The River Speaks
By Armando Ortiz
The river
speaks a language
reflecting on its day
the river
moves gently
while aspens wave
a bird dives down
and disappears into
the growing shade.
The river
talks with the moon
late into the evening
the river’s
story empties
into a liquid garden
unending flow
time unknown
its sounds widen.
Redwood National and State Parks
By Armando Ortiz
Visiting the Redwoods in Northern California is a trip that everyone should have as a goal. This place is one of the most unique places in the world, where you get to walk through redwood forests and see wildlife by the road’s edge. To get here from Southern California you will take Interstate 5 and head north, and you will drive through the Transverse Ranges of Southern California which lead you to the bountiful and long San Juaquin valley. The drive through gentle hills and windy passes of the valley is long, all mixed with the smells of domesticated animals and their byproducts, produce being processed, and petrol being pumped from the ground. As you reach Los Banos you will be faced with various directional options that take you north.
At Los Banos you could take the 152 to the U.S. Highway 101 where you will pass Gilroy, the garlic capital of the U.S. You drive a few minutes north and take the 130 which connects to San Jose. If you join the 101 at Gilroy you will drive through different cities like San Jose, and San Francisco, and will have the pleasure of seeing how the landscape slowly changes as you go from urban landscapes to suburbia and into clear open spaces that merge into the forests.
Once you drive past Santa Rose you will begin your climb up the rolling mountains with oak trees lining the highway. The weather here will be hot if you come during the summer. It will be like being in Southern California in the hottest months of the year. Once you get into the Leggett you will begin to spot solitary redwoods and begin to notice a slight change in the weather although it might still be warm. Continue to drive north, observe the differences between this area and the northernmost areas of the Redwood forest, and appreciate how resilient and adaptable these trees are.
Another option is taking the 580 or simply staying on the I-5. If you choose to stay on the interstate highway the drive will be direct, a bit faster, but the landscape will simply be an extension of what you’ve already seen driving through the Southern part of the valley. Once you reach Red Bluff, CA the landscape will begin to change. To your left and right sides of the road you will see oak trees begging to show up and you will have the choice of getting on California State Route 36 and heading west. This road connects to the 101 at Fortuna, CA. You may continue on to Redding. Once you get to Redding the trees that you see will be pine. At this town you can take the California State Route 299 west which also connects to the 101 at Arcata,CA. Once here you decide what places you want to explore and visit, which can probably take a lifetime to do.
The drive to this park from Los Angeles is long and at times boring, but believe me, the trip will be well worth your time. The trees look like pillars to cathedrals, and camping by the creeks that flow through some camps will make you feel like a millionaire. Being shaded by the redwoods and sycamores is also pretty awesome. Just pack your stuff and go there, just go there and experience what was once so common along the north coast of California a few generations ago.
Once you’ve passed Mendocino county you can explore the towns of Arcata and Crescent City with the other smaller towns that pepper the areas between these two towns. The main draw to this region are the State and National Parks, so go ready to spend time outdoors. If you have the time, consider going further north on the 101 and into Oregon. There is a trail up there called the Oregon Redwoods Trail which is not so far away and worth a trip.
El Dorado: Sketches of Los Angeles
By Armando Ortiz
They rushed towards the park knowing very well that there would be kids with their parents everywhere. They unloaded their carts from the pickup truck, and as soon as fat rubber tires touched the ground they began pushing towards the direction where Pan Pacific Park was located, as if all roads lead to that place. For these paleteros all sidewalks led to the park, it was their Rome, their source of income, where the circus was, and the money flowed into their pockets, while their popsicles left their carts at equal pace.
They all pushed their carts at an ever increasing speed. Some hadn’t walked a full block from where they had started and tiny little sweat droplets were beginning to form on their forehead, perfect popsicle weather. Equivel couldn’t pick up their pace because he’d been assigned the cart that had other items besides popsicles, like automated bubble makers, bags of potato chips, water guns and sand box toys. His, and others’ ill fated attempts at pushing the cart faster only made their mobile store shake and rattle, while the wheels began to feebly turn unevenly. The others, though, were able to make a beeline to the park, because their wheels were like those of a small all-terrain vehicle. The weight of the cart and aggressive tire pattern were perfect for sidewalks and green parks.
