one lone hanging light bulb, paper-thin walls, we’ve all been there. The one open restaurant in town, informed us as soon as we got our food, that we had 10 minutes before closing.

Somehow, Saturday was charmed. By 8:40 a.m. we were in a good sized boat with two other couples and a captain heading out to open waters. We were the only English speakers, so we translated for each other. It was a lot of, “I think he said” and “Ya I think that probably is it.” The Flamingos we’re standouts in a sea of pelicans and the boat was speedy. We crossed over the Celestun river from the Caribbean to the Gulf of Mexico and into the mangroves. Quite the morning trip!

I want to add more verbs and tenses to my reflexive self, but instead they are shedding like one sheds virus. Like yourself sheds a direct object indirectly.

The third day we were here I had food poisoning. I had no idea from what. I tackled the problem at the source. And quit eating vegetables and started drinking bottled water. Cristal is the most available bottle water so we stocked up. I’d had no further problems. One day we ran by a Japay water tower and saw a Cristal water truck pumping water directly from it.

This is a bustling, busy city. It seems on every block they are simultaneously demolishing and building. Glamorized high rise condos offer “ The Art of Living.”

Tomorrow I will not worry. Four years ago, God left a wad of paper on the floor in St. Michael’s Cathedral (Sitka, Alaska). On it in God’s handwriting God wrote: This is god and just for today you are not to worry, I will worry for you. It smacked of AA, but I decided not worry about that and I didn’t. Tomorrow on my last day of flirting with the Spanish language, I think that God will just worry for me. And I can relax and enjoy this beautiful language.

I only have two days left of my Spanish class here in Merida Mexico. I say I because last Wednesday before class, Terry tested positive for COVID. He hadn’t been feeling well. Just to be safe, he took the test. Wow! It immediately turned a pissed-off purple-ish brown. What a nasty surprise. He’s getting better and I’m just plane negative.

So I go it alone to class. Students come and go. Now I’m the weakest student in class. Today we had the presente perfecto. It’s the title of something perfect. All our present living should be perfect. It could be a first line in a poem or spoken in a movie. The present perfect begins today . . . by being the death of me. I’m not an indirect object and I’m not known to be direct.

I will miss these discussions , but never remember the content.

The only chairs in this house are torturous. There is a standard rolling chair at the desk. But no light. In the afternoon we could capture light from the sun, but the shades are closed and tucked in owing to the 90 degree heat that heats to 105 once filtered through the window. The two remaining sitting devices are high chairs. They were trending recently but there is a reason they didn’t remain popular. One reason lives in our far away subconscious memory of the freedom we enjoyed when our parents released us from the prison of the high chair. And truth be found when mounting the adult high chair, there is no way to propel your lap under the table. There you stay too far out to keep food off your lap, or to write your letter to Maria. The uncomfortability rating for these chairs is high.

On this Wednesday, our class visited Museo Fernando Garcia Ponce. Terry met us there. He was fresh from the Zoo so it was a jammed packed day for him. He’s crushing it. We were viewing the art to get impressions of the cruelty of the oppressors, our theme of the week. Terry and I were sharing a handout, sitting on the floor viewing a picture and madly filling in the answers, when the Policía asked us questions about what we we’re doing. We directed them to our instructor, who was quickly led away. We were so relieved when she wasn’t under arrest. She was calmly informed to cease and desist. We did not have permission to continue. We shared our answers in a circle, and left without further molestation.

I was out the door of our Merida apartment at 5:30 AM. Under the sky dark with few peeks of stars, estrellas. I begin my pdaily run here. I love leaving from my door. Something I could do in Alaska. Something I miss dearly. Our home in CA has steep hills in both directions from my house. And after the first mile, the traffic could kill me.

Here I start running, a few steps from our apartment. I’m off the curb leaning to the right and down the dark street. I’m dark. I leave my headlight behind since Terry suggested it. Who wants a dead headlamp? I don’t. But Terry changed his mind last week after he saw the picture of the coral snake I came face to face with. But now this gives me something to prove. Really I don’t need a headlamp. I’m not afraid of a snake. At least not that one. It was dead.

