La Luz de Jesus.

 La Luz de Jesus on Melrose in L.A. is one of my favorite art galleries in the world. They feature a wide range of pieces from the fringes of the art world--from naive, demented hillbilly art to cutting-edge tattoo and comic book creations. I don't always like the works, but they're always interesting.

Unfortunately, I just missed a stunning show there that looks like it hits most of my hot buttons: skeletons, religious iconography, and wonderful, unexpected looniness.

I'll let them describe it:

“Heavenly Bodies”

Dr. Paul Koudounaris

In 1578, a labyrinth of underground burials assumed to be the remains of thousands of early Christian martyrs was discovered in Rome. The bones of these “catacomb saints” were then disinterred and sent to Catholic churches and religious houses to replace holy relics destroyed during the Reformation. Reassembled by skilled artisans, encrusted with gold and jewels and richly dressed in fantastic, colorful costumes, the skeletons were displayed in elaborate public shrines as reminders of the spiritual treasures that awaited the faithful after death. For nearly three centuries these ornate “Heavenly Bodies” were venerated as miracle-workers and protectors until doubts about their authenticity surfaced in the modern era. They then became a source of embarrassment for the Church and most were destroyed or hidden away.

 

I am awed and grateful that such things exist.

More awesomeness here.

P.

Goodbye, Mary Robin.

My older sister, Robin Michel died last Friday evening.

Although she had survived throat cancer, she succumbed to Parkinson's disease. She had taken a bad fall a few days before, but seemed to be recovering well. She was moved from the hospital to a rehab center Friday afternoon. Her husband, Glenn, was with her until around 6:00 and she seemed in good spirits. He went home for the evening, but received a call at 8:30 telling him that she was gone. It was shockingly sudden.

Robin was 12 years older than me, so my first memories are of her as a teenager in her last years of high school. She and her girlfriends would take me to the beach, often encouraging me to wickedness like rolling a beach ball onto unsuspecting sunbathers. Yeah, that's how I got this way. Her room was next to mine and I can remember lots of laughing and loud pop music when her friends would come over.

My sweet sister in her early 20s.

Then she went away to nursing school and soon after married Glenn and moved to San Diego. Glenn was in advertising and they, to me, were the quintessential sophisticated late 1950s-early 1960s couple. Glenn had an MG and then an Austin Healey. They drank Martinis, played Miles on their hi-fi, and had lots of Danish modern furniture. Their life was what I wanted and expected my life to be.

They had kids, moved to Del Mar, about a half block from the ocean. We visited them often, and I have many fond memories of playing with my nephew and nieces on the beach.

Even as I grew up and moved away from home, we always got together for Thanksgiving and Christmas at least. It wasn't until I moved to northern California that that tradition ended for me and the times when we saw each other grew fewer.

I can't believe I'll never see her again.

My love and condolences to Glenn, Mark, Kristin, Teresa, and Jennifer. I'll see you in December.

P.

Eating Like A Roman.

Of all the major cities we've been to, Rome seems to be the most resistant to haute cuisine. Before we left the states, we made reservations at what our research told us were some of the best restaurants in Rome. And, yes, that did include a three Michelin star restaurant with a dazzling panoramic view of the city.

But that has not been the best meal so far.

Don't get me wrong. the setting and the service were spectacular, the food was terrific, with many imaginative and delicious touches. But most of the other restaurants on our list are neighborhood trattorias. And the food they offer is down home and to die for. And we've had the best food in them, at half the price or less.

Romans like Roman food. Sure, you can find Thai restaurants and sushi bars, but they are few and far between. Almost all the restaurants serve the same few Roman dishes, and they do them very well.

We have enjoyed pasta dishes like cacio e pepe (homemade spaghetti with pecorino cheese and black pepper), (it sounds simple, but it is incredibly delicious),  spaghetti all'amatriciana - a classic Roman staple - with guanciale (cured pork jowl), carbonara with pancetta and egg, gricia (pasta with pork jowl, pecorino cheese and black pepper), and, of course, simple thin-crust pizzas.

Romans are especially fond of what they call the "fifth quarter," of their meat animals--which means offal-- trippa alla romana (strips of beef tripe cooked with tomato and mint), coda alla vaccinara (braised oxtails in a rich tomato sauce), brains (as one menu put it "lamb cerebellum"), or animelle (sweetbreads) prepared a a variety of delicious ways.