Raul and Diburcio were the ones ahead of everyone else, which meant that they’d be the first ones inside the park and would get to hustle the prime areas where the real money was made. Nevertheless, there was one area that was deemed “El Dorado.” El Dorado means the gold nugget, but it could also mean the fried one, and with this weather they’d be cooking themselves by the time noon hit. This tiny little spot was called that because of the amount of kids that gravitated to the playground and the total number of adults that kept their eagle eyes on them.
There one could find single moms taking their sons and daughters to the park, nannies that had recently arrived to the US, and came from countries like Mongolia, Mexico, Cambodia and El Salvador. There were the old grandmothers strolling around with their kid’s kids, and the dads that didn’t have anything else to do but take their children to the park to run around and let the sun exhaust all the energy from their child’s bodies.
This wasn’t the only thing that made this particular spot into prime paletero real estate, no there was more, beside the playground there was a baseball field that had people playing baseball, practicing Frisbee and kicking soccer balls. People were always there and they always seemed to be tired and sweaty, which made a nice cold popsicle an alluring and refreshing snack.
All five paleteros had to make it to the park and get to their tiered spots. Esquivel, pushing the cart with all the other goodies couldn’t help but reflect on the day he’d have, walking around the park and honking his horn, all while the blazing sun was out. He took a deep breath and accepted that the heat would be tough, but with the rays it was a good chance he too would sell out. Diburcio and Raul were half a block away from the park and at points their short bodies seemed to stretch beyond the limits and make their legs give leap-like steps. They were young and their early years of working alongside their parents on the maize fields had built them up a bit.
As they came to the last stretch before entering the park both had to turn their carts on the corner. Diburcio had taken the lead and had managed to cross the intersection, while Raul instead of waiting for the green light to turn on decided to make a left on his side of the street and push the cart with more leverage in order to catch up and surpass Diburcio. They were like deer running towards an unknown destination, two tugboats pushing their goods to port where all the people would soon swamp them like flies and take all the popsicles away. They both wanted to reach the spot and claim it as their own. Of course, to think that today was the only time that this happened was to think that in Los Angeles the sun came out once a month. No, this was a daily occurance, and a daily challenge, but they all took it with good stride, because all the paleteros knew each other.
Parks in the Los Angeles area is where the popsicle market was always, always hot. It only rains about a month out of the year and the rest of the time it is nice and sunny. Even in the middle of winter, their customer base would change and you’d have people from the Midwest or East Asia proudly buy popsicles and state that the cold of L.A. was child’s play compared to their lands of origin. To the paleteros money making was their aim they’d all come from the same small town somewhere in Mexico or Central America and they gladly sold to anyone.
Raul and Diburcio were cousins, but both were very competitive when it came to sports and meeting women, but when it came to making a day’s wages they were cut throat with each other. Raul had finally caught up with Diburcio, but he was still across the street. They were pushing their carts at a similar pace, they were neck to neck, the scene was beginning to resemble a horse race, but in this race the photo finish would not tell who the winner was, no, who ever managed to roll his cart down the hill and onto the playground would win, and competition amongst human beings, like horse races, sometimes included cheating or chance circumstances.
Raul knew he had to cross the street and start heading to the park soon, so he knew that despite his precarious lead he would have to push the cart much harder and much faster than he already was doing. Diburcio on the other hand seemed to relish the challenge, and let Raul pass him, and began to slowly let Raul get ahead of him. Hopefully he’d get exhausted pushing the cart by the time he got to the park, or he’d trip over the protruding root of a tree.
The entrance to the park was next to the public library. The library was also a decent spot to have a popsicle cart, but it wasn’t as exciting. Most people that walked into the building stayed there longer than expected. They all guessed it was because of the air conditioner that kept the library at a cool 68 degrees in the middle of summer. Both their goals were to be the first to reach “El Dorado,” and to spend a few hours there and sell everything inside the cart and then go catch a soccer game at the other side of the park where there was a barren soccer field. The field had a rotating order of use, children’s teams practicing, grown up leagues from the community, and recently arrived folk from down south that played against each other.
