It’s my last day in Mexico and we’re heading back to San Miguel. We passed once again through Tzintzantzun. We drove through the wonderful gauntlet of huge statues, past the town market, and there the carnival we’d seem disembodied on the road day after day. Now it was all set up and ready for children: As Richard was backing up the car, a man stepped out in the street to direct him safely. Richard rolled down his window and gave him a 5 peso coin. “You made his day,” Suzy remarked. Five pesos, apparently was a big tip—the man might have expected half a peso or a peso for his service. “When I first got here,” Suzy said, “I was sometimes annoyed when people would come up to me in the grocery store parking ... [Continue Reading]

I woke up before dawn this morning, quietly dressed, and went out for an early morning walk. The air was bracing and I was glad I’d pulled on my fleece. I headed off, thinking I’d walk as far as I could in a single direction so that I wouldn’t get lost. After a couple of blocks, I crossed the street, looked through an archway, and saw this enticing set of old steps: Soon I was climbing up a steep hill, and with the altitude, I felt winded. At the top of the hill I came to a curving set of steps—also going up. I followed a gaggle of school girls on their way to school and continued to climb: I was on a narrow street moving ... [Continue Reading]

As we wandered around Pátzcuaro this morning, doing a little shopping, we came across this storefront. Apparently, even AA obeys the rules of signage in this colonial town: “Once,” Suzy told me as we walked, “I was in Oaxaca and I came across the national headquarters of ‘Neuroticos Anonimos.’ Now that’s a 12-step program we need in the U.S!” Over breakfast, we learned from Victoria that the beautiful lake we circumvented yesterday is shrinking and is horribly polluted. Sewage goes directly into the water, as does industrial waste. So much for scenic beauty. Mid-morning, we set out for Santa Clara de Cobre, where more than 80% of the town’s population is employed as copper artists. The ... [Continue Reading]

Breakfast at La Casa Encantada was served at a wide wooden communal table with beautiful place settings, hot coffee or tea, freshly cut fruit salad, three choices of eggs cooked to order, beans and toast. It was a pleasure to get to know some of our fellow guests, the food was delicious, and everywhere I looked in the dining room, there was another stunning piece of artwork.  [Continue Reading]

I really wanted to sleep in this morning. I was dreaming of ten hours of sleep and not opening my eyes until 9 AM, but at 5:30 I was wide awake. I guess there’s still a lot of adrenaline coursing through my body from being on performance mode at the conference. It was still completely dark in my room, yet I could tell, that without pharmaceutical support, more sleep was impossible. And it was too late to chip a little piece off the Ativan by my bed. I didn’t want to wake up three hours from now, groggy. I thought about how nice it would be to lay in bed, put on my earphones and listen to my audiobook of The Goldfinch for a couple of hours until breakfast was served. But then I remembered my father and how, whenever we traveled together when I was a child, he’d always get up at ... [Continue Reading]

At the end of last year’s writer’s conference, I spent one night with my friends Richard and Suzy before flying home, and that night we cooked up the idea of going on a little road trip at the end of this year’s conference. It’s demoralizing to work so hard and be so exhausted only to fly home and immediately start working all over again. Although I miss my family and really want to see them, I’m happy I gave myself these days to see another part of the “real” Mexico, to relax, and to have a little vacation before returning home. Richard and Suzy picked me up around noon today and we shoved my huge suitcase (so huge it’s worth making lots of jokes about) into the back of the car and I climbed in beside it. I felt dwarfed in its shadow.. Next thing, we were on the road—it was going to be ... [Continue Reading]

I’m sitting in a big white tent with a floor of green grass, looking out at eight rectangular tables, set in rows, full of 22 of my students. I’m teaching my last class of the conference, on “The Unusual, Quirky Detail.” Right now, they’re in the middle of a writing exercise in which they make lists of specific unusual details before they write a story, and then integrate them into the story. The result is usually writing far more vivid and compelling that what they usually write. While they write, I wanted to take a moment to write my last post to you from the conference. The morning started out freezing—we were all ... [Continue Reading]

Since I was a little girl and my parents took me to the sprawling Collingswood auction and flea market on Sunday afternoons, I’ve always loved outdoor markets. I was particularly fascinated by the auctioneer who spoke so fast I could only understand one if ten words he said. And it was all in English. Ever since then, i always take every opportunity to visit the local markets when I travel. This morning I had the chance to stroll through the Tianguis—the Tuesday market just outside of San Miguel: rows and rows of knock-off Nikes, huge piles of perfectly ripe avocados (where’s my daughter Lizzy when I want to make guacamole?), cactus leaves, electronics, heaps of jumbled clothing, sewing notions, baby clothes, underwear, cut fruit with lemon juice and chili powder on top, ... [Continue Reading]

Some of you may know, from my previous writing, or from being in class with me, that I had an identical twin sister who died when I was a day old. I’ve grieved Vicki all my life and have always had a deep fascination with twins. Last year at the conference in San Miguel, I met a woman who’s almost as good as a twin—playwright, memoirist and screenwriter Amy Ferris. The interesting thing about Amy is that we have all kinds of bizarre things in common (like we both joined a cult when we were teenagers). But the funniest thing is that we look kind of alike—alike enough that people who don’t know us well constantly mistake us for one another. So all last year, when we were at the conference together, people kept coming up to her and with great sincerity, thanking her for writing ... [Continue Reading]