Men in Tights

Yes, it's true that we've settled into domestic life pretty comfortably here in Oaxaca.

Yes, we have a 10-class yoga membership, a video rental card, nightly salsa lessons, a yellow lab, a first-name relationship with a local vegetable seller and 90 year-old neighbors who talk our ears off whenever we come home.

But does that mean we've become totally complacent and unfun? No way! I mean, it did take us 3 weeks to take our first swig of mezcal and we haven't stayed up past midnight yet, but damnit, we're still cool. We went to see Mexican wrestling!

The "Lucha Libre" is kind of like what would happen if the WWF (nee WWE) took advantage of NAFTA and outsourced its minor minor minor league south of the border. It's got all the key stuff - people alternately screaming into a mic and slamming each other into the ground, rabid fans who dress like their favorite stars, folding chairs to spice up the action, and most importantly, oily men with huge pecs. It also has midgets. And goats. And midgets dressed like midget goats.

We made our way to the local high school gym, grabbed some seats, and sat in a strange mix of awe and ennui as men costumed like clowns, cumbia dancers, huns, barbarians, and, yes, goats pretended to beat each other up.

I'll spare you the blow-by-blow descriptions except to say that the absolute highlight of the night was in the first of five matches, when the midget goat entered the ring and proceeded to hurl itself repeatedly into the opposing team's asses. It was all downhill from there.

But there was something beautiful about watching fathers and sons in the alcohol-free crowd bonding over the bitch slaps in front of them, and then leaving the echoing gymnasium into the late-night streets of Oaxaca knowing that American culture is not alone in its moments of absolute degeneration.

--rahul

ps. In a couple hours, my beloved Oakland A's start a 4-game series against the, ahem, Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. To have any real chance of going to the playoffs, they have to sweep all four games. For those of you more theistically inclined than me, if you wouldn't mind giving Huston Street and the rest of the boys a shout-out tonight when you're talking with God, I'd appreciate it. Go A's.

Hair be gone

Well, here it is. We've achieved baldness, at least two chins, and even some Mexican spirit there in the background. This, mis compañeros, is a quality photo. The barber was remarkably nonplussed when I asked to go "calvo", but there were some dudes walking by on the street who were a little amused at seeing so much gringo skin. Overall, I´m diggin´the new look and the knowledge that I´m gonna save at least $2 this month on shampoo.

We've begun Operation Tan The Head and with the Oaxacan sun on our side, I should be bronze in no time. Y´all come on down south o´ the border if you wanna rub the noggin'.

--rahul

All Quiet on the Pearson Front

Hola amigos,

We´ve had some requests for some blog reassurance that la familia Pearson is safe and sound in Houston. We´re happy to be the bearers of good news. Momma Pearson is riding out Rita´s wrath in the house with four Teach for America refugees from Katrina (quite the hurricane magnets, aren´t they?), Abby the lab is hiding under the bed and crying, and Daderoo fled to California on a bike. Everyone´s safe.

We tried to get in on the natural disaster action by ordering up an earthquake in Oaxaca last night, but unfortunately, it was so mild that we didn´t even feel it and just found out about it today from our neighbors.

Thanks for all the good wishes for the Pearsons and Texans and Louisianans everywhere. Tune in tomorrow for some stories about our trip to Mexican wrestling and a glimpse at Rahul´s new shiny apple.

A Cowboy Wedding

And finally, we give you the pictures from the wedding in Wallowa. Y´all come on in to see some tight-ass Wranglers, beautiful ladies, and the coolest bride, groom and seven-month old we´ve ever seen.

Can you hear the music?

All right, we're in the homestretch of photos now. It's hard to do justice to karaoke without audio clips from the night, but hey, with photos like this one, you can't go wrong! Click here for Karaoke Madness!

The time has come

Just in case you thought we had any shreds of dignity or propriety left, we present you our Kilimanjaro and Beyond photo slideshow.

Note to Ali-mac's mom: We're so grateful to have you as one of our biggest blog fans that we went back to the Safari slideshow to add a "very special Ali-mac photo". We hope you like it.

Beaches, bonding, lions boning

We're going wild with photos. Wild. Wild! Next up, our 2 weeks in Zanzibar and on safari with Ali-mac and Simon. Click here to see two lions flagrante en derelicto (or something like that), hot yoga bootie, and Rahul using a pineapple for eeeevillll.

Man With Gun

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Hola amigos! Ethiopia and Nairobi photos are up. Click on the links to see dudes with weapons, fanatical Ethiopian foosball players, asses of zebras, our trip to Hooters, and important advice about how to not get carjacked in Kenya.

