Casa Grande

Casa Grande

If you take Lindsay road and drive South, through Mesa and Gilbert and through dust and dirt and past civilization, it will come to a dead end. And you will have to turn. If you turn one way, it will lead to more dust and dirt and perhaps unforeseen adventures, but if you turn the other way, you will eventually find yourself weaving to the other side of the San Tan mountains and through Indian Reservation to a rare histroic monument which acts as a portal to another time. 

Another view of Casa Grande

Native American music carries you back to the time when the tall building would have been flourishing as you walk through the visitor's center; passing exhibits of archeological findings of pottery and jewelry and replications of what everyday life would have been like in the 1300s.

These mounds hint and ancient walls

My party rushes to catch up to the last tour group which started 20 minutes previous to our arrival. The long winded and clearly speculative tour guide mingles facts from artifacts with her personal interpretations. These things are very informative and even entertaining, but our small children threaten to out-voice the gray- haired lady and we wander past her and around small mounds of dirt which indicate the existence of ancient foundations, to view the reverent structure which is still standing.

Inside the ruins

Casa Grande National Monument is an adobe building built in the 1300s located a few miles outside its namesake town in Coolidge AZ. According to the informational plaques placed around the Monument, the main structure was once part of a flourishing compound. In 1694 Padre Eusebio Francisco Kino visited the site and in his description used "Casa Grade" to describe these ruins and that is how it got its name.

Looking up from inside.

The Sonoran Desert People who lived within or around the structure did not leave behind a written record. They seemed to have abandoned the structure around 1450 AD, as far as we can tell, and the actual purpose of the structure can only be guessed at by the inaudible whispers their artifacts leave behind. Some speculate that it was an ancient observatory and others speculate it was a religious center. Nevertheless, this structure stands silent, protected from the beating desert sun by a roof constructed in 1932.

It was popular, in the late 1800s and early 1900s, to inscribe your name and even take a piece of the wall for a souvenir.

Music plays softly as visitors circle the monument and strive to catch a glimpse of the past within the barred walls of the modest structure. A ceremonial drum is being played somewhere near us, seemingly close enough to see, which reminds us that the ghosts of this monument left us a legacy more than clay and wood, but that their progenetors still inhabit the Sonoran Desert today.

For some really informative links and more information on the park:

http://www.nps.gov/cagr/index.htm

http://www.nps.gov/cagr/historyculture/the-ancient-sonoran-desert-people.htm

http://www.nps.gov/cagr/parkmgmt/uploa/CAGR%20-%20Centennial%20History%20-%20MAR%2092.pdf

Disneyland Christmas 2011

An excitement chases away any hope of sleep I might get as I stare at the dark ceiling of the hotel room. I turn and look at the clock for the fourth time in five minutes. Only 3 hours and 12 minutes until the magical gates open and I am admitted to the Happiest Place on Earth. Even after 15 years and over a dozen times of going, the magic is still as strong as it was the first time I entered Disneyland at 8 years old.

Over the next two days of our vacation, my childlike anticipation is perfectly satisfied through the thematic consistency of Disneyland. Mouthwatering smells, cheerful music, and smiling faces melt years away and I feel as giddy to see Mickey as my toddler is-- and she is almost as excited as my parents are. Our party has ten people with an age span of 9 months to 46 years, each of us with our individual hopes for our vacation.

The park was so full, they stopped admitting guests. Despite the crowds, we were able to use some Disneyland ride software, fastpasses, and various smartphone applications, to get to each desired attraction and even more; our longest line was 45 minutes for Pirates of the Carribbean, and even then we didn't mind the wait. I like waits in Disneyland queues because we have an arsenal of games to play together to combat boredom, but also because Disney does its best to keep its waiting guests moving and entertained.