Raul got far ahead of Diburcio, managing to cross the street, and go through the entrance and straight to “El Dorado.” But before doing that he needed to go down hill while keeping his 75 pound cart steady. He pushed the cart across the parking lot and kept adding speed to his pace, finally reaching the giant oak tree that was the marker where the down hill began. They both paused for a moment to adjust their baseball caps, Diburcio’s was blue with the logo of Barcelona’s yellow, gold and red embroidered on while Raul’s was off white and had MFC stamped on for Real Madrid.
He couldn’t help laughing and looking back as he reached the oak tree, he saw Diburcio sweaty, pushing his own cart, and with a smirk on his face. He began his descent to the playground. Pushing now became holding and keeping steady the cart. He soon realized that keeping the cart steady was difficult, but he thought he’d manage, and besides he had all the momentum on his shoulders, the Virgin Mary was on his side. Today would be the day he’d get to relax two hours before the truck came bye and whisked them away to their homes.
The cart kept going faster, and his legs began to leap, and at times he felt that he’d missed a step and was being led by the cart itself. He was reaching the base of the playground and there was only a few more meters of descent before claiming his territory. He’d been so busy looking at the spot where he was going to be posted that he failed to see that the cart was heading towards an empty water bottle. When he finally refocused his eyes to what was in front of him, he immediately feared that the bottle was unopened. He tried to move the cart a bit towards the left by pushing the right side, but then he remembered that that was a bad idea, and instead he was supposed to slightly pull the left side of the handless and let the cart move to the left, but it was too late, in his attempt to avoid the bottle he forced the cart to uncontrollably shake, like a car misfiring on its last mile, and the next thing that happened was all but too comedic.
The cart began to shake, and after the front wheel hit the bottle it flipped over and rolled a few times, popsicles of all the flavors that children and adult alike enjoy, flew everywhere, like kids splashing into the water, everything flew like candies flying out of a pinata after the biggest kid in line strikes it right in the center. There were strawberry, walnut, rice pudding popsicles, choco pies, push-ups, water based popsicles, and all the dry ice flying everywhere. Raul tripped, landing on the grass and rolled down the hill a bit before stopping and managed to get a look at what was happening. The cart kept flipping, spreading its goodies everywhere.
People that were busy doing their own thing immediately turned to see what was happening. The bells of the cart, along with the cart itself made a thumping and brass jingling sound as it kept rolling towards the bottom of the hill. The kids immediately thought about running towards the popsicles lying on the grass, but were held back by their parents. Those that were walking or laying on the grass sunbathing kept staring at what was happening. In a matter of seconds the popsicle cart rolling down the hill caught everyone's attention, all eyes were on the cart that had finally made it to “El Dorado.”
All the Pretty Horses: Book Review
By Armando Ortiz
I’ve watched many “Western” or “Cowboy” films that I forget that at some point, that way of life was quickly ushered out of existence about a century ago. The novel All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy takes place in the mid-20th century, where cars are beginning to replace the old and traditional way of transportation- walking or riding horses. This essay will discuss the impact of technological change on traditional ways of life and explore the consequences of holding onto familiarity. McCarthy’s novel exemplifies this theme of adapting to change and clinging to the familiar.
Seeing that being a cowboy in Texas and the rest of the American Southwest is nearing its end, John Grady, and his friend Lacey Rawlins decide to head south of the border and find work there as cowboys and horse trainers. On their way south into Mexico they find a wandering kid, Jimmy Blevins, who claims to be from Oklahoma. Rawlins doesn’t like him much and despite the fact that they leave him behind, Blevins attaches himself to them and soon becomes a temporary member of the group. Jimmy looks and acts suspicious and at some point during a storm loses his horse. He convinces them to help him find his horse and gun, and in the process, more trouble arises, causing Belvins to separate from them.
