REUNITED AT LAST—STAR CROSSED LOVERS HELOISE AND ABELARD

Heloise and Abelard (Artist Unknown)

UNLUCKY IN LOVE

While wandering through Pere-Lachaise Cemetery in Paris looking for the graves of Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde I spotted the crypt of Heloise and Abelard. At the time I wasn't familiar with their tale of love gone wrong. I was simply fascinated by the dramatic tomb effigies—reclining figures of a man and woman laid atop a stone slab, hands pressed together in prayer.

Writes Medieval Histories, "Among the thousands of tombs in Pere-Lachaise, there is no man, no woman, no youth of either sex ever passes by without stopping to examine one crypt. This is the grave of Abelard and Heloise, a grave which has been more revered, more written and sung about and wept over for 700 years. But not one in 20,000 clearly remembers the story of that tomb and its romantic occupants. Visitors linger pensively about it and Parisian youths and maidens who are disappointed in love come here when they are full of tears. Go when you will, and you will find someone snuffling over that tomb; you will find it furnished with bouquets and immortelles."

The tomb of Heloise and Abelard, Pere-Lachaise

REUNITED IN DEATH

Theirs is a touching and immortal story of two people divided by circumstance who longed to be together. So moving was their love that in 1817, Napoleon's wife, Josephine Bonaparte, ordered the lovers' remains be entombed together in the famous cemetery centuries after their deaths in the 1100s. Ever since Josephine reunited them, their impressive tomb has been a pilgrimage spot visited by lovers from around the world who leave love notes at the crypt in the hope of finding undying love.

The fated love story went like this: In the 12th century, a niece of the canon of Notre Dame, Heloise, gifted in the study of Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, wanted to study as young men were allowed to. Because of her precocious nature and high level of intelligence and her uncle's ability to pull strings, she would become the sole female student of the greatest living theologian and intellectual of that time, Peter Abelard. 

LOVE AND BETRAYAL

Abelard, 20 years her senior, fell in love with his student and the feeling was reciprocated. Soon afterwards they were found out and escaped to Brittany where Heloise, pregnant, gave birth to a son, Astrolabe. Her uncle, the canon, urged them to return to Paris where they were secretly married.

Not long after their vows, the canon betrayed them by disclosing their marriage. Heloise, at Abelard's suggestion, fled to a convent at Argenteuil. Her uncle, believing she was through with Abelard, had him beaten and castrated as an act of revenge for the family. On Abelard's urging, Heloise took her vows to the church and became a nun. She was forced to give up her child.

Relief of Heloise and Abelard, Paris

After the disastrous end to their affair and marriage, Abelard also turned to the church. He became a monk at the abbey of St. Denis where he continued his teachings and writings.

Their passion is known through love letters they exchanged over 20 years during which time Heloise became an abbess and Abelard continued his reign as the most prominent theologian of the time. The book, Stealing Heaven: The Love Story of Heloise and Abelard, by Marion Meade, tells the tale of their tragic love story.

Pere-Lachaise tomb of Heloise and Abelard

DIVIDED BY CIRCUMSTANCE

The story of Heloise and Abelard was well known in their lifetime: they were famous in their own rights prior to the affair. She, for her remarkable intelligence, and he for his stature as a philosopher, theologian, and teacher. A number of historians took note of them and great poets and dramatists found them fascinating, states author Meade. It's said that Shakespeare, in 1606, began work on Abelard and Elois, a Tragedie, a project that he would abandon for Antony and Cleopatra. If the bard had penned that play, their names would be as common to love as the names Romeo and Juliet.

Some accounts say the star-crossed lovers met once more at a chance meeting in Paris while others say they never met again. But through their letters, the story of their love has endured. It seems only fitting that they're buried side by side in Pere-Lachaise after long years of separation while in the flesh.

Abelard died in 1142 and Heloise in 1163 at the Paraclete, which means one who consoles, in Ferreux Quincey, on land owned by Abelard that he came upon in his wandering years.

Part 2 of Star Crossed Lovers will post February 14: The Tragic Romance of Alma Reed and Felipe Carrillo Puerto. Stay tuned.

Stealing Heave, by Marion Meade

If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.

COULD AN ANCIENT INDONESIAN PYRAMID SITE REWRITE HUMAN HISTORY?