Examples of Disneyland's solutions to hideous lines are: the fastpass and switchpass. There are many rides you can go to that allow for you to get fastpasses. These fastpasses allow you to return at a determined time and stand in a significantly shorter line. A switchpass functions to allow those who tend small children to still enjoy the ride. Each ride has its unique protocol for the switchpass, so its best to ask about the policy before you stand in line. Usually, the party leaves one or two people out to tend the kids while the rest wait in line for the ride. At the end of the line, they are given a pass and can use it for up to two people to get in the fastpass line for the ride.

The lines are also designed to keep you from thinking of the wait. My favorite line to wait in is for the Adventures of Indiana Jones ride. The line is typically very long, but also very true to the theme of the ride. From bamboo railings, to stone blocks and booby traps—our favorite one being the wilting bamboo that, when pushed in, causes crashes that sound like the cave is falling in, to a TV you watch in queue, the details never cease to amaze me.

This thematic consistency holds true from ride to ride and land to land. Each "cast member"-employee- has a costume that corresponds with the location of their work. The architecture is unique from land to land, with foods and stores adding to the theme. The Disney characters have their homes in appropriate areas that only make sense as well as the rides. The integrity of the magic is even found in the very words that the cast members use. I would argue that this thematic consistency is one of the integral aspects of the magic of Disneyland, that and the business of wish fulfillment.

We came to Disneyland with individual wishes and left with shared memories of the fulfillment of those wishes.

-Note: Pictures to be posted at a future date.

The Renaissance Festival

"Good Day Fool, you here to audition?" a man dressed as if he just came out of the 1400s asks my father as we wait in a never-ending line. My father, who smartly dons a brightly colored jester's hat, replies, "I already have the part." "Oh, wait 'til yer inside," the Renaissance man jests in his best imitation English accent, "we have world class fools in there!" After 45 minutes in line, it only took us a couple seconds inside the gate to understand exactly what the man had been talking about!

Tail end of our wait in the ticket line

Even the bathrooms are themed!

                                                    

Set in the shadow of the Superstition Mountains, which is a romantic way of saying: "Out in the middle of the desert," and once a year, the Renaissance Festival is held. This year it is held Saturday, Sunday, and Presidents Day from February 12 to April 3. Resembling the state fair in its ability to empty your wallet and the various vendors vying for a taste of cet wallet, it differs in that the entire event is themed in the Renaissance Era.

Scarecrow (Don't worry, he's not real.)

A shocking scarecrow meets us as we enter and the soothing voices of mothers: "Don't worry, he's not real," simultaneously reaches my understanding. The scarecrow is a man, or very very tall woman, dressed in loose clothing with a muslin bag over his head. He is holding out programs... luckily, I have one. He does, pose for a picture, however, and I move on.

Bakery with Cinnamon rolls

A couple feet away past the scarecrow, a wall of sweet, seductive, sticky cinnamon scent makes my mouth water and my head instinctively search for the source. It's the notorious $9 cinnamon rolls. With my wallet as empty as my suddenly-empty stomach, I contemplate begging. Now I know how Jean Val-jean felt when he stole the bread from the bakery. Using an incredible amount of self disciple sponing from someplace unknown to me, I tore myself past that wall, leaving dozens of other people to be sucked in, and successfully entered the loud, raucous, conglomeration of booths, rides, costumes, shows and food that is the Renaissance Festival.

"Lose your child in the maze!" a "fair wench," advertises for the Jester's maze.

A man shoves a wooden sign into the conversation of a passersby. The sign  says "Chocolate" on it (pointing to a chocolate shop) as vendor says "Look! I'm obnoxious!"

Various picnic areas are flanked on either side by food and shops. In one area, a harpist displays her talent and every once in a while stops to explain the history of her harp. In another area, a lady plays a harpsichord and chats with guests.

Countless food stands are entwined with almost as prevalent costume booths. There are many various booths as well... There is a wax hand booth, which preserves your hand in wax. There is a copper rose booth, with the roses scented with essential oils. There is an herbal soap booth, a "write your name on a grain of rice" booth, a scented candle booth- where all the candles smell roughly the same. The "Apothecary" booth draws my attention because of the honey sticks that are cleverly displayed at my eye level. With flavors ranging from mango to peach, sour apple, blackberry, and sour strawberry, I had plenty of options! 