This is my 17th day running this route. just before dawn, I run this town. The streets are crappy, but so much better that the streets of Santa Cruz County. In Corralitos, there are no street lights. Here there are the yellowish lights that we once had in the US, now replaced by the favored halogen and LEDs. They have robbed us of our stars.

Most of the houses are large and walled-in. The walls come up to the streets. Garage doors are huge, most are slated, so you can peek into the interior. During the day, you can glimpse someone hosing down the garage floor or lifting heavy weights in their home gym. You hear the exaggerated grunts of the Cross Fit régimen. Power and money are right here on these lackluster roads, for six miles and beyond. With ever thicker layers of walls, gates and security. Something there is about a wall. What are they walling in? And what are they walling out?

This early you hear a relay of dogs barking. It starts with one that sounds like a squeaky toy passed on to serious guard dog. “Stand back.”

Soon I see my first figure. The dark outline of the runner’s bob. “Buenas Dias.”

“Buen Día” and a clear thumbs up under the street light.

Friday September 23, 2022

Our planned early getaway was stalled by cold weather and wet gear. I was out of the tent before sunrise waiting to see what the sky was going to show us, the old red sky at morn sailor take warn adage. The sky was pink. By 9:30 we were heading into a cold wind. Searching for the best approach to the open water among the reeds of the Little Sioux. The sky vacillated between clouds angry and sad. Variously the sun popped out to lighten our way and our moods. But mostly we felt a bone chilling cold seep into our laced and jacketed bodies. Our first day’s portage was Elm 65 with its beautiful falls. it seemed shorter than we remembered. Then we headed toward the end, beating into the wind.

Three canoes passed by, just beginning their trips. The wind at their backs made everything happy for them. However, the weather predictions were sad. Each smiled brightly. Even the weather can’t mar beginning enthusiasm.

The ending for us is lightened by three playful river otters swimming gracefully. The baby poked its head high out of the water to watch us. Its parents moved it along. We didn’t remember our beginning portage at all. But now it seemed longer than 40 rods.

The trip back to the outfitters on the gravel road was slowed by the ill-fit of the canoe on our car. We couldn’t secure it quite right as the Prius has no attachment points. The front strap was holding to the under body tray, and the rear was grabbing the muffler hangar. So we drove slowly and stopped for many small adjustments.

After we showered, we headed for Aurora MN. Neither of us had been there. I was curious because the author William Kent Krueger set his detective series there. I’ve listened to a couple of his novels on audiobooks while I run. The town didn’t seem as interesting without Cork O’Conner the protagonists working on a case.

So we headed over to the next town, Hoyt Lakes. Their Country Inn had a Jacuzzi suite. One small kindness for our well-used bodies.

Thursday September 22, 2022

Welcome to fall. It was considerably cooler than previous nights. We were moving slowly, watching the skies and the wind. We talked about the sun rising on this equinox day being in the due east and then setting in the due west. We will be in a new campsite tonight and if the sun doesn’t set behind a tree, we’ll watch the due west setting sun.

Every evening about 30 minutes after sunset, the first light in the sky has been Venus. It seemed to rise due east. The first night we spotted it, it was red. It shown red on the water. Imagine that, we say because we hadn’t remembered that it’s not just the moon that shines on the water. It’s only taken us 6 days to return to this form of innocence. This will disappear tomorrow when we drive toward Ely and hear the first ping on our phones indicating that we are again connected to the all-knowing of our phones.

By 10:30 AM the clouds had moved on, promising a clear fall day. The skies had the dour and leaden look of an autumn morning. It was chilly but seemed reassuring because this is the way fall should be. Seeming that the clouds held no rain, we paddled north for our last visit on Loon Lake. The cry of the loon echoed near and then we spotted it as it dove out-of-sight. Iconic. A small marker jutted from the top of giant boulder. This tiny white obelisk marks our entry into Canadian waters. It was time to return and break camp. We would head closer to our put-out tomorrow.

We started this run unsure of where the outlet for the Little Indian Sioux River was. It’s alway such a relief stumbling in the right direction. In this case it was discovering the slim path between the reeds that are growing too tightly to navigate. The beaver dam did not stymie us this time. We headed to the left side and Terry lugged our canoe up and over.

