the Yucatan & Casa Hamaca
What's Past is Present (Part III) 

In almost every place I have lived or traveled to, a rock was just a rock. In Montana the rock might have a bit of agate or quartz in it. In North Carolina, perhaps, a bit of mica. In Yellowstone Park there was obsidian. But basically they were just rocks. Something to skim across a pond. Or shoot with a slingshot. Or throw at a target. But, still just a rock. Without age or character or interest. A few times I accompanied my father on fieldwork in Montana where he was collecting various types of rock for a geology class. I never thought to look for fossils during these outings. Although some of the places we went later turned out to be full of interesting fossils.

I’ve been around gravel pits and sand pits and rock quarries in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and New York and never paid any attention to the rocks themselves. I’ve lived in New Hampshire and in Switzerland where rocks seem to be everywhere, but didn’t notice them except when they were in my way.

The only times that rocks had any age or dynamics seemed to be places where they were still growing. Did I really mean to say, “Rocks were growing?” Yes, I did. In Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, in Lewis and Clark Caverns in Montana and in Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico, you could see the stalactites and the stalagmites growing millimeter by millimeter as drops of mineral-laden water fell from them or unto them. You couldn’t actually see them grow, but you could feel them growing, you could sense the change and the growth. The other place I saw rocks growing was on the Big Island of Hawaii. We rented a small airplane to fly near the volcanoes and to see the red-hot lava falling into the ocean, instantly vaporizing water into steam and changing from liquid lava into solid stone. I had a similar experience/feeling when I explored Pompeii. I could picture the ash being compressed into stone over time.

But, for the most part, rocks were just rocks. Nothing more, nothing less.

But here in the Yucatan, things are different. Rocks are living. Rocks are growing. Rocks have spirits (I’ll write about that later). And at the same time, the rocks are very old...they seem ageless. About nine years ago, I was leaning against a stone fence, separating two properties in Sierra Papacal, a small village near Merida. I was on a volunteer mission project building concrete roofs on houses of people in need and working with Mano Amiga. I was whipped. The day was hot, I was out of shape and I had not been drinking enough water. So I was resting and getting ready to go back to work when I happened to actually look that the stone fence on which I was resting. The stones weren’t huge, but they were a good size…perhaps 10 to 15 kilos each (22 to 33lbs). As I looked at them closer and closer, I saw more and more seashells imbedded into the rock. Fossilized remains of long-dead sea creatures. As I looked closer, I saw that virtually every rock contained fossils of sea dwellers. I remembered enough of my high school earth science course to realize that these were probably sedimentary rocks, built up layer by layer beneath the sea, trapping the seashells and surrounding them. At some point either the sea level dropped or the land rose from the sea and the rock was exposed to air.

This exposed limestone sat patiently for thousands of years waiting for the Mayan builders to utilize the stone for their houses, their temples and their pyramids. The Mayan builders quarried, cut, dressed and carved all of their building blocks without metal tools. That blows me away. Every time I hit a limestone rock with a steel hammer and the hammer bounces off, I wonder how did the Mayans do it and how long did it take them to form all the blocks for even a small pyramid? In modern times, the rock is still quarried for foundations, for exposed-stone walls, for architectural and ornamental carvings and to make decorative tiles. Some of the bathrooms at Casa Hamaca are tiled with natural limestone tiles that expose various kinds and sizes of fossilized seashell. They are natural stone cut to the desired thickness and size and then lightly polished to remove most of the saw marks. Here’s a few photos of the tile at Casa Hamaca; Every one of the seashells is a fossil. That's still amazing to me.