After crossing through Coahuila and seeing some amazing views of the Cuatro Cienegas Basin John and Lacey finally find employment at a ranch. They seem to thrive since they are skilled at their work and easily communicate with the locals. In Mexico, they both fit in well, because cattle ranching and horse training is still part of their economy. Although they speak Spanish, they remain outsiders who can’t be trusted. John ends up meeting a young woman at work who turns out to be the daughter of the ranch owner, leading to some friction and trouble.
To their dismay, Blevins reappears but meets an unfortunate demise. One gets the impression that his life was mostly trouble, and might have very well been what we call today a throw away kid. Like many songs of bandits and criminals escaping law enforcement, Blevins seems to have sought refuge in Mexico. Being a foreigner in Mexico he naturally attaches himself to the main characters who are also from the U.S. Because of their association with Blevins, and Grady’s relationship with the ranch owner’s daughter, Grady and Rawlins end up in jail where they fend for themselves and fight for survival. Along the way they make some friends there, but have to engage in more gladiator combat. The novel reaches its climax with a prison fight, offering an inside ring view of the brutal bloodsport that tests the character’s resilience and survival instincts.
The underlying driving force of the story is trying to find one's way in a changing world and using the skills at one’s disposal to make a living while doing something that one enjoys. Despite Grady being from the U.S. his status among the other ranch employees is not much different. He is just a poor and broken cowboy. To make matters worse, he’s crossed some social boundaries which come to alter his life trajectory, along with his former female friend. Eventually Grady and Rawlins make it back home, somewhat recovered from their injuries.
Once back in Texas, Grady takes it upon himself to find Belvins’ parents. The novel leaves us reflecting on the choices we make and their consequences. Sometimes one’s life trajectory is hard to see and we either adapt to the new world or the new world forces a change on us. The only thing we can go by is doing what we do best- following our heart, but beware, because life is not a dream.
Fortuna
By Armando Ortiz
Accariciando el cielo
con pluma y pintura,
me tienes pensando
en esta fortuna
Andando juntos
mirando estas vistas
pasando paisajes
con una sonrisa.
Caminamos sobre olas
el tiempo se espuma,
este momento es
mas que fortuna.
Behold him
who's engaged the world and
with folly has become wise.
Trying to follow
the word faithfully and falling
came to understand.
Through error and stumble
arising again experienced
with discerning eyes.
Behold Parzival,
who won every fight,
the fool turned red knight.
The Spirit of Science Fiction: Book Review
By Armando Ortiz
The novel The Spirit of Science Fiction by Roberto Bolano starts off with a dreamlike quality, drawing readers into a world where the characters and scenes feel remarkably real. At first glance, the characters appear as artistic and youthful individuals, much like the poets and artists today. However, as the story unfolds, the layers are peeled away, revealing deeper insights into their lives and circumstances. The setting in which most of these young writers reside is slowly unveiled, akin to the discovery of an ancient tomb, with its contents yet to be fully revealed.
Bolano portrays the artists as predominantly low-class individuals, living in poverty and existing on the margins of Mexico’s capital.While they enjoy the freedom to be who they are, this freedom comes with its own set of consequences. Art becomes an impulse that drives each of these young poets, and their poetic journey intertwines with their experience of poverty, creating a communal bond among them. Despite the squalid situations some of them endure, Bolano brings Mexico City to life through his unique descriptions. Whether riding a motorcycle through the streets or standing outside a mechanic’s shop, the imagery transports readers to the heart of the city. From cafes to public bathhouses, Bolano captures the city’s essence, highlighting the spartan lives of the artists in their rooftop homes, a striking contrast to the opulence found in the upper echelons of modern-day Los Angeles.
Water emerges as a recurring theme throughout the novel, weaving its way into the narrative. At times, a reader might begin to vacillate between Egyptian and Aztec mythology. Tlaloc, the god responsible for rain, seems to be there in essence, along with the reminder that the city was built on top of a lake. Rain in Mexico DF, communal latrines lacking water, and the elusive luxury of hot water all contribute to this thematic exploration. Bolano’s treatment of water, akin to Federico Lorca’s poems that delve into rivers and its creatures, adds depth to the novel. While Lorca’s lines pay homage to rivers and oceans, Bolano breathes life into Mexico City, with its people becoming akin to a school of fish swimming through its streets.