There are a few regional and specialty restaurants. Today we had lunch in the Ghetto district, where there are several spots dedicated to kosher Roman cooking. This might seem an almost impossible task, since Roman cooking relies heavily on pork and bacon, as well as taboo combinations of meat and dairy, but it was quite good. Eggplant and artichokes replace meat in many of the cheesy dishes.

Tonight, we visited an Umbrian restaurant, the Golden Ass, that features a lot of game dishes.

Baffo alla salvia, pancetta fried with sage and just a hint of vinegar that oddly both cuts and enhances the richness of the bacon. Simple, but delicious.

And cinghiale al cioccolato, (boar stewed with chocolate and vinegar), very close to a mole sauce, but with a hint of orange rather than chile and cinnamon. Deep, intense flavor.

Tomorrow we visit a Sicilian restaurant that specializes in fish and on Saturday, a Sardinian place, so there are culinary adventures still to come.

P.

Why We Love Rome--Day Of The Pig.

If you love carnitas, you'll love porchetta. That's slow-roasted pork stuffed with rosemary and garlic. It's an Italian specialty, and Romans are especially proud of their version. As a true believer in all things porcine, I sought out the best porchetta Rome had to offer.

This little hole-in-the-wall serves nothing but porchetta and beer. They've been doing it since 1890, so you know they have it down.

You can have a porchetta panini or a plate of sliced porchetta. Those are your only choices, because they don't serve anything else. The sandwich features a crusty roll and three slices of porchetta, including a slice of the crispy, golden brown skin, and nothing else. No mayo, no lettuce, no mustard, just the juicy, incredibly flavorful meat.

If that sounds good to you, you are worthy of the pig. If not, you should probably order a salad.

Of course, you'll have to go elsewhere to do so.

P.

Why We Hate Rome.

Because we just missed Shaggy by ONE DAY!

P.

Sharper Than A Serpent's Tooth.

Luciya was confused.

She has always called Ophelia "Grams." but now she has a friend named Graham, and she has difficulty telling the two names apart in conversation.

After a particularly long and frustrating (to her) piece of conversational misunderstanding, she had an epiphany.

"From now on," she announced, "we can call Grams "Old Lady. Then I can call Graham, Graham."

Some of us found this funnier than others.

P.

Cozumel Dive Trip, The Last Day: Flamingos, Crocodiles, And Iguanas.

All good things must end, and our dive trip was certainly drawing rapidly to a close. The diving part was over, and we had one day to let whatever compressed nitrogen bubbles might be left in our blood dissipate before flying. Wouldn't want those bubbles expanding in the lower pressure of the aircraft cabin. It's a good way to get the bends on your way home.

So we had a free day on our hands, and since our hotel had no pool bar to belly up to, and the town was filled with happy, chubby families from the Disney cruise ship Fantasy, we decided to once again rent a car and drive south.

Cozumel is 30 miles long and 10 miles wide. There are only two paved roads, one leading south around the island to a point directly east of San Miguel, and the other running from that point straight across the island back to town. The whole loop takes about an hour and a half to drive.

At the island's southern tip is a park called Punta Sur. It was $12 per person to get in, so we;d given it a pass on our first trio south, but Matthew had heard there was good snorkeling there, so we made that our destination.

It was important to cram as many visits to Sabores into our remaining time as possible. 

So we started our day with breakfast there. I didn't get any picture of that event, so here's

 a shot of one of our more memorable meals. In the foreground: Milanesa de res, a savory

 Italian-by-way-of-Mexico version of chicken-fried steak. So much better with guacamole
 and refried black beans than that gloppy, bland country gravy. We all agreed it was

one of the best things on a remarkably delicious menu.

Punta Sur is a large wildlife refuge/historical site/beach park. We started at the beach, where Matthew snorkeled on the clear, turquoise waters while John and I sat in the shade drinking overpriced pina coladas.

Then we visited the saltwater lagoon, one of the few places in the Caribbean where 

saltwater crocodiles still live. This one was cooling off by leaving his mouth open. On one 

of the far spits of sand, we saw a small flock of flamingos. I tried taking a picture, 

but all it showed was a distant smear of pink.

These are relatively small specimens. The average adult is about 15 feet and can swim

 up to 20 mph in short bursts. Some have been known to grow to over 20 feet long. 