Vendor selling garlands

As I walk by different stages for entertainment, clever and witty phrases momentarily distract me from my wanderings and I am drawn in for a moment or two. With different stages performing shows such as "Wyld Men," or "Gypsy Geoff-the nutso fire juggler"-true to the name. There is always something going on that will be of interest to the individual.

I make my way to the jousting tournament. The bleachers are metal, cold, and packed. A man is selling giant, salted, pretzels on a wooden rack. Each section of the audience has a cheerleader. Ours is wearing green and standing on a bale of hay. Each section is also assigned a knight to cheer for. The crowd is extremely interactive and supportive of our knight, even when he does miss one of the targets. In the end, our knight does win at a round and presents a toddler from the audience with his prize of a garland.

Jousting tournament

My dose of history makes me feel inspired. If not to read Shakespeare, I at least want to dress up in an old gown and princess hat and parade around my house using "thee" and "thou" to a poor unsuspecting husband. In any case, I have a sense that I only saw 1/3 of what the festival has to offer. (I didn't even get to ride the camel or the elephant this time!) But I look forward to an opportunity in the near future.

Guru Palace- a diamond in the rough

Last night, for Valentines Day, my husband and I stumbled across a jewel of a restaurant. It is called "Gurupalace: Cuisine of India" the outside is attractive, although not immediately conspicuous from the busy street of Gilbert. When we walked inside, I felt engulfed by the smell of sweet spices that was quite foreign to me. The smell acted as a gateway to another culture.

As my eyes adjust to the low, exotic lighting, my attention is immediately drawn to the beautiful artwork that adorns the walls. Paintings and intricately beaded scenes are hung together where I am used to wallpaper being. Here, a caravan of elephants and royalty being carried on the shoulders of servants on a litter; there, an intricately beaded display of the Taj Mahal. A few pillars are painted with people on them. Some are dancers, and others are Buddhist priests.

As I examine the pictures, I get a strange sensation that I am taking a tour through a different culture, my tour being narrated by the authentic Indian music that enriches the scene. As I look around, I see a wax model of the Taj Mahal, and I also notice a huge, lit, mural of the Taj Mahal. At the time, I only think it's called the Taj Mahal. Something from my social studies in elementary school. I am so enraptured by the scene, that my dear husband is stuck with a very hungry, squealing, baby.

Not being too accustomed to how or what to order, we open up the menu. Although, we are familiar with nothing on the menu save the "Garden Salad" and "Naan"- Which is a sort of flat bread- we order rather quickly. I order "Lamb Curry" and my husband orders "Aloo Palak", which is described as a "curry style" dish. We are both confused about what 'curry' actually means by this point.

I use the backside of my paper place setting to take notes. A young, olive-skinned girl dressed like a normal American teenager, but with very distinct features that I would describe as Indian, comes out to fill our glasses, her black, straight hair loosely pulled back into a pony tail. She apologizes for the wait. We ask her how her night is going. Apparently they are incredibly understaffed and she is really stressed, but very courteous and informative.

Later, a young, bald man with a heavy foreign accent, comes to take our order. After we order, he asks if we want rice with it-it costs extra, you see- we reply that we don't want rice. We did order naan and salad for our baby. The man asks how hot I would like my curry and I learn that "mild to medium" is an appropriate description-as opposed to "kind of hot, but not really,". I thought I was safe.

It took a long time to get our food and in the mean time, we are served 'poppadum' which reminds me of a very thin and crisp tortilla with pepper baked in the batter. It comes with a watery, spicy, cilantro dip.