La vida dulce

Here we are in Mexico, nestling into a new life of stability that we haven´t seen since, well, last year. We rented an apartment, and we ain't leavin' for a whole month! We're researching salsa classes, getting memberships at local video stores, and playing pickup soccer with bemused teenagers.

Meg started Spanish school on Monday and at night is feverishly working on her residency application. Rahul, inspired by Meg's diligence, is making the bed, going grocery shopping, and reading old copies of US Weekly. Speaking of which, you in America may have heard this already, but Brad Pitt totally dumped Jennifer Anniston to hook up with Angelina Jolie! Man, it feels good to be back in touch with current events.

Anyways, we´re on pace to break all kinds of records for the year, like:

-- Most consecutive nights that Rahul has slept in the same bed: 6 (as of tonight, but only if we make it back from Mexican Independence Day celebrations)
--Most days without cracking a Lonely Planet: 5
--Most straight meals that we've cooked ourselves: 5 straight dinners (that's actually a record for Rahul in any year)

We've got a sweet roof deck where we can eat dinner, stare at the mountains and read el periodico while the sun sets. And we've even got a yellow lab named Rami to keep us company and lick our faces.

All in all, we're pretty psyched. And if any of this sounds compelling to y'all, we're putting out an open invitation to everyone out there to come visit us. If you can find a cheap flight to Oaxaca before Oct. 10, you've got a free place to stay and we'll cover you from head to toe with mole. Seriously, come see us. We'll make it worth your while.

--rahul

Eritrea photos are up!

Now that we're on super-fast Mexican internet, we're finally catching up on posting our Africa photos. Today, the 3 weeks we spent in Eritrea practicing medicine (Meg) and wandering the streets (Rahul)!! We've even thrown in some gonzo Saudi airport pictures. Click on the link for burkhas, sandstorms, markets, Muslims, Catholics, Jews, and a very important public service anouncement.

America, Act III

Here’s a question: Actually if you've been reading this, you've already read this question, twice, so who really needs to read it again? We love America! We love it!! So, instead, here's another question: If you had found the love of your life and were ready to get married and spend the rest of your days with them, would you choose a single, commitment-phobe, unminister who doesn't dress particulary well and hasn't had any real responsibilities for the last year to perform the ceremony? Yeah, neither would we.

Act III
As we got on the plane at LaGuardia last week (leg 3 of our 20-hour train-bus-plane-car journey from New Haven to Wallowa, Oregon), we were exhausted. And, I gotta admit, I was a little nervous. A year ago, my friend Cory and her fiancée Dave had asked me to perform their wedding, and after 12 months of thinking about it in various countries around the world, I was still completely clueless. Yes, I had my online ordination from the Universal Life Church and some sample ceremonies from my real-life Unitarian minister dad and an old professor friend named Gil. Yes, I knew that when you've got two people in love getting hitched in a beautiful place, all a minister's gotta do is stay out of the way and not fall over and everything'll take care of itself. But I clearly don’t have any first-hand experience at being married, and I know there are some ex-girlfriends out there who can vouch for the fact that I’m far from the world’s best boyfriend. Having quit my job for the second time in five years to feed my wanderlust, I’m not exactly a model of commitment. All in all, I seemed like a pretty poor choice to be dispensing marital wisdom as anyone's minister, but hey, how could I say no? Since I've never gotten to be a best man, groomsman, bridesmaid, ring bearer, or, sob, even flower-girl, I figured I couldn’t pass this one up.

Instead of writing a ceremony, I procrastinated my way through our transportation day, hitting rock bottom when I spent a decent chunk of the drive from Portland listening to Rush Limbaugh talk about some dudes who were recently hospitalized for having sex with horses. Man, I hate Rush, but still, I had to laugh when he hit his predictable punchline: "I wonder, I don't know, but I wonder, how many of those men were... Democrats?" Radical right radio rocks.

We made it out to Wallowa around midnight, and kicked off the wedding festivities the next morning around 7am with a two-day mulepacking trip into the mountains, giving us some much needed wilderness and wedding planning time. Since the mules were doing all the hard work, we were well-stocked with wine, tequila and Pringles for a few days. After some fishing and a hike up a 10,000 foot peak, Cory and Dave and I sat down in a field for an hour and somehow came up with a ceremony. The husband-and-wife-to-be had already done the hard work and figured out what they wanted to say, and all I had to do was help Cory convince Dave, cowboy poet that he is, that his vows didn't have to rhyme.