Gunung Padang in Indonesia

Maya Musings is branching out! My love of ancient cultures has lead me to focus on more than just the ancient Maya. This post on Gunung Padang is the first.

Gunung Padang in Indonesia may be the greatest mystery of history and what we know about ancient civilizations.

Graham Hancock, a 30-year journalist interviewed in a new Netflix series, Ancient Apocalypse, explains he is neither archeologist nor scientist: He reports what he sees as a journalist. He has spent the past three decades investigating human pre-history and in the series, gives his first-person account.

ANCIENT APOCALYPSE

In the documentary he states it's his suspicion that "humans are a species with amnesia about an incredibly important thing in our distant past." That important thing, he says, "is that there is a lost civilization of the Ice Age."

Graham Hancock on Ancient Apocalypse

The possibility of civilization emerging earlier than we previously thought gets stronger each year and in Hancock's opinion, definitely demands a re-write of history as we know it. He suspects his theory is upsetting to experts because they insist the only civilization that existed during the Ice Age was that of our simple hunter-gatherer ancestors who—and he questions this premise—on their own initiative, suddenly began to farm and raise livestock, creating settlements and eventually cities until the first civilizations emerged 4000 BC. His own research with new discoveries has led him to believe otherwise, and his findings keep pushing that timeline back. He tells a completely different story.

ENTER GUNUNG PADANG

One such discovery takes place in Indonesia on the island Java, in the village of Karyamukti, four hours south of Jakarta. Hancock went there to check out one of the most controversial discoveries of our time: Gunung Padang. The evidence at the massive site, some 400 plus kilometers, has confounded archeologists because it calls into question everything they have taught us about the pre-history of humanity.

What if an advanced civilization flourished at Karyamukti during the Ice Age, he asks—a civilization lost to history until now. The name Gunung Padang means mountain of light or mountain of enlightenment in local dialect. Today and for centuries if not millennia, pilgrims have traveled from far and wide to make offerings to this mountain. They purify themselves before climbing 360 feet to the top, an arduous venture. 

Hancock says Gunung Padang's answer is buried in the mountain underneath where it sits. And potentially, it could force humanity to re-think our entire history as we presently know it.

THE SITE

It takes about 20 minutes to hike to the top of Gunung Padang on stairs made from rocks that lead to the top plateau. From that spot, one can gaze over a jumble of the building blocks from an ancient construction that are scattered across brilliant green grass. Shaped like long rectangular blocks roughly two meters in length, they are heavy. But these are not man-made. The rocks, forged long ago by a volcano, may have been cut. They were merely transported to the spot and arranged into whatever structure once occupied this peak.

TERRACING

Technically there are five levels of terraces. The first is relatively quiet with a meditative quality. Second is much larger and made up of shallow levels of turf, each built slightly higher than the other. The rocks, like those far below, are strewn haphazardly about. It's uncertain as to whether they were used as columns or laid in horizontal fashion to construct buildings and altars.

Artist Rendering of the Terraces

The upper two areas is where intense research on Gunung Padang's history is presently taking place. And the quest to discover the truth has become animated, complicated by a mix of politics, money, and national pride. The cause for a prolonged and intense discussion comes down to what is below the surface. Some archeologists believe the mountain itself was made by humans as an enormous tomb, a sarcophagus made from dirt.

AGE IS JUST A NUMBER

These archeologists claim they have evidence for this feat that state humans may have built Gunung Padang up to 20,000 years ago. If that claim is true, it would make this site 10,000 years older than the pyramids of Egypt and one of the most jolting historical discoveries of our time.

With the possibility of a world-changing archeological site on Indonesian soil on the rise, the national government is throwing enormous support behind these research efforts. To furnish the manpower needed for the excavation, the Indonesian military was brought in to do the digging. They're doing hard labor under the supervision of scientific experts. 

Indonesian Military Work at Site (by Time Turtle)

QUESTIONS FROM EXPERTS

However, despite the insistence of certain experts and the hopes of the Indonesian government, a large number of academics believe it's impossible that Gunung Padang was built 20,000 years ago. Firstly, they say the evidence doesn't support that fact and there are alternative reasons why some of the tests have come up with such old dates.

They also state that it's not logical that a civilization that could build this enormous structure would leave no other signs of existence. One expert, as quoted in Time Turtle, made the point that 40 kilometers away, there's evidence people were using tools made of bone at that time, which seems odd if such a large advanced civilization was so close by.