When we get our food, we each have a single bowl of stuff. Mine is red and reminds me of the texture of spaghetti sauce with chunks of lamb instead of meatballs. My husband's is green and looks like the consistency of spinach dip. Unaccustomed to how to eat Indian food, I try it with my spoon. The fantastic flavor fills every crevice of my mouth, delivering not only delicious taste, but tearing spice! My eyes water immediately. I think to myself "Is this mild?!" My husband's is spicy also, but not nearly as much. I try to cool my mouth down with some salad. It came with a sort of dressing, but I didn't try that at first. With everything only getting hotter as the night went on, I wasn't willing to risk it. When water only added to the heat, and lettuce didn't cut it, my husband suggested I try the dressing.

To my relief, the raita-yogurt and cucumber dressing- is quite possibly the only substance that could have suffocated the burning in my mouth so entirely and so immediately. I share some of my newfound miracle with my baby, who, like me, is having a tough time with anything but the plain naan. We both take turns sipping the dressing from a spoon. I eat my delicious lamb curry with naan and then the raita intermittently. This allows me to enjoy the flavor of the former with the cooling relief of the latter. I feel foolish, but am determined to enjoy my lamb curry.

The check is presented with a container of seeds and a small spoon on top. I ask the server what the seeds are. They are "fennel" seeds and are a breath freshener. I spoon some into my mouth and crunch into a black licorice sensation. My husband is about to follow suit, but knowing his distaste for black licorice, I whisper "black licorice," and he decides against the seeds.

I have to admit my inexperience when it comes to Indian food. Was the food authentic? I am tempted to say it is, because I was not familiar with anything there. It was definitely foreign. Was it good? Yes, I loved it! Spicier than I anticipated, but delicious. Was it good in comparison to other Indian food? I don't really know. I am looking forward to some Indian etiquette lessons... sometime. And when we go to India, I'll tell you the proper way to eat curry :)

Sweethearts on Main

"This is what I do with my summers," a balding, pear-shaped young man in his twenties explains as he gestures to the jewelry strewn on the table for display. He is working on a necklace as we speak. Shortly thereafter, his wife brings him a bag of spicy-smelling pizza boats. My stomach is very aware of the fact that they are eating, although I have eaten dinner already. He then goes on to explain why his jewelry is less expensive than the other jewelry booths, "there are three grades of stone, first second and third. I buy all three in such bulk and then I mix them up and combine them with different grades and colors and with silver, and then I can sell them cheaper." This future minister is newly married and has one more semester at Arizouna State University. He gazes through his thick- rimmed glasses at my husband and I while I desperately try to find some color scheme in his jewelry that will go with my Valentine outfit. After a conversation that lasts through three pizza boats, we move on to the next booth.

Like the jewelers' beads, there are many different kinds of booths strung up and down Historic Main in Mesa Arizona. Countless aspiring artists, musicians, dancers, and crafters bring their wares to sell every 2^nd Friday of each month. Each booth shines with its own unique color and shape, reflecting the passion of the artisan behind it.

Scented Candle Booth

Wood crafts

                  There are paintings, jewelry, knit hats, and wooden bowls. One booth displays handmade scented candles with scents like "Blueberry muffin, " and "Butt Naked."Another booth displays origami necklaces with oragami pendants crafted by 7^th graders at a nearby Montessouri School. This booth is manned by a 12 year old girl who is adorable and reminds me of my little sister. There is even a booth that displays guitars fabricated from cigar boxes with the merchant playing the electric guitars to show their ability.

Cigar box electric guitars

 Unique styles of music fill the air as we wander from booth to booth. Some music is performed by a band and some music is performed solo. There are guitars and drums and pianos. One young girl with long hair, is dressed in everyday school attire. She is closing her eyes and bowing her head as she clasps her guitar in her hand. She seems to be afraid of the passersby, but her voice is not affected by her feelings. Her family sits on a nearby bench, silently supporting and praying for her.