At its core, The Spirit of Science Fiction narrates the story of poets and artists who, despite living among the masses of the city, find themselves in unique but mundane situation Their suffering, an emblematic trait of true artists, lacks the conventional glory that comes with publication and fame, but that isn’t their driving force. These are anti-poets, living a poet's life in a place that has seemingly forgotten them. Yet, they give the city its pulse and contribute to the diverse realities that poets worldwide bring to their homelands.
Blood Meridian: Book Review and Reflection on Today’s World
By Armando Ortiz
I began reading Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian back in the summer of 2019. At that time, a man went on a shooting rampage, killing his father, brother and a random bus rider. As I neared the end of the book, public shooting also took place in El Paso, Texas. There a man entered a Walmart in El Paso, and killed twenty three people. Having witnessed real-world acts of violence, the reflection on Blood Meridian’s themes became all the more necessary. The novel’s portrayal of violence presents an opportunity to explore the deeper roots of such brutality in human nature.
This essay will explore how violence plays out today in our society and is mirrored in McCarthy’s novel, exemplified by the brutal actions of the outlaw characters and senseless acts of violence. By drawing parallels between the novel’s world and real-life incidents like the shooting rampage we hear about so frequently, it explores how McCarthy’s narrative not only mirrors the violence prevalent in society but also raises questions about the lack of sacredness in human lives.Similarly, the novel’s world of outlaws relishing opportunities for brutality exhibits a similar lack of restrain and sacredness, mirroring the violence prevalent in today’s society.
During that time, I also found myself getting a haircut and shared with the barber what I was reading and its connection to the violence taking place. He instantly pointed out the Menendez brother and how they killed their parents to get their inheritance. Bringing that case to mind really meshed with McCarthy’s story of rubes, outlaws and desperados out and about making chaos in the American Southwest.
Again, I found myself with some teachers in a meeting with a local museum director. The art teacher spoke on how students needed opportunities with hands-on activities, to explore other alternatives besides reading, writing, and math. As she spoke to the group, the scene of The Kid repairing or making something with a piece of leather came to mind. I thought about how that character was able to make repairs to his personal items, and yet was just as violent as people can be today.
The novel Blood Meridian is best represented by a rattle snake swallowing its own tail- a symbol of eternal violence. The violence depicted in the book also occurs in modern society and has a global impact. The violence that seems random and uncalled for happening here in the U.S. isn’t unique; all over the world, there are examples of similar actions, and sometimes they remain unknown. McCarthy simply makes it evident that violence is a part of human nature and no one is immune to that part of human instinct.
Similarly, just as modern society grapples with the randomness and senselessness of violence, McCarthy’s novel unveils a world where outlaws relish opportunities for brutality, exhibiting a similar lack of restraint and sacredness. Today’s violence is no different than when the bandits break into an abandoned building and kill everyone inside or when a bear mauling takes place in the mountains. Violence could be avoided and controlled to some extent, but it seems that it is a part of human nature. The novel describes people being executed, or people surviving out in the elements in deformed fashion, adding to our understanding of the extent of violence that we are capable of engaging in.
Blood Meridian is a violent novel where there is no moral to be learned from the outlaw characters and is devoid of sacredness. They have some skills, and have socialized themselves among their peers. Those that make up the tribe are of various backgrounds and have taken The Kid under their wing. Yet they are as violent as the people making headlines today and the actions they take are no different. They are also no less violent than the people that came before them, because violence has played a role in every human society.
In Cormac’s narrative, the Judge plays an ominous role and at times seems to represent the wise old devil with his vast knowledge. Although educated, the Judge too seems to relish the opportunity for violence. He knows how to make the necessary ingredients to perpetuate violence. He carries a notebook and destroys artifacts only after taking down some notes. In a way, taking notes as he sees fit. He seems to represent a figure that rewrites history through the violence that he perpetuates. In other words his lies become ‘the’ truth and his actions represent the darkest recesses of every reader’s instinct. In McCarthy’s narrative, the ominous figure of the Judge embodies a profound understanding of violence, utilizing it as a tool to rewrite history and perpetuate his version of the truth. This echoes throughout history, where civilizations and individuals have used violence to impose their beliefs and agendas. Today, the violence being played out in our society seems to be undirected and unfounded, much like the violence depicted in the novel.