FRINGE DATING

Based on unpublished and undisclosed numbers from carbon dates and strategic studies, Indonesian geologist-earthquake expert Danny Hilman Natawidjaja is the front man pushing for Gunung Padang's long date certification. He's suggested the site had been built as a giant pyramid between 9000 and 20,000 years ago, implying that it's proof of the existence of an otherwise unknown advanced civilization.

Since none of these radio-carbon dates have been formally published and the age of this site based on these dates differs greatly depending on who is consulted, some experts view Hilman's theories as "fringe dating."

In fact, 34 Indonesia scientists signed a petition questioning the motives and methods of Hilman and his team. Archeologist Victor Perez described Hilman's conclusions as pseudo-archeology. The dates of the site, based on Hilman's numbers, vary greatly depending on what publication is consulted and even when publications are by the same author, the recorded results vary. 

Long View of Gunung Padang (By Beritabali.com)

But Hilman's conclusions did attract the attention of the former Indonesian President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, who set up a task force several years ago, while he was still in office.

A vulcanologist, Sutikno Bronto, suggested the carbon dating results could have been influenced by weathering and concluded the elevation is the neck of an ancient volcano and not a man-made pyramid.

But whatever the case may be, Gunung Padang is undeniably the largest megalithic structure in South East Asia. Though the jury is still out, its very existence and the amount of effort recently allotted to excavate the ruins has begged the question: Are there other relics of pre-Ice Age civilizations out there that have yet to be vetted? And without the blessing of First World scientific experts, will they see the light of day or be left at the altar?

If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.

 

MASTER POTTER JUAN QUEZADA CELADO, 81, DIES IN MATA ORTIZ, MEXICO

 

Juan Quezada Celado in Mata Ortiz

Juan Quezada Celado died at his ranch in Mata Ortiz, northern Chihuahua, on December 1. The master artisan, famous for resurrecting a pottery style known as Mata Ortiz, was 81.

I became aware of Mata Ortiz pottery and its founder, Juan Quezada Celado, quite by accident after meeting Santa Barbara potter Rebecca Russell at a tai chi class last year. Somehow we started talking about Mexico. She told me her pottery work drew her there and she'd traveled to northern Chihuahua to study with Juan Quezada who'd developed a style known as Mata Ortiz. 

I'd lived in Mexico for 17 years and hadn't heard of it. The most common pottery style in Quintana Roo, my stomping grounds, came from Puebla, the Talavera style, characterized by bright colors and diverse patterns with a high glaze finish. Talavera was widely marketed in QRoo, the Yucatan, and throughout Mexico. 

Rebecca showed me her business card with a photo of the Mata Ortiz style. It was like nothing I'd seen before, very elegant, different. She spoke with great respect of Quezada and I later researched both the artist and Mata Ortiz pottery.

Juan Quezada's life story reads like a fairytale. It's the story of a poor woodcutter who transformed himself into one of the most famous artists in Mexico. It's also a tale of a dusty Mexican village that learned how to fashion dirt into clay, transforming it into something beautiful. 

A young Juan Quezada had been forced to quit school to help his family survive. He picked firewood in the surrounding area where a sophisticated pre-Columbian culture had once thrived around the city of Paquime (also called Casas Grandes). It dominated the region for 300 years around 1200 AD and had been famous for ceramics featuring geometric designs in red, black, yellow, and brown which were traded throughout North America.

The boy found ancient pottery fragments as he worked. He even found shards in his own backyard—both Casas Grandes style and an older style still, Mimes, that dated from 200 AD, characterized by bold black on white zoomorphic designs. With his burro, he eventually went farther into the mountains collecting firewood and picking up bright shards along the way.

Though no one seemed to know about the people who made the pottery, everyone knew of the ruins 15 miles north, Paquimé, the center of the Casas Grandes culture. The mounds on the plains were the remains of the outlying communities that spread for miles around the site. At dusk by the light of his campfire, he'd examine his daily collection of shards, trying to figure out how they had been made. At home he dug clay from the arroyos, soaked it, and tried to make pots. They all cracked. Eventually Juan studied the broken pieces and realized that mixing in a little sand would prevent the cracking. His interest led him to the study of the pre-Hispanic pottery of the ancient cultures so close to his village. In time, he figured out how to make round bottoms similar to the prehistoric pots by making a mold after finding some in the outlying mounds. 