The entire northern portion of the Yucatan peninsula is a limestone shelf that once was underwater. It seems solid enough, but it’s not. It’s dynamic and changing…almost living. The geology of the Yucatan is much like that of Florida. Flat. A flat limestone crust with channels, streams and rivers running under the crust. In Florida, when the alkaline limestone becomes eaten away by the acid in the rains and the crust weakens and eventually collapses, it is called a sinkhole. It seems every year or so there is a news story about a house or an automobile getting gobbled by a quickly forming sinkhole. The same type of thing happens in the Yucatan except here they are called cenotes (but I cannot remember any cenotes gobbling up a car or a house). With the exception of a very few small lakes, there is no surface water in the northern part of the Yucatan. The cenotes were and still are the only constant water supply. They were life giving and villages and cities grew up around the cenotes since they were the source of year-round water.

There are no real lakes, no rivers, no streams in the northern Yucatan. At least on the surface there are none. But beneath the surface of the Yucatan, underneath the limestone shelf, underground rivers flow into underground lakes. The entire Yucatan is honeycombed with them, interconnecting to form a vast underground world. And the surface is riddled with cenotes. There are probably dozens if not hundreds of new cenotes currently forming as the acidic rain leaches away the alkaline limestone. There’s some great graphics on this link: that show the stages of cenote formation. And some simple experiments with chalks that demonstrate how the rock is eaten away.

Some cenotes have a very small opening to the surface with an underground cavern considerably larger hidden underneath the surface, like the cenote at Dzitnup near Valladolid. Some of the cenotes are literally just holes in the ground. The main cenote at Chichen Itza, for instance, has vertical sides and maybe as much as 100 meters (110 yards) across, but is just hole in the ground. Still others are in the transition stage between the two previous examples…like Cenote Zaci in the center of Valladolid. It has partially collapsed, but the enormous slaps of rock that once formed the ceiling of the cenote now lie scattered and shattered many feet below the surface of the ground.

And that’s another place you can see the rock grow. Many of the cenotes, caves and caverns in the Yucatan have stalactites and stalagmites. They are growing drip by drip.

This morning my friend, Ponce, took me to the jungle near Valladolid to show me a cenote. He wants me to buy a piece of land on which the cenote is located. I told him that without water, land is worthless. He assured me the water was there, the cenote was there. In fact, he said there was even a second cenote much further into the jungle. We parked beside the road and grabbed our machetes. Ponce led the way into the jungle, following a distinct path that was almost hidden in places by the plant growth on either side of the path. We really needed the machetes. Ponce pointed out the plants not to touch and pointed out the ones that are good to eat. After about 1/2 hour of playing Indiana Jones, we came to an open field populated by some Brahma bulls and cows…and a dozen young boys from a nearby village on their way to the cenote to swim. We joined up with the boys and continued on a much more frequently used and open path to the cenote.

The cenote is very deep; Ponce says 20 meters or almost 66 feet to the water. It’s difficult for me to judge depth, but it was a long, long way down. This cenote has no name but is similar in some ways to the one at Dzitnup. There was a main opening, a hole, less than ten meters (about 33 feet) across. With the brilliance of the sun, it was hard to see into the opening, but with a little patience, waiting until the clouds covered the sun, you could see that the cenote opened up to a much larger space near the water level. It space was shaped somewhat like a mayonnaise jar with a hole the size of a quarter cut in the lid. That was the main opening to the cenote. When the sun was just right, I could see there was dry land down there at the bottom. As well as the larger opening, there was another one nearby of four or five meters (13 to 16 feet) across, but it was so overgrown with trees, shrubs and bushes, that it was impossible to determine even the shape of the opening. And then there were another five or so much smaller openings to the larger underground chamber. One of them had rocks mortared around it in a circle forming a well-like location from which to draw up water by the bucketful.

The leaning tree on the left of this photo is the one on which the boys are climbing down on the following photos. This image has been photoshoped to attempt to bring out some of the interior detail.