And yet, with or without being grounded in history, people still will be violent in taking part in violent behavior. McCarthy simply shines the light on behavior that we typically consider immoral and inhuman, but examples of this exist throughout history and found in all civilizations. Take for example the natives of Teotihuacan and how they buried babies at the base of temples thinking that the gods would accept such sacrifice. The practice of enslaving people has only recently been outlawed, and yet is still practiced in many parts of the world.
Today, the violence being played out in our society seems to be undirected and unfounded, much like the violence depicted in the novel. In McCarthy’s narrative, God is non-existent, and although religion is portrayed, it is not actively practiced. In the story there seems to be a lack of ritual, although the novel begins in the middle of a sermon, and later we see the kid carry a bible, there is no sense of there being a god in the book. All the characters exist in a dog eat dog world. The individuals engaged in the mass violence today seem to lack that ritual and sense of a higher being; they seem to just hate and exist in a world like that of the novel.
Nevertheless, children should be exposed to different activities. What they do with the knowledge that they acquire is up to them to figure out. They should have opportunities to make art with their hands, like sculpting and painting or learning outdoor survival skills that can bring positive outcomes. The hands-on skills that young people receive is limited, and this could be an avenue where they learn to cope with anger, frustrations, and develop resilience. Other alternatives to reach people that might otherwise decide to turn into one of McCarthy’s characters could help lessen the chances of violence. Again, by providing children with diverse opportunities and coping mechanisms, we can aim to lessen the chances of them turning into characters resembling those in McCarthy’s novel.
Returning to the image of the snake swallowing itself, the chances of random violence happening again anywhere on this earth is pretty much guaranteed. There are far too many examples of our nature on this earth and McCarthy is a mirror that reflects who we are in the darkest corners of our civilizations, societies, tribes, and as individuals. Visiting a museum and seeing examples of human violence towards others supplements a book like Blood Meridian. The novel should be required reading for anyone exploring ways to mitigate violence in our societies and to understand human behavior. Again, the goal of the essay was to reflect on the violence that lives in McCarthy's novel and to emphasize how it is an example of how humans have been towards each other for millennia. In conclusion, the novel serves as a haunting reflection of the darkest aspects of humanity, shedding light on the timeless and universal nature of violence. As we confront the ever-present issue of violence in today’s world, McCarthy’s novel makes us contemplate the deeper reasons behind such brutality and to seek a deeper sense of sacredness in our lives. Doing this can lead to a more profound understanding of violence and a quest for a more compassionate and sacred society.
First option to get there is via Highway 14 north, by taking the Interstate 5 north, then once you’ve passed San Fernando Valley you get on the 14 north all the way to Lancaster where you will exit Avenue I. Next, you will make a left and stay on that street till you join Lancaster Road. This route is the fastest and the most direct and you mostly get to see the western end of the Angeles Crest mountains. As you are driving north you can enjoy looking at the slanted rock formations that can be seen to the left- Vasquez Rocks, whose name is taken from L.A.’s historic bandit - Tiburcio Vasquez.
The second option is a bit slower but the drive too is scenic and different. From L.A. you take Interstate 5 north and drive to the Magic Mountain area. You exit on Newhall Ranch, make a quick right, and drive past the rodeo grounds that will be on your right side. Then you will make a left on Copper Hill Drive and drive till you reach San Francisquito Canyon Road. Here you will make a left and head north for about 15 to 20 minutes, here you see drive through canyons, oak groves and see lingering signs of ranch life, till you merge with Elizabeth Lake Road, where you will make a left, and soon you will reach Munz Ranch Road where you will turn right. Depending on the year's rain and your time of visit, the hills in these areas might be splashed with the colors of wild desert flowers. The road winds its way through rolling grassy hills that will be peppered with tangerine colors, purple lupines and varying yellow hues.