Gradually he mastered the process. As a young man, without any instruction, he was making and decorating credible pots for his own pleasure. He had re-created the entire ceramic technology from clay preparation to firing, using only shards to guide him, without help from ceramicists or specialists. But now married, he needed a variety of jobs to keep food on the table for his family—from working as a cowboy to railroad worker, leaving less time to make pottery.

But pottery still enticed him. In 1974 he decided to concentrate on making pots. He could sell enough with local traders to risk leaving his job on the railroad; earnings from the sale of just one pot would outdo what he'd earn on repairing rail tracks. His modest success attracted the interest of his siblings and he began to teach them what he'd learned. He became known as the self-taught interpreter of Casas Grandes pottery, sometimes called New Casas Grandes or Mata Ortiz after the village where it originated. 

Initial attempts to sell the pots in his area on a large scale failed, but he had success with border merchants, where his pottery was discovered by an anthropologist, Spencer MacCallum, who tracked Quezada down and helped him break into the larger US market. 

What started with the meeting of Quezada and MacCallum led to MacCallum's promotion of the pottery style across the border. He showed Quezada's pieces to museum curators, universities, and gallery owners. MacCallum's salesmanship and perseverance cemented the interest in these important markets which were essential to the potter's survival. An exhibition at the Museum of Man in San Diego, 1997, helped establish Mata Ortiz pottery as a legitimate art movement and helped it to gain momentum. After a slow start in the marketplace, gradual acceptance gave way to a full-flowering of Mata Ortiz styles and skills, a development that even the most ardent admirers had failed to predict.

Today over 350 Mata Ortiz families earn all or part of their income from pottery, thanks to Quezada. The finely painted ceramicware can rival any handmade pottery in the world. Quezada single-handedly resurrected the style and ancient techniques of his ancestors' pottery.

Quezada's work has been displayed in museums in numerous countries and in 1999 he was awarded the prize of Premio Nacional de Ciencias y Artes in Mexico. Books have been written about him and his style and techniques are well known throughout the world of pottery and beyond. His talent and influence will not be forgotten and his Mata Ortiz pottery style will continue to garner accolades throughout the world. Juan's pottery now sells for thousands of dollars and has found homes with numerous Mexican dignitaries, a Pope, a former US Supreme Court justice, and a former US First Lady. Tourists and art dealers make the trek to Northern Chihuahua in search of his pottery. More important still, Juan Quezada Celado gave his family a skill and art form that ensures a level of economic freedom for not only themselves but for generations to come. 

"He taught us all," said Quezada's youngest sister, Lydia, in a 2020 Washington Post article. "He's a talented teacher." RIP Juan Quezada Celado.

If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.

FROM STRANGERS TO FRIENDS IN PROGESO DURING THE HOLIDAYS IN MEXICO

In Mexico, the holiday season seemingly goes on forever. And in actuality, it does. From Feast of Guadalupe on December 12 through Noche Buena, Navidad, and Año Nuevo, it finally ends with Dia de Reyes or Feast of the Kings January 6.

As early travelers in the mid-80s to the Yucatán Peninsula, we loved all the festivities and fiestas. That's part of what makes Mexico so Mexico! The pageantry and the color, the fireworks and the continuous holidays. 

For years we planned to move to Mexico so every vacation was centered around a Mexican get-away: from long weekends to a blissful week or two around Christmas. These trips were a quick fix to our serious addiction to the Mexican lifestyle. 

Hotel Trinidad, Merida

FIRST STOP, MERIDA

In 1986 we made our first trip to Merida and Chichen Itza. We arrived in Merida December 23 and located a hotel near the main plaza, Hotel Trinidad. I spotted heavy wood and brass style Spanish doors with "Open 24 Hours" painted at the top and took a look inside. On entering I discovered a hotel straight out of Barcelona, a tribute to Bohemia everywhere. Bright mosaic tiles in wild patterns covered the floors and gaudy paintings with broken pieces of mirror patterned into the frames decorated the walls.

Behind an antique wooden bar that served as reception, a studious looking clerk gazed up from a stack of papers. I looked behind him to an unruly growth of areca palms and a cascade of jungle plants that created a bountiful interior garden.