All of the openings allowed light to penetrate to the furthest depths and, depending on time of day, allow sunbeams to strike the surface of the water. That’s what made this cenote so beautiful and so similar to Dzitnup, the sunbeams on the water. Great flocks of a beautiful bird flew in and out of the main opening. Butterflies flittered about. Vine-like tendrils seemed suspended from the edge of the opening all the way to water level. Plants covered one side of a huge stalactite that hung down almost to the water below. Other stalactites formed bizarre shapes. The boys kept warning me not to step in one of the smaller holes or to go too close to the edge of the big one. Hey, don’t worry; I’m not going down there! But the boys did. There was a very large tree leaning against one edge of the largest opening. The boys scampered down it like monkeys to jump into the water. I could not see how far down the tree actually went. Perhaps it was growing from one of the dry areas at the bottom.

While we were standing there watching the boys swim, I tried to envision what I would do with this cenote if the land around it became mine. For access, I pictured a spiral staircase leading all the way to the bottom from the second largest opening. The flat terrain would allow a rough road to be cut leading to the cenote area. But that’s as far as I could picture it without seeing what was at the bottom of the cenote. Could it be developed as a tourist attraction? Did it have a natural, temperature-stable cave in which to age cheese? Or wine? Or was there a hidden temple? Or a buried treasure? I knew I could not get down the tree trunk and ever get back up…so maybe I will have to just send my camera and see the cenote through another’s eyes. But I think I want to know what’s at the bottom of the cenote.

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What’s Past is Present (Part II) 
The Thrill of Discovery: There's Old Stuff All Around Us

“Eureka! I’ve found gold!”
I don’t remember if those were my exact words since I was only about 11 years old at the time, but I know I was very excited. I had found a rock with a vein of glittery, shiny, gold. I lived in Bozeman, Montana, at the edge of town. So I could freely wander the creeks and the woods and the fields that abutted where we lived. My friend and I were wading in the creek looking for whatever struck the fancy of an 11-years old boy when we came across the gold-filled rocks. We had struck it rich! The mother lode! When I showed my prize to my father (who had his master’s degree in soil mechanics and lots of geology under his belt), he explained that my discovery was just iron pyrite. Alas, it was the mother lode of iron pyrite sometimes known as fool’s gold …and I was the fool. POP! There went my dream-bubble.

Since that time, there have been any number of “Eureka” moments in my life. One of the most memorable was the discovery of my first ceramic shard while attending an archaeological field school in northern Belize. Most of the school participants were anthropology undergrads fulfilling a field school requirement. Another large group comprised grad students and post-grads working on specific projects. A small group of us were just interested volunteers, along for the ride, and hoping to experience archaeological fieldwork. Along with two undergrads and one other volunteer, I was assigned to a professional archaeologist and his guide. Our project took place in the heart of the jungle. Every morning, we were loaded in the back of an old pickup truck and driven to the drop-off point for the work site. To get there, we followed the axel-deep ruts of previous passages by the pickup, trying to avoid getting stuck. We had to stop every few hundred yards to open and then close the barbed wire gates. One field full of cows, the next corn, the next cows, the next corn, etc. We could not allow the cows into the cornfield. If we did the farmer who owned the land where the digs were would stop the projects cold. So we were very careful.

Our first stop was near a small hill at the edge of the fields. We dropped off a group that was digging there and looking for a burial site. We had to drive for about another 10 minutes to the end of the line before we got out. We crawled over or under another barbed wire fence and then followed Ricky (our guide). Every day he had to chop back the jungle with his machete to keep our path clear. The jungle almost grew faster than he could keep up with it. Our objective was to discover the general plan and dimensions of a residential complex. A very small part of a much larger site. Kind of boring compared to looking for a tomb! The previous group of diggers had laid out a one meter-wide set of lines running over a small mound. My job was, shovel-full by shovel-full, to uncover all of the dirt and rubble, down to bedrock, to the other side of the mound. I was in Belize for two weeks for the field school and it was the most physically demanding two weeks that I have ever spent in my life. It was hot and humid. Once we entered the jungle in the morning we never saw the sun for the rest of the day, but we sure felt its heat. Everything just dripped with moisture. Using small mason trowels and brushes, we removed the dirt and filled a 5-gallon bucket with the mixed dirt and rubble. Then we screened every bit of the dirt through a framed square of hardware cloth… made from welded wire with 1/4 inch opening. The dirt easily passed through the screen, the larger pieces didn’t. We had to sort through everything that was left looking for ceramics, bones, flint, obsidian, jade, wood or anything else unusual. And then bag and tag any findings. After about the third or fourth bucket, I suddenly saw my first shard (or sherd). It really was a “WOW” moment. I had just discovered (actually uncovered) something that had been made by man and had been hidden for hundreds of years beneath the earth. I felt like Indiana Jones. It was so exciting to see and then hold this small piece of broken clay. I ran to the archaeologist to show him. Ho-hum. Just another piece of a broken jar. After the first piece, my eye had learned what to look for and I discovered sometimes dozens of pieces with each screening. Nothing of real consequence but filled with rich meaning for me.