So after getting back into town and setting up some hay bales for the pews (narrowly avoiding an angry hornet's nest camped out in one of the bales), throwing on the most expensive outfit I've ever owned that wasn't made of vinyl, and cueing our guitarist to play the Tennessee Waltz for the procession down the aisle, they did it! Tears were shed, Cory looked absolutely beautiful, Dave was handsome as could be, they said "I Do" and kissed one another, and our friend Ritu sang "Come Away With Me" to wrap it all up. It was gorgeous, and I was relieved not to have screwed it up.

We made our way out to the ranch that Cory and Dave run, grabbed some kegs, set up some chairs, flipped some burgers, and watched the whole county stream in to dance the night away to the cowboy (not country, ahem) music of Wylie and the Wild West. You probably don't know Wylie, but you've heard him; he's the yodeler in the "Yahooooooooo" commercial. I borrowed some of Dave's tight-ass Wranglers, threw on a hat he had just bought for me for $2, and donned a psychadelic t-shirt that he insisted came straight from the closet of John Fogarty of CCR. After taking a look around the festivities at midnight, I'm sure of this: every wedding needs a yodeler and as many pairs of tight-ass wranglers as possible.

Meg and I scraped ourselves together the next day, signed a marriage license, and drove back to Portland, stopping for a blackberry shake and a Tillamook cheeseburger in someplace called Burgerville in The Dalles. We sprinted to REI to stock up on stuff for Latin America, and had a reunion with our friend Gurbrinder from India over Oregon microbrews. The next morning, after a hummus run at a local natural foods store, we got on the plane to Mexico, with a stop in Houston for some quality time with Cathy Pearson and her awe-inspiring chocolate-chip cookies.

And now we're in Oaxaca, still soaking in the love after our 10 days in America, and slowly kicking our sleep debt after averaging about 5 hours a night for the last couple weeks. We'll be gringoing it here for a month, so we'll save las cuentas mexicanas for another day. Somehow, the karaoke, the families, the pizza, the friends, the wedding, the yodeling all seem like a dream to us, as crazy and rockin' as anything we found among the nomads in Tibet or deep in the Serengeti. It was good to be home.

--rahul

America, Act II

Here's a question: After quitting your job, taking a break from med school, and spending all of 2005 traveling to some of the most beautiful, exotic, invigorating places in the world, places you've been fantasizing about for a lifetime, is it a bad thing if your favorite part of the whole year is the ten days you spend in America?

Act II
When we headed up to New Haven during our whirlwind race through America, we each had three goals--

Meg:

1. Meet with important Yale medical people to prepare residency application
2. Go for a run in East Rock Park
3. See all the med school people she's been missing for the last year

Rahul:

1. Watch as many movies as possibe in his one free night (thus giving Meg for "girl talk time", which basically means "talk about Rahul time")
2. Eat more pizza than anyone would think possible (thus obliterating the India-diarrhea weight loss he had achieved earlier in the year)
3. See all the med school people he's been missing for the last year (not that he's in med school, but at times, it kinda felt like it)

Who says that being unemployed for 8 months kills your ambition? We're happy to report that we achieved all of our goals. Meg sounded like Tom Waits (thanks to karaoke) for her big meetings but came out with some quality feedback from her profs, we actually motivated to run up a thousand feet or so to the top of the park, and her friends were awesome about clearing out time to hang with her (special kudos to Andie for flying out from Raleigh). Rahul hit the local multiplex for a Batman Begins/War of the Worlds double feature, went to three rival pizza joints (12 pieces total) in 4 hours, and got to feel the friend love as well.

We gotta say though, it was kinda weird being there for a couple days. Unlike New York, which has always been a crazy weekend destination for us, New Haven was Meg's home last year (and Rahul's second home), so it was a bit jarring to slip back into the world of real responsibilities (well, for Meg anyway) knowing that we'd head back to the developing world a week later.

And now for some random thoughts from Rahul:

• I know that Tom Cruise is all into Scientology and is prone to wiggin' out at random times but I like the dude mostly because no one looks cooler when he runs. I think it should be written in to all of his scripts that he gets one scene where he's running frantically and emoting at the same time. Actually I think that that's already happened--War of the Worlds (running away from aliens for 2 hours while trying to protect his daughter), Jerry Maguire (running through the airport so that he can tell Renee Zelwegger that she completes him), Vanilla Sky (running through Times Square so he can start screaming uncontrollably), Top Gun (running to his F-16 so that he can start blowing people up), Magnolia (running to his car so that he can have an unexpected musical interlude and then cry over his dying father), Born on the Fourth of July (oh, mmm, wheelchair, oops)
• New Haven may or may not be the "birthplace of pizza" as it likes to claim, but if you want to taste the best pizza available outside of Paramus, NJ, go to Modern A Pizzeria on State Street. It blows Pepe's and Bar's iconocastic mashed potato pizza out of the water.