Within moments we'd checked into a room with 16-foot ceilings, no windows, but an enormous skylight that delivered all the light we needed. The rooms faced the terrace courtyard and during the day many guests left their doors open to take in fresh air and direct sunlight.

On Christmas Eve we woke early and walked to the bus station to catch a bus to Chichen Itza. Crowds thronged the depot as many people were traveling for the holiday. In Mexico as in Europe, December 24, Noche Buena, is celebrated as the feast of Christmas rather than Christmas Day. We were enroute to Piste, the pueblo that served as a base for travelers coming and going to the popular pyramid at Chichen Itza.

CHICHEN ITZA

After the crowded bus trip, we were dropped off a few hours later on the highway near the site. We grabbed our belongings and readied ourselves for the four kilometer walk. Chichen Itza did not fail. We spent the entire day taking in the vast site, but that's another story. Our goal after sightseeing at the pyramids was to head back to Merida and Hotel Trinidad. We made our way back to where the bus had dropped us off and waited for the next bus heading back to Merida to arrive.

The Merida depot, now late in the day, was packed to overflow with those traveling home to their pueblos. We shuffled along the narrow city streets, walking single file as crowds headed in the opposite direction to the terminal. Finally we were back in the tourist zone, where shops were closing their doors. We saw people carrying small bolsas with what I imagined were gifts, and when we passed the open door or window of an apartment, I peaked inside. Unlike American Christmas's, there were no decorated trees nor piles of wrapped presents. Instead we saw small family gatherings and dinner tables laden with platters of food, a happy display of camaraderie apparent by the sound of laughter and conversations we heard in passing.

Merida Streets near Cathedral

That was when I understood the wide divide in our cultures. Since then, NAFTA brought Costco and other mega-markets to Mexico along with fake Christmas trees in November and blow-up Santa Clauses. But in those days, it was different. Christmas was a holiday from the heart, not the pocketbook. It was not about gifts and giving. It was about family.

So naive was I that I thought we'd find a restaurant for a lovely Christmas Eve dinner. Nope. Businesses were closed. Every single person in that vast and marvelous city was certainly sitting across a table from loved ones, enjoying food and conversation. We passed shuttered stores and restaurants for blocks before finding one lone open tienda as we neared the hotel. We picked up a six-pack of cerveza and some antojitos and chips. That was our Christmas Eve fare. Little did we realize the pickings might be slimmer still on Christmas Day.

NEXT STOP, PROGRESO

The next morning, somehow buses were running, and after gratefully accepting coffee and a concha pastry from the clerk at the hotel, we decided to go to Progreso, a port town on the Gulf Coast, 40 kilometers north. But Progreso, small at the time, was locked down even tighter than Merida. After checking out the ocean, not the translucent blue we were accustomed to on the eastern coast but dark, cloudy water, we walked around town hoping to find something open. A few blocks from the beach we stumbled onto an unshuttered seafood restaurant, empty except for a sweet-looking old man who stood behind the bar. He looked like he was the owner, there to clean up, but when I asked if he was "Abierto," he couldn't say no to holiday strangers.

Progreso, Yucatán

"Feliz Navidad. Cerveza?" 

He gestured us in, bowed at the waist and pointed to a table.

We nodded and took a seat. He came around the bar with two Pacifico's and a well-worn menu, pointing to a photo of a shrimp cocktail. Assuming that was our cue, we nodded again. "Por dos," I managed to say.

Our Christmas dinner consisted of a good many cold Pacifico's and a delicious cocktail de cameron served in a giant fishbowl with a side of saltine crackers, undoubtedly the best, freshest shrimp cocktail I've ever had. By our third Pacifico, the owner had joined us at the painted wooden table, now cluttered with beer bottles. We three were a lonely hearts club, sharing a holiday. How many more beers we drank that day I couldn't tell you. But in time, my fractured Spanish was no longer an issue and we laughed and shared stories through sign language and an occasional common phrase.

What could have been an unmemorable Christmas became one we'll never forget, with a reminder on how the world works. At holiday time, everyone becomes your friend and someone to share a drink with, no matter where you are or where you're from.

LEST THEY BE ANGELS IN DISGUISE

And another lesson along the same lines comes from George Whitman, owner of Shakespeare & Company in Paris. His motto is prominently displayed over the bookstore's front door: Be not inhospitable to strangers lest they be angels in disguise. And let us not forget to return the favor.