You pay to enter the Poppy Reserve and it is well worth the price. In the reserve there are picnic benches near the front, but you can also take a break in your car. There are defined trails that are easy to walk on. There might be one or two sections throughout the site that might get intense for a few meters. There is also a visitor center where you can purchase the typical souvenirs found in such places. It's worth going inside and checking out unique things related to the high desert, like books and hats. If you do decide to hike one of the trails make sure to take some water and a lunch. There are benches along the trails where you can sit and enjoy the views and reach into your bag and enjoy a snack. For a moment you can be transported to the past, when these flowers carpeted not only this area, but extended and covered all of the high desert and even all of Los Angeles.
If you are on a budget you can pull off the main road where there is a decent amount of blossoms and enjoy the sights. Sometimes parking along the road can be intense, because many people visit this section of Los Anglees during the Spring, especially when there has been plenty of rain. Nevertheless, remind yourself that you are there too see a Spring blooms, and that’s what others are doing too, and believe it or not many people in the city ever drive this far to see something so unique.There are off road trails where you can enjoy the poppy fields, but you have to make sure your car is capable of doing light off-roading as well.
The best time to visit is during the Spring. Timing your visit will depend on how well you keep track of the rainfall in the deserts. Usually if it has been a wet year in Los Angeles you can rest assured that there will be poppies blooming in spring. It is all a matter of monitoring the rain fall, and also the weather because just as it can be a rainy season, hot weather the next week can mean that there will be a short blooming season. In addition, poppies are one of many wildflowers that bloom during the Spring, and these blooms can come in waves. Meaning, before poppies blossom there might be a blooming of desert lupines, goldfields, painted brush, and many others.
Kashgar Afternoon
by Armando Ortiz
On my first visit to Kashgar, which is in the Xinjiang Province of China back in the summer of 2002, I was taken to a restaurant by a local foreigner whom I had met that week that had experience living in Western China. He’d been staying next door to me, and the Joni Mitchell music he kept playing he piqued my interest. My year long study program in Seoul, South Korea at Yonsei University was over and I wanted to visit China again before returning home. I was there just being a tourist, wandering, the winds of interest and curiosity had settled me on this western ground. I was told we were going to have a local specialty, a roasted chicken. Never once was I able to have that dish ever again. The dish had been prepared in the kitchen, of course, and cooked in a tandori like oven. It was delicious along with some local nan, a huge tortilla like bread. The chicken was crispy to the bit and the salty oiliness mixed well with the nan. We might have had tea to drink but at this point I no longer remember. When I do remember from that lunch was the spectacle that we were about to encounter on leaving the restaurant.
We talked about travels throughout the country and other adventures. Nonetheless, it was time to go and we paid our bill. Hardly a cent was laid on the table and we walked out full and content. As we were walking to the door something like a buzz or a hum could be heard. A small crowd was gathering near the restaurant we had just exited. It was sunny outside so the transition from the small diner to the outside was like going into a different world. All of a sudden I could hear the strumming of what sounded like the plucking of a rockabilly bass, but not as low and heavy as that. It was very fast, and gentle, almost reminding me of the song that John Travolta and Emma Thurman danced in the middle of the diner.
The musician playing was sunweathered. His clothes were mostly a western styled suit, which might have been a faded black or a used blue. He’d been doing this for years, it appeared. He looked as if he could have been sipping coffee under the noon light, maybe smoking a stogie somewhere in the middle of the American southwest waiting for the sun to set. He wore a square cap, with simple brocade loops that seemed to house fine Turkic lettering, his face looked calm, shoulders were square not round like the city folk in LA. Could he have been staring off into space? Could he have been the sitting model for a buddha statue back in the day when Buddhism spread throughout the Tarim Basin, with half closed eyes staring at the crowd? Maybe he’d smoked some hash before this impromptu performance?
The music, the rhythmic strumming and twang that I heard immediately took us to the ground of people that surrounded the aged man. It felt like the crowd parted as we approached the bard. He just kept at it, his fingers long, wrinkled and dexterous, kept dancing and jumping from the top of the next of the banjo like instruments to the middle of the neck. It was almost like a dream, and maybe it was because I didn’t take a photo, and I didn't ask who the person putting on the street show was, but I still remember the music and the scene.
