A cold, dark place (Oslo, Norway)

I've slept about six hours in the past lord-knows-how-many days (well, I do, too: two days), and I'm curled up in a warm sleeping bag, covered with a heavy comforter, looking out of a frosty window into the dark Norwegian night and watching my computer clock work its way towards midnight -- but I am not asleep. Why am I not asleep?! One of the great mysteries of life. I hope that I'm not turning into a vampire. If I am, though: well-planned, Irene! The days are so short that I won't have to worry about turning into dust -- and in Tromso even less. And maybe I can get away with drinking hot chocolate instead of human blood.

My last few weeks in Mexico passed quickly and wonderfully. I:

1. blazed touristy trails with my motherdearest, who visited for five days at the end of November and gave me Mexican history lessons whenever I wasn't force-feeding her my favorite corn products (like tamales, huchepos, corundas, and corn ice cream -- just the thought makes me salivate). We wandered around Morelia, ferried to Janitzio island from Patzcuaro, visited the pyramids at Tzintzuntzan, rode horses in the monarch sanctuary in Angangueo, and bonded with Adriana and Nina the Lopsided Kitten (RIP -- see item 5). All in all, a wonderful visit. I confirmed my unoriginal theory that parents are good for the soul, and, since history lessons are good for the brain, and corn products are good for the body, my mother left me healthier than ever.

2. hiked up the Cerro Camacho, the mountain/big hill that looms over Ocampo, and climbed the military tower at its summit. The views would have made Ansel Adams's pulse race; unfortunately, I am not he, so the photos that I took probably won't make your pulse race. Appreciate the effort, though, and imagine yourself there. It is a very pretty spot on Planet Earth. (The aforementioned photos will be posted tomorrow! I think.)

3. hiked/swam up a river to El Salto de Agua, Niagara Falls' little little little little little little little little little brother in the outskirts of Ocampo. Once there, Eduardo, Fierros and I flirted with death by swimming in the icy pool at its base -- who's scared of a little hypothermia? Not we. My lips were still purple when I got home two hours later. I'm sure that it built character.

4. went to a secret butterfly colony in a private forest that is usually only accessible to biologists. This was not only a breathtaking natural experience (so many butterflies!), but also allowed me to make peace with Don Gato, who owns a taco stand in Ocampo and invited me to come. He has always suspected that I'm gay, which, I think, is a little like suspecting that I'm a crack addict (because it means that I'm psychologically unstable, potentially dangerous, and could be a bad influence on others). Things have always been a bit awkward between us. Now he still suspects that I'm gay, but also knows that I like butterflies, which is in my favor, no? What morally unsound person likes butterflies? (Note: I don't think that crack addicts are morally unsound.)

He and his nephew, Julio, gave me a big lecture on corruption: it is everywhere, and you cannot escape it. One man, they said, has taken complete control of El Rosario, one of the monarch sanctuaries. As he is the intermediary between donor organizations like the WWF and the El Rosario ejido (the people who communally own the sanctuary), he decides where the money goes, and it is rarely distributed fairly. They also told me about La Familia's doings in Ocampo. La Familia is the Michoacan mafia; it has a hand in every government office and almost every business in every town in Michoacan. Don Gato told me that he had to pay La Familia a monthly "contribution", and that he had once walked into the city hall to see the municipal president opening a cardboard box full of two hundred-peso bills -- not for his residents, but for the mafia. The local police are in on it, and sometimes the federal police, too, and nobody knows what the soldiers are up to; there is nobody to turn to. A frightening state of affairs.

5. watched Nina the Lopsided Kitten die of poisoning on the morning of December 9. Adriana and I were devastated, and wept many a bitter tear. She is buried in the backyard under the tree that she used to scramble up in her wild fits of huntress passion, and we hope that her atoms will become the petals of a wildflower or the wings of one of the moths that she so cruelly abused in life. The saddest thing about her death is that it was almost certainly not an accident; people poison cats and dogs on purpose. Nobody was surprised to hear how Nina had died, and nobody understood why Adriana and I were so sad about it. And they're right: Nina was a cat, and, in some parts of Mexico, people, not cats, are starving to death. I keep trying to temper my outrage at the poisoning of cats and dogs with this thought. Perspective, Irene, perspective. It is wrong that Nina was poisoned, but it is also wrong that Nina was better fed than some of our neighbors. But: all of it is unfair!

At least we are 99.99% sure that Nina was the happiest kitten in Mexico, and possibly in the Universe, during her months with us. And she died very quickly. So it goes, as Kurt Vonnegut would say.

6. co-hosted a posada, part of a Mexican Christmas tradition that starts on December 16th and goes all the way until Christmas (ours was an early posada). The tradition goes as follows: people carrying statues of Mary and Joseph go from house to house asking for lodging (just as Mary and Joseph did when she was about to give birth to Jesus) by singing and setting off little sparklers. They are rejected once, rejected twice, and finally welcomed into the house, where they eat pozole and drink ponche, receive aguinaldos, which are little bags full of candies, and, if they're lucky, get to take a few whacks at a piñata. Our guests were lucky. We had a great piñata.

7. fantasized about returning to Michoacan next summer for a visit. It all depends on my bank account -- do you think that there will be more money in it the next time I check? You never know. There can be miracles. I guess that it also depends on my prudence -- do you think that I will choose to manage my finances wisely or toss hundreds of dollars out the window to soothe my aching, Mexico-deprived heart? Mmm. Things are looking grim for my financial future.

I have wireless internet now, and tomorrow evening I plan to start posting my Mexico pictures. They are plentiful and diverse.

I will also write about Oslo! I've already eaten reindeer sausage (Rudolph . . .) and met four delightful strangers, one of whom thrust her e-mail address upon me and one of whom just gave me her card. People are so kind! One who speaks Norwegian might say that they are "snil" -- THAT'S RIGHT. My list of Norwegian vocabulary is now about four words and three expressions long. I'll be fluent in no time.