Shakespeare & Company, Paris

Happy New Year to you! May your 2023 travels be rewarding and memorable.

If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.

HAWAII'S VOLCANO ERUPTION STIRS MEMORY OF MY BRUSH WITH PELE, GODDESS OF FIRE

Pele, Goddess of Fire and Volcanoes (By Charles Kane)

Mauna Loa, the world's largest active volcano, recently erupted for the first time in 38 years on the island of Hawaii, raising excitement among scientists trying to unlock its many mysteries. Speaking of mysteries, I have one of my own which I'll share here, though it's not about the volcano itself, but about Pele, the goddess who rules volcanoes, and makes her home at the Kilauea Volcano on the Big Island.

Mauna Loa December Eruption (Honolulu Star Advertiser)

THERE STOOD PELE

"Pele's too angry for a goddess!" my Santa Fe astrologer friend who knew about these things said. "Look at Athena and Aphrodite, or Kwan Yin! They don't have tantrums and throw fire around."

I had no idea where she was getting her information, but I had to laugh. "Well, I like her spunk."

We were on Maui after all, and it wasn't prudent to diss goddesses when you were hanging out on their turf. "And Pele is the goddess of fire. Maybe that's what you do when you're a fire goddess." 

"She's over the top. Way too much anger for a goddess. Everyone says so."

That was one of the things I loved about Sherry. She was so far out she considered herself on a personal level with goddesses. It was only fitting that she had a line on their social codes and morés. She would have rolled her eyes if she heard me say that, and then she would have said, stone sober, "Other goddesses."

"Well, when I saw her, she was pretty mellow."

 "What do you mean, when you saw her?"

"I never told you that story?"

We were sitting in upcountry Kula on the slopes of Haleakala. Sherry had landed a gig doing an astrological reading for one of her clients who lived there. The week-long stay included a primo little ohana on the owner's ten-acre property where we sat while this spirited discourse took place. It was a low-slung two-bedroom guest house with stunning vistas of Haleakala Crater and long views that extended down to the isthmus, the far away lime green cane fields, and the blue Pacific.

"No," Sherry said, now a bit huffy. "How could you not tell me this?

"Oh, it happened years ago, just after I met Paul in the eighties, when Lahaina was still low key. That's when I saw Madame Pele."

Good grief, it was now the millennium and I was still coming back to Maui. It seemed like I'd been coming back to the island half my life.

So I began telling Sherry the Madame Pele story. It had started innocently enough. Paul and I had met just weeks before his 40th birthday. He was heading to Maui with a friend to celebrate. As luck would have it, the travel magazine I worked for was staging a conference there and our dates coincided. Serendipity.

I knew nothing about Pele before her Lourdes-like appearance, though I'd always been a big believer in myths, gods and goddesses. When I lived on Maui a year after college, her name never came up.

The "Aha!" factor started the day after the Pele sighting. Paul was sitting in a bar in Lahaina having a late morning Blood Mary, still confused by the previous night's mysterious incident. He laid his tale on the bartender.

"You'll never believe what happened to me last night."

"Don't tell me you saw the woman with the white dog?" the bartender said.

Paul later told me chills ran up and down his spine.

"How did you know?"

"Everyone's been seeing her lately. Madame Pele, goddess of the volcano. She's showing up all over the island."

Paul sat silent for a minute, thinking things through. "Pele? I've got to tell you the story."

"Shoot."

"Well, my girlfriend's here for a conference. She had a meeting last night until nine and I picked her up in Lahaina. Since her hotel's in Wailea, I didn't drink at all before driving to the other side. The road's too dark.

"Right after we passed Puamana on the outskirts of town, we saw a beautiful Hawaiian girl, hitchhiking. She was wearing a turquoise blouse and white shorts, holding a white dog on a leash. I slowed down because I think Jeanine wanted to pick her up, being a retired flower child, but I sped up. It seemed weird. It was late. We really didn't say much after that. I think we were both kind of dazed a the sight of a Hawaiian hitchhiker with a dog at that hour. She seemed out of place.

"Twenty minutes later we get to the Kihei "Y" where you split off to Kihei or Wailuku, and there she was! The same girl with the white dog on a leash. It's like she just materialized!