Something like that could seriously ruin your dive.

Traces of the Mayan culture are sparse and unimpressive on Cozumel. This is thought to be 

the remains of a lookout tower dating from around 1200 CE.

The tower may be in ruins, but the watch continues under new management.

After spending most of the afternoon at Punta Sur, we returned to Sabores for a couple last rounds of pina coladas, then stumbled back to our rooms for a nap. Around 8:00 we roused ourselves for a last dinner, a last pina colada, and a last stroll in the soft, warm darkness past all the barkers trying to get us into their shops for cigars, drinks, diamonds, or souvenirs.

The next morning, John and I said goodbye to Matthew, who was flying out of Cozumel, 

and took a taxi to the ferry. It was the beginning of another gorgeous day in paradise,
but we wouldn't be there to enjoy the rest of it.

I'm so grateful that we were all able to get together and taker this trip. I had a great time, and feel even closer than ever to my two sons.

The trip also reminded me how much I love diving and island living and Cozumel specifically.

So long Cozumel, and thanks for all the lionfish.

P.

Cozumel Dive Trip, Days 3, 4, & 5: Dive, Eat, Sleep.

Saturday morning. Sunday morning. Monday morning. On a slow boat to Palancar reef. Palancar Caves, Palancar Gardens, Santa Rosa Wall, San Francisco Wall, San Clemente reef. One our first day, the visibility was better than 150 feet, incredible clear. The subsequent days weren't quite as spectacular, and we had to settle for a mere 100+ feet of viz.

Saturday night I did a night dive. Matthew came along for the ride, but didn't dive. Paradise reef is just 20 minutes by slow boat, and at only 35 feet, it's ideal for a night dive. At night, critters you rarely see during the day emerge in great profusion: octopuses, fluorescent squid, glow-eyed shrimp, lobsters, crabs, and rays. I love watching the octopus caught in the beam of a flashlight, frantically changing color to escape detection, flaring out to make itself seem as big as possible, freezing in the shape of a coral head, then flowing into an impossibly small crack in the coral, invisible except for one baleful, glowing eye.

John slept.

In fact, this became pattern. Get up and stumble to the dock, do two dives, return to town around 2, eat lunch, then nap until around 8. After a light dinner, back to bed until morning. Diving doesn't seem like a lot of effort, but it takes its toll. Matthew had the energy to go snorkeling most afternoons, but John and I slept. I've rarely come back from a vacation so rested.

Watching the iridescent flying fish scatter before our bow wave.

John floats by a large porcupinefish. Pictures never do justice to the colors of the underwater 

world. The corals close up come in just about every color: brilliant oranges, yellows, greens,

 purples, blues, and my favorite, a deep, intense red.

Matthew takes in San Clemente reef. The sandy tops of these shallower reefs

 aren't as colorful as the wall dives, but they teem with fish.

I encounter a Queen Angelfish.

 John goes back to school.

 Another day, another turtle.

 Lionfish are spectacular creatures, but they're an invasive species in the Caribbean. 

Since being introduced from the Indo-Pacific in the mid-1990s, they have decimated 

native reef fish populations and thrived in the absence of predators.

That's were we came in. We found a bar that served lionfish and decided it was time

 for some payback.

 Once shorn of their extremely venomous spines, we found that they were delicious in
many ways: pan-fried, in a tangy mojo de ajo sauce, or in ceviche.

 Payback's a bitch, bitches!

 After lunch, we perused the island graffiti.

 Then back to the spartan slumber chamber. No TV, no phone, but plenty of wi-fi 

and A/C and a big, comfortable mattress.

And every day, a different towel sculpture. Sweet dreams!

P.

Cozumel Dive Trip, Day 2 ctd: Down, Down, Down.

By the time dawn broke the next day, the wind had died, the seas had calmed and John and Matthew had learned a valuable lesson about conmingling Cohibas and Coco Locos. (Okay, they were margaritas, but there's no alliteration there.)

The dive boat, which was supposed to leave at 8:15, left at 8:45, because Mexico.

No wind, no waves, not a whitecap in sight!

Next stop: Palancar Bricks at 80 feet.

 John hovering over the deep blue. Cozumel has spectacular reefs between 35 and 100 feet,
 then the bottom drops out, all the way down to 3,200 feet. Swimming to the edge and
looking into the abyss is always a humbling experience.