It might have lasted 10-15 minutes at most, but it is still a memory that sorta floats around when I think of my travels to that distant province and to its edge and fringe where 8-track players, and old Motorola phones were being sold. Despite the steady reach of technology, people here still circled around a troubadour, listened, admired and enjoyed some live music. Even though, sometimes we believe that we are different from others, in reality we all love some good live music, whether it be by someone performing for donations or playing at a sold out concert at the Hollywood Bowl. The band could be playing in front of a church audience or at a speakeasy. We all enjoy good live music, but what is most surprising is how music seems to have this hypnotic effect on people wherever they may be on this earth.
On My Way to Tashkurgan
by Armando Ortiz
On my second trip to Xinjiang, China, back in 2005, I found myself in a taxi on my way to Tashkurgan, the farthest western point I’d ever reached in China. Finding a bus ticket that morning was tough, so I decided to split the ride with some locals and take a taxi. There were three of us that sat in that car that day: a Uyghur lady sitting front passenger, on her way to visit her boyfriend who was stationed in a military garrison, and a Tajik man man in the back next to me, returning home after studying agriculture in Shanghai. He was a long way from school, but nearing his hometown.
As we all piled into the taxi, there was enough space for everyone, and the music playing felt exotic than familiar to me. I couldn’t help but notice that the road, supposed to be the Karakoram highway, was a two lane road at that time. A few years ago it had only been a single lane road, showcasing China’s transformation even in its frontiers. The road stretched like electric tape on the surface the high altitude desert land, located at the edge of the Himalayan range on the Pamir plateau.This part of China seemed devoid of life, and yet it is the origins of water for many civilizations of Asia, with some streams flowing south to India and others north to China.
After a few hours of riding, we suddenly approached a scene that now feels strangely familiar, reminiscent of experiences I would later have in the States. It looked like a bus had pulled over, maybe it was picking up passengers. The taxi started to slow down, shifting gears, and the zoom of the engine reverberated through the seats of the vehicle. We pulled to the opposite side of the road, coming to a stop parallel to the bus, creating a cloud of dust. Everyone quickly poured out of the car, as we all thought that there was damage to the back axle of the bus. Replacements were still a few days or hours away, leaving the middle aged men, the driver, and their assistant with no choice but to wait.
As I scanned the desolate landscape, I initially mistook discarded pieces of watermelon for slices of pizza on the ground. Only the cheese appeared to have been consumed, leaving behind layers of tomato sauce and crust. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was watermelon. As the taxi driver engaged in small talk with the bus driver, he pulled out two watermelons from the bus and naan bread. His assistant, pulling a knife he had concealed from his back, skillfully began cutting into the fruit, passing slices of fleshy red meat to everyone.
Meanwhile, the taxi driver reached into a green grocery bag and pulled out a few wheels of bread and broke off big chunks of dried pita-like bread, handing a piece to each of us. They showed me how to enjoy this snack combination: taking a bite of the bread first, followed by a bite of the fruit. It felt like participating in a traditional ceremony of generosity. Amidst the stranded bus workers on this high in the mesa, we shared the snacks, and the combination of dry naan with crunchy juicy melon revitalized our spirits. Both satisfaction and a refreshing feeling washed over me. The guys waiting for the spare part to arrive would be fine. The taxi driver signaled for us to hop back into the car and continue our journey.
Our next stop was a military checkpoint. Once we stopped, the Uyghur lady disembarked and walked towards a tall, burly man wearing military fatigues. Like a traditional Mongolian wrestler, he met her half way and welcomed her. She kept walking, and he nimbly placed his arm around her neck, guiding her towards the shaded office. Next, it was the Tajik man’s turn. Wearing jeans and a blue cotton jacket, he spoke Mandarin with a slight foreign accent, yet his fluency was on point. With his reddish hair and unconventional appearance, he stood out among the masses of China. Yet he was Chinese too, and his tribe has been living in those mountains for millennia. He bid us farewell at the outskirts of town before we entered the town center, where I ended up staying the night.