Earlier that same year, I had been in San Pedro Sula, Honduras, for the first time. I had a few hours to explore a local market before leaving to visit the local archaeology museum and then on to the Mayan ruins at Copan. I wandered through the market seeing nothing of great interest, nothing I thought was unique to the area. Since I have a mask collection of over 60 pieces from numerous places around the world, I asked at a few shops if they had any masks. One or two had some freshly carved wooden masks for the tourist trade, but that wasn’t what I was looking for. When I attempted to explain that I was looking for old masks or ones that had been used ceremonially, a shopkeeper beckoned me to enter her shop. After we talked for a few minutes she reached beneath one of the counters, literally under the counter, brushed away a handful of spider webs and withdrew an old cigar box. Old and dusty and slightly moldy and covered with mouse droppings. And full of small clay figures and broken pots. I had never seen a shard before or if I had, never paid any attention to them so I didn't really know what I was looking at. The contents of the box were for sale. I selected two of the intact small clay figures and as I paid for them, the box was returned under the counter.

The two figures I purchased in San Pedro Sula

I met up with the tour and went to the archaeology museum and there, in a showcase, saw one of the figurines that I had just purchased. It was part of a display showing how 1000 years ago, mass-produced whistles were made by casting clay in molds. The very same figure! Made last week in an original mold? Or found on a washed-out riverbank where it had been uncovered by the floods, a riverbank where it had been lost 1000 years ago? ¿Quien sabe? Some time almost two weeks later, and in another country, I showed the pieces to my guide. He was an experienced digger and guide at Copan as well as having extensive experience at other Mayan sites in Honduras, Guatemala and Belize. He looked at the pieces and said they were authentic. And then asked “where was the shop I purchased the find?” He would go there on his next trip to San Pedro Sula to purchase the entire shoebox.

Later that same year, I took an archaeological tour of Peru. I first went to Iquitos on my own and by boat down the Amazon to the Napo and then up the Napo River for a bit to reach a jungle lodge where I spent a few days. When I returned to Iquitos, I joined the tour and we flew to the north coast of Peru to Chiclayo. At our first ruin we had to walk about a kilometer or two from the parking area to reach the ruins. As we were walking, I noticed we were walking across a field of shards. Thousands of them, covering the field in all directions as far as I could see. You couldn’t walk without stepping on them. I asked our guide about this and she told me that the north coast pyramids were built of adobe or dried mud/clay. Since this area has almost zero annual rainfall, the pyramids should last forever. And they probably would except for every hundred years or so, a huge rainstorm (literally a hundred-year storm) comes through and dissolves a bit more of the pyramids. And washes down more shards to the plain below it. The guide said all the shards were out of context and of no value to the archaeologists because they couldn’t learn anything from a single piece without knowing where it came from and what had been next to it.

At each site in Peru that we stopped, I found shards. Near Trujillo, near Cusco, along the Urubamba, even at the top of Machu Picchu. I never knew if they were broken, contemporary pots that had been brought into the sites as fill for the paths or had been there for hundreds of years waiting to be found. Once my eye knew what to look for, the shards magically appeared.