 Matthew, happy to be alive.

 Twiddling my thumbs as the world floats by. A strong current runs north along the west coast,

 making every dive a drift dive. Very little swimming to do, you just float through the

 constantly-changing wonder.

The reefs around the island have been protected environments for a very long time,

so the coral is incredibly profuse and healthy and the marine life is abundant. We saw turtles,
a couple of free-swimming, five-foot moray eels, barracudas, huge lobsters and crabs,
as well as all manner of dazzlingly-colored reef fish. Just before we came up from the
second dive of the morning, a five-foot nurse shark swan right past us.

Normally, the two morning dives are over in time for lunch. Aqua Safari, however, has a very slow boat, so it took us about an hour and a half just to get to the first dive site, while watching other boats crammed with divers zipping past us. Every day, between 1,500 and 2,000 divers descend on the reefs around Cozumel, so there's a lot of boat traffic. The reefs are so expansive, though, it never feels crowded. 

We finally got back to port at 2:45, starved for lunch. Donna at Aqua Safari recommended a little place close by called Sabores.

It turned out to be someone's house with a beautifully funky backyard. Everything is cooked
 fresh with mostly local ingredients, including coconuts from the garden!

Look at that deliciousness! First round of margs already consumed.

Happy to be alive.

Cozumel went from a Mayan-era population of around 40,000 to under 100 after an epidemic of smallpox. For a while it was a notorious pirate hangout. now it's a tourist mecca, mostly for divers, but also for cruise ships. San Miguel now has piers for as many a six giant cruise ships, and much of the town is geared to cater to the passengers: tourist bars and restaurants, Cartier, silver and souvenir shops, and, of course, Cuban cigar stores. Behind and around the tourist strip, however, there's a charming, sleepy, shabby/funky (in a good way) Caribbean beach town geared more to locals, with cheap and delicious food. Sabores is one of the best, and we returned there many times over the course of the next few days. Especially when we found that the made the island's best pina coladas. From scratch.

P.

Cozumel Dive Trip, Day 2: My Son The Commie.

I don't know how it happened, though I suspect malign influences in this RED state, but John has developed suspiciously socialistic behavior patterns lately.

I'd like to deny it, but there's photographic proof.

P.

Cozumel Dive Trip, Day 1: Too Windy, No Diving.

Last year, John, Matthew, and I decided to take a dive trip sometime this winter to somewhere warm and sunny. We chose Cozumel, an island of the Caribbean coast of Mexico, one of the best-rated dive destinations in the world. We were very excited to get into the water, and we were very excited to spend some males-only time together. Matthew and I had been to Cozumel before (separately), In fact this would be my fourth trip, but John had never been.

 Our first sight of azure tropical waters only heightened the excitement as we flew into Cancun, just across a narrow strait from Cozumel. The first sign of trouble was the ferry trip to the island from Playa del Carmen. The seas were running high, pushed by high northwest winds, a weather pattern that is fairly rare; the prevailing winds are usually from the east, making the waters off the island's west coast a tranquil oasis for divers.

Not today. As the ferry rolled and wallowed through 6 to 8 foot swells toward the port of San Miguel, the only town on Cozumel, we began to suspect that our prospects for happy diving were slim.

The next morning at 7:30, we checked with the dive shop and found our prospects even further diminished: the harbor was closed indefinitely. They asked us to come back at 11:00 just in case. The winds were strong, and we were skeptical, but we went for breakfast and discussed Plan B.

At 11:00, the winds were still high, so we put Plan B in effect. We rented a car and drove south to find a snorkelable beach.

We found one, along with lunch and too-sweet pina coladas at Playa Palancar. The beach was protected from the wind, and the water was warm and inviting. The visibility was outstanding and the sea full of colorful fish. It was wonderful to finally get in the water.

When we rented the car, the guy at the rental counter had pointed us to a bar on the east side
 of the island "where American girls flash you."
And here it was! Coconuts!

Alas, no flashing while we were there, but there were a few faded reminders of flashes past.

There were however large and powerful margaritas.

As well as large and powerful parrots.

As night approached, we returned the car and found ourselves a swingers' bar.

This unfortunately ushered in a night of bar crawling that was regretted
 in the morning by many (I was the lone, virtuous exception).

As I crawled into bed, the wind continued to howl unabated, and I could only wonder what the next day would bring.

P.