"I said, 'Did you see that?' We looked at each other as I passed her. I slammed on the brakes and stopped. I'd overshot where she stood, punched the car into reverse, and slammed on the brakes again, this time stopping dead in front of her.

"I leaned over Jeanine, rolled down her window, and all I could think to say was, "How did you get here?" She looked right at me and said, "It was easy."

"I didn't know what to do, so I just took off. Neither of us knew how she did it. Not a single car passed us. You know how Maui roads are at that hour—empty.

"We drove to Wailea, and this morning Jeanine had another meeting on the Lahaina side so I drove her over and here I am, still trying to figure out what the hell happened. Pele? Tell me about her."

"Madame Pele is the goddess of fire and the volcano," the bartender said as he continued his bar set-up. "She shows up as either a beautiful young woman with a white dog or as an old, old woman with long white hair. She walks along the road, hitchhiking. Everyone's been seeing her lately. A lot."

Over the years, Pau and I have discussed, dissected, and argued it, but we always come up with the same answers. We weren't drinking or smoking, and we're not crazy.

Paul is the pragmatic type: Science rules, myths are for sissies, and ghosts and goblins don't exist.

Me, I'm the free spirit, but this was way out of my league. How did that young woman turn up twenty miles down the road in quick order, with her dog, as though she was just waiting for us to come around that bend? We're positive no cars passed. We didn't slow down or stop, so even if a car had picked her up, she'd have been just getting out when we rounded the bend. There was no time for that.

We have no idea how she did it, but Pele being Pele—anything's possible.

Why did she choose us? No clue. Hawaiians can't seem to agree on what it means either and we have asked many. Some say it's good—an omen—like seeing the shroud of Turin; some say it's not so good. Many ask if we spoke to her. If so, then it's a blessing. The one thing all locals seem to agree on is this: Pele shows up most often on Hawaii, the Big Island, her home, where the volcano flows. But this particular week she was a Maui magnet.

Over the years this story has proved to be the ultimate icebreaker. While eating sushi in Santa Cruz years later, Paul was telling the Pele story to the diner next to him. It was a cozy bar, seating for eight at most, an intimate room. Before Paul got to the crazy finish, a visiting Hawaiian at the far end of the bar interrupted. 

"Hey, bra," he said. "I'm from Maui. I'm gonna tell you where she was waiting: at the Kihei "Y." Right?"

Chicken skin! The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. "How did you know?" I asked as my heart beat a little faster.

"It's an old cemetery. She always shows up there."

Well, that further creeped me out. The goddess knew her turf.

We never did figure it out, and occasionally we still think of Pele, like now, when the volcano flows. Other island friends have had sightings, but never on Maui. One guy we know saw her twice on the Big Island, as the girl. Local magazines sometimes tell Hawaiian tales of "ghost" sightings. But our Pele was no ghost. She was right there in front of us: a beautiful Hawaiian girl with long flowing hair and a white Samoyed. If only I had reached out to touch her. I was that close.

If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.

THE THREE SISTERS, THE MILPA GROWING SYSTEM AND THE GENIUS OF INDIGENOUS AGRICULTURE

The Three Sisters (By National Agriculture Archive)

THE THREE SISTERS—CORN, BEANS, SQUASH

Native peoples speak of this type of agriculture—corn, beans and squash— as the three sisters. In Robin Wall Kimmerer's popular classic, Braiding Sweetgrass, the author explains how these three vegetables got the label. These plants together, she says, feed the people, feed the land, and feed the imagination.

There are many stories about how the three sisters came into being and each of them acknowledges these plants as sisters. One take on the story tells of a long winter when people were dropping from hunger. Three women came to a villager's dwelling on a snowy night. One was a tall woman dressed in yellow with long flowing hair. The second wore green and the third was robed in orange.

They came to shelter by the fire. Even though food was scarce, the visiting strangers were fed generously, with their hosts sharing what little they had left. In gratitude for their generosity, the three revealed their true identities—corn, beans and squash—and gave themselves to the people in a bundle of seeds so that they would never go hungry again.

THE GENIUS OF INDIGENOUS AGRICULTURE

For millennia, from Mexico to Montana, women mound up the earth each spring and place the seeds of these plants into the ground, all in the same square foot of soil. It's called the genius of indigenous agriculture. In mid-May, after planting, the corn seed takes water quickly and is the first of the three to emerge from the ground. Drinking in soil and water, the bean seed swells and sends its roots deep down. It breaks the soil to join the corn, which by that time has already grown six inches tall.