In Mexico, when I went to Chichen Itza, Uxmal, Ek Balam, Yaxunah, Muyil, Calakmul, Tonina, Palenque, Bonampak, Yaxchilan, Dzibilchaltun and other smaller and out-of-the-way places, I saw shards. In caves, caverns and around cenotes, I saw them. In my gardens in Valladolid, at the Casa Hamaca, when I dig to plant some flowers, I come across shards. From 10 years ago? Or a thousand? Who knows.

Last week one of my masons brought something to show me. He lives in a small village near Valladolid and farms a small milpa. He had completed this year’s slash and burn and discovered something curious in the ashes. The left forearm of a statue or an idol made of fired clay. Hollow, with the hand gripping an undefined something…like a ball, perhaps? And with a heavy bracelets encircling the wrist. Half of the forearm was fire-blackened, the other half terra cotta color with, maybe, suggestions of paint or color. Roberto was pretty proud of his find, as he should be. But now he has gone back to look for the rest of the statue. Based on my calculations (read: best guess) the full statue might be 12 to 14 inches in height. I hope he finds it; I’d love to see it.

The forearm Roberto found in his milpa

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What’s Past is Present (Part I) 

On of the reasons that Valladolid first grabbed me was the age of things. The antiquity and the history of so many of the colonial buildings blew me away. And underlying the colonial history was the realization that the Mayan people had lived here for a very long time before the Spanish came. As I drive or walk anywhere in town, I sometimes complain to myself that the streets and the sidewalks are too narrow. And then I remember that the streets were built to accommodate horses, carriages and carts not our modern automobiles, busses and trucks. They were built just right for the horses and still seem perfect for bicycles, tricycles and motor scooters. But not for driving. Not for walking. Of course, in colonial times the only people who had to walk were indios and they sure didn’t need sidewalks…they could walk in the gutters. No proper Spanish lady or gentleman ever had to worry about such a base endeavor as walking in the street! When sidewalks were finally put in to allow people on foot to get around without getting run over, there wasn’t a lot of room for them since virtually all the houses were built right to the street. So the width of the streets became even narrower.

The Spanish architecture that was brought here in the 16th century had been strongly influenced by the Moors who ruled Spain for almost 1,000 years…they last of the Moors were defeated at almost exactly the same time Columbus “discovered” the Americas. For all kinds of reasons, the Moors built a very plain façade facing outward, with either a high wall or buildings (or both) facing inward to a central courtyard. That’s where all the family life took place…in the courtyard. The horses were stabled there, the chickens roosted there, the family smithy might be there, the kitchens and laundries were there. There might be fruit, vegetable and herb gardens. And maybe a fountain or some reflecting pools for cooling. When I was about 15 years old, I visited Toledo, Spain, with my parents (we lived in Madrid for two years in the mid ‘50s). One of the few things that I can really remember of that excursion was visiting the house of El Greco, the artist and painter. I remember thinking how cool it would be to live in a house like his…an open courtyard surrounded by inward facing rooms…and to make it even cooler, many of the structures were two stories with an open balcony and walkway wrapping around much of the courtyard. His house followed the Moorish style to the “t”. Partly because of the Moorish influence, Spain and Portugal were so different, so foreign and so strange that, until the European Union, people said that Europe stopped at the Pyrenees. Spain and Portugal are part of Europe now and not nearly so interesting.

It seems if I have always liked old things, antique things, ancient things. And, now that I am an antique, I seem to like them even more. I like the patina of age. The side of a three or four hundred-year-old building with exposed layers of multiple colors of paint. When you get up close, you can see the demarcation lines of the various layers, but if you step back a few feet, the wall becomes an abstract mural. It’s amazing; the most humble wall or building transforming that way. I was waiting in the car for my wife a week ago and was looking at a stone wall (it was too high to be called a fence). Many years ago it had been painted yellow (maybe the wall owner was originally from Izamal where the entire town is painted yellow), and then repainted yellow and repainted again. I could see the multiple layers and the richness of color…of the play of light and shadow.