Devil’s Cascade portage 120 was waiting for us. This time there were no other paddlers portaging. But three guys with bright orange beanies and one carrying a gun were walking ahead. Two others startled me coming off a side trail. I gave my typical involuntary cry of surprise. They were very apologetic for frightening me. They disappeared down the trail. I assumed they boarded their canoes and were on their way. But shortly they were heading back. Their five bright orange beanies all in a row, lined up in front of me ready to talk. Once again apologizing. It turned out that the guys wanted to tell me what they were up to.

They were hiking the Sioux-Hustler Trail from their camp on Shell Lake, where they left their canoe. One of them said they were hiking about two miles an hour.

The “leader” in front said “No, that’d be more like a mile an hour.”

The guy replied, “Oh?”

I asked what they were hunting.

The leader said the guy in back had squirrels for breakfast and said they were tasty.

The guy in back said, “Yup. And I have a backpack full of red squirrels.”

I asked how he got the squirrels.

The guy in front said he shot them and added he had heard a spruce grouse.

I said, “You must watch watch Alone.”

But of course, what else would influence someone to eat these tiny squirrels and covet a grouse?

They turned out to be quirky and a funny group.

By 5:00 PM, we had landed on upper Pauness Lake for our last and very cold night.

Wednesday September 21, 2022

Rain was in our lives for most of the day. At 5:00 AM the skies were cloud covered and the wind howling. We only had a couple of squalls during the night, and now the wind blew high above us, trees and branches only moving in spurts. It was enough to make me roll over and sleep until 7:00 when Terry woke. It was raining lightly, but even those few drops let me linger longer with Terry.

At 7:30 I exited. Coffee and cereal were essential. I poured my cereal from its one portion plastic sandwich bag to my collapsible cup. No need for milk just water to dissolve the powdered milk. When you’re camping, powdered milk is great. And at home, it froths really well for cappuccino.

I felt like time was unlimited. But the storm came and back we were in the tent. I played some crypto games until there was a break in the weather. And we headed for the canoe. I, again, paddled while Terry trolled. In every direction the lake had heavy chop and whitecaps. We were in the lee of the storm protected by our little cove, but every now and then wind and waves would find us, making maneuvering the boat hard. And just as I was struggling not to run into a rock, Terry caught a 4 lb northern which gave quite a fight to remove the lure. You’d be surprised how your strength can increase to help your husband who has been deprived of his passion for fishing because he married a vegetarian, me. I guess watching Alone has hardened me to the sight of guts and animal torture. It’s fun to watch Terry’s boyish glee.

The precarious weather continued, so we hunkered down. We hadn’t seen anyone else, not even a motorboat. Back at camp for the rest of the day, we gathered firewood, and picked up fire starters: birchbark and pitch. By the time Terry came up from casting, the fire was going. He searched for some logs and headed back for more fishing. He came up to tell me he had caught a smallie and he was going to cook on a stick over the fire. With no salt and pepper, no pan, no aluminum paper, he doubted the delectability of this meal. But he found it tasty. We also had Mac and Cheese and a little Fireball to warm us for a cool night.

Tomorrow we would need to move regardless of the weather. Buck up Buttercup!

Tuesday September 20, 2022

I was hoping to stay at Slim Lake for three days and nights. We were the only people on Slim, Section Pond, North and South Lakes. The lakes are small and quiet. But Terry wanted to head back down to Loon Lake, a much bigger Lake putting us in more open water. It meant motorboats, stronger winds and waves. But he had done what he wanted at Slim Lake and now he wanted more action.

We compacted our gear. Gratefully this facilitated one less back and forth journey over portage 178 to Little Loon Lake.

Back into the East Bay of Loon lake, Terry began looking for the campsite he had hoped for since seeing it two days earlier. We found it still occupied by the same people as before. We recognized the boats on shore.

The winds were picking up as we crossed the chop to find another camp. We saw two canoes lashed together with two men in each trolling. Terry asked if they were the inhabitants of the primo campsite. They admitted to returning every year to that same place just for fishing. They didn’t look particularly robust, so they probably didn’t arrive under their own power. They invited us to visit them, so hopefully we’ll visit and fish for more information.

It was starting to spit rain. Finding a campsite had some urgency.