Squash takes its time—it is the slow sister. It may be a long while before the first stems poke up, still caught in their seed coat until the leaves split and break free, says Kimmerer in Braiding Sweetgrass.

These three vegetables are not only the core of the Maya milpa and Central American Indigenous peoples. Native American tribes such as the Iriquois and Cherokee acknowledge these vegetables also as the three sisters because they nurtured each other like family when planted together. 

Milpas may seem mysterious to outsiders but they are a traditional agro-forestry system formed by cultures that create a spacial dynamic to maintain local biodiversity in agriculture. This farming technique has been found to bring continuity and security to a culture's food supply, nutrition, and even the social fabric of a village. 

TIME OFF BETWEEN CROPS

In the milpa system, it is customary to have years of rest in between planting crops. This leads to soil fertility, reduces the destruction of weeds, and helps control harmful pests. Because of the time between plantings of a specific milpa, the Maya, though not nomadic, required a great deal of land mass to achieve the proper platform for the milpa to produce at its maximum. In pre-Hispanic times, land was plentiful and these communal ventures—with family members and/or neighbors joining in both with work and the fruits of their labors—much resembled the structure of the Maya ejido system.

And it was not restricted to planting vegetables. The milpa was diverse and could include orchards, livestock and craft activities, even timber harvesting wood for houses, medicinal plants, beekeeping and hunting. All this made for a complex and varied system that retained sustainability and the use of the land's resources.

THE MILPA CYCLE

A Man and His Son in Their Milpa

The milpa cycle involves two years of cultivation and eight years of fallow or secondary growth to allow for the natural regeneration of vegetation. As long as this rotation continues without shortening fallow periods, the system can be sustained indefinitely.

So unique is the milpa system that after three thousand years, the milpa has received worldwide recognition from the United Nations, as noted in a recent article in "Yucatán Magazine."

UNITED NATIONS RECOGNITION

The UN was impressed by the ancient system for its complexity as a productive model that includes the combined cultivation of beans, pumpkin, and mainly corn, the basis of regional food since ancient timeSquash takes its time—it is the slow sister. It may be a long while before the first stems poke up, still caught in their seed coat until the leaves split and break free, says Kimmerer in Braiding Sweetgrass.

These three vegetables are not only the core of the Maya milpa and Central American Indigenous peoples. Native American tribes such as the Iriquois and Cherokee acknowledge these vegetables also as the three sisters because they nurtured each other like family when planted together. 

Milpas may seem mysterious to outsiders but they are a traditional agro-forestry system formed by cultures that create a spacial dynamic to maintain local biodiversity in agriculture. This farming technique has been found to bring continuity and security to a culture's food supply, nutrition, and even the social fabric of a village. 

TIME OFF BETWEEN CROPS

In the milpa system, it is customary to have years of rest in between planting crops. This leads to soil fertility, reduces the destruction of weeds, and helps control harmful pests. Because of the time between plantings of a specific milpa, the Maya, though not nomadic, required a great deal of land mass to achieve the proper platform for the milpa to produce at its maximum. In pre-Hispanic times, land was plentiful and these communal ventures—with family members and/or neighbors joining in both with work and the fruits of their labors—much resembled the structure of the Maya ejido system.

Maya Man Working His Milpa (From Society of EthnoBiology)

The appointment of the "Maya Milpa as an Important System of the World Agricultural Heritage for their Food and Agriculture Organization" also recognizes the traditional milpa for its resilience to climate and modernity changes, long life, and contributions to the conservation of both the culture and biodiversity of the Yucatán Peninsula.  

THE MILPA'S IMPORTANCE

To sum up the importance and magnitude of milpas, author Kim Wall Kimmerer says it best: "Of all the wise teachers who have come into my life, none are more eloquent than these, who wordlessly in leaf and vine embody the knowledge of relationship. Alone, a bean is just vine, squash an oversized leaf. Only when standing together with corn does a whole emerge which transcends the individual. The gifts of each are more fully expressed when they are nurtured together than alone. In ripe ears and swelling fruit, they counsel us that all gifts are multiplied in relationship. This is how the world keeps going." Amen.

With this final nugget, may I wish you the very best of fall seasons—our harvest season—and a joyful Thanksgiving.  

If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.