So that’s part of the reason that I am here in Valladolid…because it’s old. I like it that way. But do the people who live here? Do the people who grew up here like it that way? Or do they just think that things are sort of run-down? Sort of shabby? Sort of old? That some of the old building, basically abandoned homes that have turned into overgrown ruins, should be torn down and something nice and modern should be built there…like a Seven-Eleven or something. Torn down even though some of the walls are almost a yard thick, built of stone and 400 + years old. I can’t answer that question, but I do know the laws say you can’t change the exterior of buildings of a certain age. You can put new windows and doors in the original openings, you can paint the building a different color, but that’s about it. From the outside, things must remain the same. That’s good for a lot of people. That’s good for the cultural and architectural heritage of the city. It’s good for the preservation of the past.


What all brings this to my mind is the church across the street from me. The San Juan Church. The guidebooks don’t give an age for the church because, I believe, the early records were lost in one of the many conflicts that involved the city. I have heard the story that the church is from the 1600s. It could well be. It sure is old. Old and charming. With pigeons and buzzards sitting on tops of both steeples each morning waiting for the first warming rays of the sun. I used the word patina before; this church has a patina. I really like patina. I like the green patina of corroded copper, for instance, more than I like polished copper. But what I call the beauty of patina, some might think is just grimy and dirty and grubby. And should be cleaned up and made to look young and fresh and new again. There is something to be said for that. I wish that I could be made young and fresh and new again. Well, I can’t…but the building can. And that’s what’s happening with the San Juan Church. It’s being restored to its original glory and shininess and brightness and cleanliness. The stones are being re-pointed and scrubbed. The cleaned part of the building seems to glow now. In contrast, the un-refurbished part is still covered with bird droppings. It has shrubs and small trees growing in tiny pockets of wind-deposited soil, high up of the ground. It has character. It has patina. But I’m slowly of getting used to the idea of the “new“ church. But, for today, at least, there is still part of the character left. Still some of the patina. And there is always the rest of Valladolid. Almost the entire historic district still has the patina of antiquity. It still lives in a time warp. It will be a long time coming before that changes, I think.

PS a friend set up a MySpace page for Casa Hamaca at Check it out and add yourself as a friend and help get the word out about Casa Hamaca.

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Some Internet privacy concerns: things I forgot…but the Internet didn’t. 
Every so often I do a name search on Google or Yahoo to see where Casa Hamaca stands in their rankings. Today after I ran the Casa search, I ran a search on my name; Denis Larsen.

When I just typed in Denis Larsen the results were (on Google) about 1,470,000. I thought that was too many to look through this afternoon. So I ran the search again with quote marks around the two names, like this “Denis Larsen.” That returned a more manageable number: 329. And I was at the top of the list! Hurray. Makes one feel good to be recognized and known. It turns out that there are a number of other people named Denis Larsen or some variation like Dennis Larsen, Dennis Larson or Denis Larson. There is a General in the US Air Force, a rock musician and a hockey player (I don’t think they are all the same person). I started scanning the results. They were all pretty much related to one of five endeavors of mine that have websites. But then came some surprises.

1. The Casa Hamaca website and various links to the casa including personal posts to other sites letting them know about the casa. The only surprises here were a few comments that I had left on some different blogs or message boards…some of them some time ago. So long ago that I had forgotten I had posted the comments. I don’t think I said anything to offend anyone.

2. My massage therapy business, aNeed2Heal, LLC. There were multiple pages from the website itself. And a surprising number of “find a massage therapist” type listings, many of them with addresses a number of years old. There were also some links to some writing about massage that I have had published on other websites (ie: No real surprises here either.

3. The volunteer work that I do with Mano Amiga in the north of Mexico as well as in the Yucatan.

4. And a goofy site, Dalisllama that I write. It contains some of my travel writing on Peru, Belize, Isla Mujeres and the Yucatan as well as some links that I find funny, interesting or just curious. No real surprises here either.