Tomorrow, the third and final act-- in which Meg and Rahul fly to Oregon, eat meat for 5 straight days, help a friend get married, and dance the two-step while a guy named Wiley yodels.

America, Act I

Here's a question: After quitting your job, taking a break from med school, and spending all of 2005 traveling to some of the most beautiful, exotic, invigorating places in the world, places you've been fantasizing about for a lifetime, is it a bad thing if your favorite part of the whole year is the ten days you spend in America?

Act I
We landed at JFK around 10pm on a Friday night and were greeted at customs by our friend Kimmy, a particularly joyful and appropriate reunion since she was the one who dropped us off at SFO to begin this crazy journey 8 months (and change) ago. With 18 hours of air travel under our belt and a date with karaoke looming the next night, the sensible thing to do would have been to go to bed, go directly to bed, do not pass go, do not collect $200. Do not go to a speakeasy in the West Village, do not reunite with your sobbing mother, do not stay up late drinking beers with your family and friends who flew in to see you. Whatevah.

The next morning we woke up at 7:30 am and went for a run in Central Park. We'd like to thank jetlag for making that possible. Schlepped uptown to feast on the bagels and pizza Rahul had been dreaming of, and spent the afternoon attempting, but failing, to nap in preparation for the night's festivities.

And then came karaoke. It was a rager. A massive-ass rager. Meg's Daderoo stole Kwray's fabulous blue wig and wouldn't relinquish it till he needed his cowboy hat to sing David Allen Coe. Rahul's dad and stepmom wowed the crowd with an adorable, and surprisingly empathetic, rendition of "When I'm Sixty-Four". Meg's Mommacita made her karaoke debut with the ambitious "Stand By Your Man", and was so swept away that she stayed up all night dreaming about all the songs she wished she had sung. Or will sing once she finds a karaoke joint in Houston to drag all her friends to.

As the night progressed and we were feelin' the love (and the tequila), we started making our way up the steep emotional arc of karaoke. Meg cried her eyes out when her med school friends Cat and Eliza showed up. The Pearson kids lost all inhibitions and got together to serenade their squeezes with some "Sexual Healin'". In response, Mandy, Candy, and, um, Randy (it rhymes), busted out the Divinyls' "I Touch Myself", fervently avoiding eye contact with the Pearson parents throughout the performance. As our pre-arranged stopping time of 2am approached, the party wasn't even close to winding down, so we convinced the friendly IBop owners to let us stay as long as our throats could hold out (and beyond).

We finally called it a night around 4am, and dragged our butts home, filled with the singing love and shuddering at the thought of waking up for brunch the next morning. Our caterwalling crew suffered a few casualties (courtesy of Kimmy and her Cuervo crusade), but we think everyone's recovered by now. Except for Ali-mac, who's still sporting a thumb-splint after Bustin' A Move overzealously. Good thing she's in radio.

We'd like to give one last shout out to everyone who drove and flew out to celebrate with us. We love you! Special props to Melora, for donating us her amazing West Village flat and for helping us find the speakeasy, the Latin-Asian fusion diner, and the swanky brunch spot.

Tune in tomorrow for Act II - in which our protagonists head up to New Haven to meet with professors (Meg) and eat pizza and watch movies (Rahul).

Karaoke Post Abridged

We're in America, we're safe, and we're loving life. Just got back from two days mulepacking in the beautiful Wallowa Mountains in eastern Oregon, and Rahul's frantically throwing together a wedding ceremony for our friends Cory and Dave who're getting married tomorrow, seeing as he's the "minister" and all.

Our karaoke shindig was far too unbelievably amazing for us to do it justice with a post now, so unfortunately, photos and stories will probably have to wait till we get to Mexico next week. But in the meantime, let us just say that the Pearson and Young families and friends came out in force, donning foot-long frankfurter hats and blue wigs and singing late late late into the night. Meg still hasn't gotten her voice back, Rahul thinks he broke a toe, and all of our hearts were won by a certain vixen who sang "99 Luftballons" in the original German. The night took our obscenely high expectations and happily obliterated all of them.

More to come once we reach Oaxaca....