After some time of walking, our eyes are irresistibly pulled into an art display. The painter was classically trained, with light, tones, and images all refined and perfectly blended to evoke emotion and the observer becomes part of the scene. An eagle scout stands in front of a proudly waving flag, a young girl sits on a bench in a garden with her beautiful white dress flowing around her, and a toddler carefully todddles his way through a field of grass that comes higher than his head. This booth stops many who pass by it, and glows as a pearl among other art displays. Maybe it's the display, maybe it's the aroma of the Italian Restaurant nearby, but more likely, it is the care taken to every picture that draws people in. The painter is absent for a brief moment, but the paintings speak for themselves.

Beautiful art is perfectly complemented by mouth-watering aromas as they waft through wide-open restaurants where customers sit and watch people pass as they eat. Some people choose to eat on their feet, getting a heart-shaped funnel cake or Indian fry-bread, or Chicago-style hotdogs at the few food booths. I try to imagine what kind of bead a food booth would get. Would it get a scented bead? Or even a flavored one? We pass a booth promoting women's heart awareness, rubbing shoulders with Mrs. Arizona, and the former Mayor of Gilbert. I should have had salad for dinner. It's more heart healthy.

Mrs. Arizona and our friend Stacy, Cafes and Restaurants

After 90 minutes of strolling up and down Main St, I came home and wrote for an hour and a half, using the business cards and scribbled notes I took while talking. With over 20 booths that made impressions on my mind, one embodied the themes of this experience like the main pendant, the central focus of a necklace.

This booth perfectly displayed the diversity, creativity, and inspiration that was somewhat present in the other booths. It sold wax-preserved roses. It also displayed intricately beaded jewelry and equally beaded lingere. This booth was manned by a man and a woman. The woman stood directly behind the table.

"$5 for these bigger roses, and he can make you a smaller one for $2," she explains. We ask for a $2 one and my husband goes behind the booth to talk to the man at work. They chat together while there is a lull in the rose sales. The woman and I chat about the beautiful jewelry that she has woven together. She is self taught and has been doing it for longer than I've been alive. Her detail and attention shows with each piece. Unfortunately, my wallet is not equipped for such delicately beaded earrings. 

"How did I think of this?" the man beams as he busily wraps the stem of the rose for stability. "Have you ever been to the Renaissance festival?" He then proceeds to describe how there is a certain wax booth that preserves a mold of your hand. " I obviously wanted one, I have a unique hand," he says as he stops his busy work for a moment and displays a three-fingered left hand. I was stunned that I had not noticed that at all. He laughed, "Yeah, I'll have people who can know me for months and they'll say: 'Did that just happen?' Ha ha." He goes on to explain a hot and grueling summer of waxing hands up and down the coast of California. "It just wasn't worth it."

A couple of girls pass the booth as we speak, and comment about needing cash. We watch them find an ATM and return. Out of the four of us, I am the only one who thought they would actually come back.

Wax roses

He continues and describes working at a resort which hosted lots of wedding receptions. "They were throwing away hundreds of roses a day." He then says he put two and two together, and got an idea for preserving fresh roses in wax. "My first rose looks like a blob on the end of a stem," he makes a fist with one of his hands and lets it droop as he describes it to us, "but I have perfected the process," he says as he presents me with a very delicately dipped rose, each of the pedals standing in glorious detail. He has learned to mix spray paint colors to cater to every desire. My rose is a pearly pink on the outside and a warmer pink, almost marroon on the inside. He hands it to me and my husband hands him $2. "I usually have some sort of smell. You can use air freshener or even a couple drops of essential oil, you know, rose smelling, I usualy have some, but I haven't done a booth in a long time," he explains apologetically. I sniff the wax rose and immediately wish I hadn't, however; beauty of the rose makes up for the lack of the fragrance.

The three words I would paint this experience with are: creativity, diversity and inspiration. The creativity comes from within the artisans as they each bring their own individuality to their work. After this experience, I am tempted to look into setting up a booth myself. I figure, if someone can sell cigar boxes as guitars, and "Butt Naked" scented candles, there has got to be something I can do to join this eclectic piece of jewelry that is Friday Night Out on Main Street.