5. Easy Isla…a site about Isla Mujeres that I started almost 7 years ago and just got bored with. Maybe some day I will revive it.

6. Then the surprises started. I came across my name at I registered with them some years ago for a free listing and stopped using the service as soon as I realized that all they wanted was money and they weren’t shy about asking for it. They list a couple of schools that I attended. But I had forgotten the site even existed.

7. More surprisingly, I came across a number of sites that listed contributions of money or time that I had made to churches, summer camps, and political campaigns and to the Mayan Research Program (reviewed at I didn’t realize that these details of my life would ever see the light of day. Nor did I think it anyones business where I donated time or money. But there it is.

8. Then I came across a few real surprises. An article in Spanish published of news of the state of Quintana Roo, about a volunteer project of audiologists on Isla Mujeres that I coordinated. ... ] ... amp;y=2007[/url]

9. A couple of different references to a series of business meetings in late 1971 and early 1972 (way before the internet was born) between the R&D folks at Phillip Morris, the cigarette makers, and myself, my ex-wife and a friend for whom we were pretending to work for. We (my ex and I) were freelancing for him to develop new consumer smoking products. Right after this project, my ex and I agreed never to work again in tobacco products. And neither of us ever did. This stuff got on line, I think, because of suits from consumer interest groups to examine how the tobacco industry seduced people to smoke. ... h78e00.pdf ... -7773.html

10. A reference from the Seti (seekers of life on other planets) project. They had a program (maybe still do for all I know) that borrowed your computer when you were not actively using it to analyze signals from outer space. They listed how many total hours of computer time I donated as well as the average length of a computer session. Wow. I really had forgotten about doing that. ... 51731.html

11. In 1954, when I was 14 years old and living in Urbana, Illinois and attending University High School, I spent the better part of one summer working for a research project for the University of Illinois. It was a study of the thiamine requirement of teenaged boys that finally was presented as a paper a few years later and published in The Journal of Nutrition. They must have put their archives online.

Lots of bits and pieces of my life here. So I ran a search on Yahoo to see what happened there. 143 results for “Denis Larsen”, including a Linkin listing that I had also forgotten.

That got me wondering about other aspects of my life that hadn’t shown up on the web. I wrote, edited and published a monthly newsletter on Japanese Woodblock Prints for two years in the early 1980…before desktop publishing or personal computers. I did this every month in my basement on a top-of-the-line IBM Correcting Selectric. And then cut and pasted the entire issue. I also kept a database of some 3,000 individual Japanese prints (ukiyo-e in Japanese) on 3 x 5 cards. I tracked their description, artist’s signature, printer’s signature or seal, sale prices, condition, color, impression, location of sale, etc. After I had done this for a few months, I asked a neighbor who had just purchased a large IBM computer if they could put my database into the computer and maintain it. She answered that her database program could not handle the information. So I continued by hand. And then a few years later came the home computer revolution. A search on “Japanese Woodblock Print Dealer and Collectors Newsletter” on Google returned “no results”…same as Yahoo.

I often use the online name of xxxxxxxxx. A Google search turned up 38 results…everything from YouTube video postings to dumb questions or comments that I had posted all over the net. Yahoo surprised me with 1,760 results. They were mostly the same kind of thing that Google returned along with an at least one online auction bid that I had made a few years ago. There does seem to at least one other person who goes by the name of xxxxxxxxxx, but he is not too active on the net.

Last week, announced that they have just put a huge database of US military records on line. I quickly found my uncle and my grandfather, his brother and my great grandfather…but could not find my father since he was in the Navy in WWII. The current records are only for the US Army. I was in ROTC, but never served in the military so my name turned up zip.