As I said earlier, with no signs or directions, finding a site by looking at the triangle on the map is pure luck. And unlike other areas of the boundary waters, they have fewer beaches for landing. Beaches are easy to spot. Here it’s mostly rocks, and they all stack up the same. Most sites are on a flat rock of various heights. What identities a campsite is a circle of rocks with a grate. We usually need to make one pass by in the canoe before we spot the grate.

This site had little room to land on. “To land on” is truthfully a euphemism for “smash into and wedge between rocks”. While wedged, you try to get onto one of the rocks without leaving your other leg behind and ripping your body in half. Once again, we prevailed. After moving in, we paddled out to deeper waters as because now Terry wants a lunker. No luck tonight.

Night comes early as we race toward the equinox. We haven’t viewed any stars in the night skies yet. Still hoping for a cloudless night.

Day 3

Monday September 19, 2022

I woke up in the dampness of the evening rain. Just enough to make you feel like you’re in a rain forest and to keep dry eyes at bay. Perfect for me. But this rain forest is cool. Jacket weather. This lonely place, lonely in the lovely sense, is devoid of numbers. No weather station or thermometer. No miles to travel, just lakes to connect. Should we count the rings on a downed tree? Why? This ancient forest is as old as my eyes. No numbers needed.

Terry asks, “What day is it?” I want to know, “Will we run out of coffee?” This is pragmatism. We should let it go.

Today we leave everything except a PB&J behind and head for North and South Lakes. We paddle north to our first portage 63 connecting us to Section Pond. So easy sans gear. I feel I need to know the difference between a pond and a lake but I can’t find that out, and why would I? I’m living the pond and the lake.

The paddle starts as a narrow channel of knocked down reeds in the middle of a pond of reeds. So this is pond. But it opens into what looks like a small lake. So this is a pond too. We’re looking for the next portage 73. This will allow us to reach North and South Lakes both because they’re connected. In this vast wilderness there are no signs anywhere. You know the approximate location of lakes, campsites and portages by reading a map.

We’ve become quite good at finding portages. “Oh look, I think it could be there. There’s something that looks like a possible landing area with a bit of opening in the trees.”

So there we were on the other side of the portage in between North and South Lakes. We head north hoping to find a passage to Snow Bay or Lac La Croix, which is divided down the middle between Canada and the US.

We had to follow the parted waters in a field of water lilies some of them still holding blooms. A ways up we found the passage blocked by a beaver dam and decided to turn back. We headed down to South Lake which could have been a copy of North Lake but it ended in a stone wall with a loon in the water diving and making it’s occasional call.

We reversed our travel to head home before any rain fell. Our evening offered fishing, meditation, and campfire glow. Shortly after we started the fire, we needed to douse it as the daily rain finally made it to us.

SEPTEMBER 18, 2022

Woke to a wet tent, but no rain. We wouldn’t be able to dry our gear before leaving. But we stalled waiting to see if we might be stuck in a downpour. I got up about sunrise at 7:00. Terry got up for awhile and set 10:00 as our exit time. I got my gear ready. A motor boat came our way, and after trolling for ten minutes puttered off. I called to Terry. “Get up. No rain. It’s 9:30.” Off we We’re at 10:30.

The winds were shifting, and we had a fair chop. We left the waves behind as we headed into the narrows of East Loon Bay. Terry spotted a campsite he hoped we could camp in on the way back. Soon we were in Little Loon Lake leaving the motor boats and all people behind.

We entered Heritage Creek Portage 178. Our gear was so unwieldy and painful. It was two trips for me and three for Terry because I can’t carry his pack, the barrel nor the canoe. It’s a long way to suffer. He says it’s ok for him.

We were planing on going to North Lake to camp, but we decided we didn’t want to carry this gear over any more portages other than the ones on our trip back. We were in Slim Lake and it suited us fine. We settled into the second campsite at 2:00. High above the lake without another soul.

Terry got several smallies on the shore. I offered to paddle him around. It’s a peaceful venture because I try to go slowly without a sound. It’s only interrupted by a fish. No roads no phones no money no rent. Ain’t got no cigarettes. Easy mind. Terry caught and release several. He’s waiting for a big one which he might cook.

The night held a shower or two and some lightning.