The net/net on the net is that there is a lot of information out there on anyone who has any kind of online presence. And some of it just won’t go away. I recently read about services that attempt to clean up your web records and delete embarrassing questions, comments or whatever. Politicians and top business people seem to be the biggest users of these services. I sure don’t.
However, I did go back through the article and changed a few things to make it a little more challenging to do an identity theft. !

Vanity thy name is Denis. That's Denis with one "n". and Larsen, with an "e", not Larson.

What are your experiences with this kind of information about yourself?

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Cipro works for diarrhea? No Sh*t? 
Note: this article was recently rejected by the Editors of InTheKnowTraveler
as not fitting the needs of their readership. Maybe their readers all stay at really ritzy hotels all the time and never experience tummy problems...or maybe they never actually even leave their house because everyone I know who travels experiences this problem at one time or another. This article also published today on our sister site:

Dateline: Valladolid, Yucatan, Mexico

Almost every traveler experiences what is sometimes know as traveler’s tummy, the trots, diarrhea, or, more commonly here in Mexico, as Montezuma’s Revenge. Most of these stomach problems are not life threatening in themselves and will pass within a few days. The most critical problem is dehydration. Small children and the elderly are at most risk for this but it can be a mortal danger to anyone.

According to Where There Is No Doctor, a village health care handbook by Werner, some signs of dehydration are: thirst; little or no urine; dark yellow urine; sudden weight loss; dry mouth; sunken, tearless eyes and loss of elasticity of the skin.

Treat dehydration first. Act quickly before the problem becomes critical. A mixture of 1/2 level teaspoon of common salt plus 8 level teaspoons of sugar with one liter of clean water provides a good dehydration drink. Add in a half-cup of coconut water, fruit juice or mashed ripe banana, if available. These replenish the potassium, which has been lost. Give frequent sips of this to the dehydrated person; 3 liters per day or more for an adult. Continue until urine is normal. If dehydration gets worse, seek medical help. An IV to replenish lost fluids may be necessary.

After the hydration issue is dealt with, there still remain the problems associated with diarrhea. This can range from a minor inconvenience to a severe attack with cramps, high fever, chills, nausea and dizziness. If you are in the middle of a trip, spending a few days in the hotel room (actually the bathroom of the hotel room) is just no fun after the first few times. Pink Pepto BismolÒ to the rescue! Pepto Bismol, or the local equivalent, is sold in most part of the world. It’s basically the same stuff wherever you purchase it (bismuth subsalicylate along with whatever makes it bright pink). Don’t use if allergic to aspirin. Follow the directions for diarrhea on the bottle: 2 Tablespoons or 30 ml every 1/2 to 1 hour as needed until the diarrhea stops. This might take a while. Be patient.

If you can’t be patient because, for instance, you need to get on an airplane for an extended time or the last launch up the Napo River is leaving at dawn, you might want to consider Cipro (ciprofloxacin). Some years ago, my MD gave me a prescription for Cipro to take along with me on my journeys in the event of diarrhea. His suggestion was one 500 mg tab per day for 6 or 7 days. That does work if you have the time to wait. Perhaps there will be another launch for the Napo early next week.

An anthropologist, with whom I was spending some time in a small Mayan village where I contracted a severe case of diarrhea, told me the official anthropologists method. And that is three 500mg tabs of Cipro the first day (all at once), two tabs the second day and one tab the third. Since that time, I have used this method a number of times and can attest that it really works! Usually the first day, I am really whipped (no pun intended); but by the morning of the second day am able to jump in the launch or get where I need to be without discomfort or embarrassment. I am not an MD so I cannot suggest that you use this method, but it has worked for me.

As an aside, both Pepto-Bismol and Cipro should be in your travel case wherever you travel. Pepto-Bismol is good for heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, and nausea as well as for diarrhea. Cipro is great for diarrhea as well as lower respiratory infections (pneumonias), urinary tract infections, STDs and is the drug of choice in case of a surprise anthrax attack in the middle of the jungle. Cirpo is available, in Mexico, at most pharmacies without a prescription; in the USA a MD's prescription in necessary.

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