Translate

A little about Playa Zipolite, The Beach of the Dead . . .

Playa Zipolite, Oaxaca, Southern Mexico, on the Pacific Ocean. A little bit about my favorite little get-away on this small world of ours.

Zipolite, a sweaty 30-minute walk west from Puerto Angel, brings you to Playa Zipolite and another world. The feeling here is 1970's - Led Zep, Marley, and scruffy gringos.

A long, long time ago, Zipolite beach was usually visited by the Zapotecans...who made it a magical place. They came to visit Zipolite to meditate, or just to rest.

Recently, this beach has begun to receive day-trippers from Puerto Angel and Puerto Escondido, giving it a more TOURISTY feel than before.

Most people come here for the novelty of the nude beach, yoga, turtles, seafood, surf, meditation, vegetarians, discos, party, to get burnt by the sun, or to see how long they can stretch their skinny budget.

I post WWW Oaxaca, Mexico, Zipolite and areas nearby information. Also general budget, backpacker, surfer, off the beaten path, Mexico and beyond, information.

REMEMBER: Everyone is welcome at Zipolite.

ivan

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Joaquin, we Will always remember you. Rest in peace maestro / Salvavidas juniors

Joaquin, we Will always remember you. Rest in...
Marlene Kaas11:38pm Aug 25
Joaquin, we Will always remember you. Rest in peace maestro / Salvavidas juniors

Landing a boat in Puerto Angel, Mexico - YouTube 11 sec Thats one way to get your boat on the beach. Watch out for toddlers! youtube.com

One small step for man





Neil Armstrong, first man to step on the moon, dies at 82

By Paul Duggan, Published: August 25

Neil Armstrong, the astronaut who marked an epochal achievement in exploration with “one small step” from the Apollo 11 lunar module on July 20, 1969, becoming the first person to walk on the moon, died Aug. 25 in the Cincinnati area. He was 82.
His family announced the death in a statement and attributed it to “complications resulting from cardiovascular procedures.”
A taciturn engineer and test pilot who was never at ease with his fame, Mr. Armstrong was among the most heroized Americans of the 1960s Cold War space race. “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” he is famous for saying as he stepped on the moon, an indelible quotation beamed to a worldwide audience in the hundreds of millions.
Twelve years after the Soviet satellite Sputnik reached space first, deeply alarming U.S. officials, and after President John F. Kennedy in 1961 declared it a national priority to land an American on the moon “before this decade is out,” Mr. Armstrong, a former Navy fighter pilot, commanded the NASA crew that finished the job.
His trip to the moon — particularly the hair-raising final descent from lunar orbit to the treacherous surface — was history’s boldest feat of aviation. Yet what the experience meant to him, what he thought of it all on an emotional level, he mostly kept to himself.
Like his boyhood idol, transatlantic aviator Charles A. Lindbergh, Mr. Armstrong learned how uncomfortable the intrusion of global acclaim can be. And just as Lindbergh had done, he eventually shied away from the public and avoided the popular media.
In time, he became almost mythical.
Mr. Armstrong was “exceedingly circumspect” from a young age, and the glare of international attention “just deepened a personality trait that he already had in spades,” said his authorized biographer, James R. Hansen, a former NASA historian.
In an interview, Hansen, author of “First Man: The Life of Neil A. Armstrong,” cited another “special sensitivity” that made the first man on the moon a stranger on Earth.
“I think Neil knew that this glorious thing he helped achieve for the country back in the summer of 1969 — glorious for the entire planet, really — would inexorably be diminished by the blatant commercialism of the modern world,” Hansen said.
“And I think it’s a nobility of his character that he just would not take part in that.”
A love of flying
The perilous, 195-hour journey that defined Mr. Armstrong’s place in history — from the liftoff of Apollo 11 on July 16, 1969, to the capsule’s splashdown in the Pacific eight days later — riveted the world’s attention, transcending cultural, political and generational divides in an era of profound social tumult and change in the United States.
As Mr. Armstrong, a civilian, and his crewmates, Air Force pilots Edwin E. “Buzz” Aldrin Jr. and Michael Collins, hurtled through space, television viewers around the globe witnessed a drama of spellbinding technology and daring. About a half-billion people listened to the climactic landing and watched a flickering video feed of the moonwalk.
At center stage, cool and focused, was a pragmatic, 38-year-old astronaut who would let social critics and spiritual wise men dither over the larger meaning of his voyage. When Mr. Armstrong occasionally spoke publicly about the mission in later decades, he usually did so dryly, his recollections mainly operational.
“I am, and ever will be, a white-socks, pocket-protector, nerdy engineer,” he said at a millennial gathering honoring the greatest engineering achievements of the 20th century. Unlike Aldrin and Collins, Mr. Armstrong never published a memoir.
After flying experimental rocket planes in the 1950s at Edwards Air Force Base in California — the high-desert realm of daredevil test pilots later celebrated in author Tom Wolfe’s “The Right Stuff” — Mr. Armstrong was selected for NASA’s astronaut corps in 1962 and became the first U.S. civilian to be blasted into space.
In 1966, during his only spaceflight other than Apollo 11, a life-threatening malfunction of his Gemini 8 vehicle caused the craft to tumble out of control in Earth orbit. It was the nation’s first potentially fatal crisis in space, prompting Mr. Armstrong and his crewmate to abort their mission and carry out NASA’s first emergency reentry.
His skill and composure were put to no greater test, though, than in the anxious minutes starting at 4:05 p.m. Eastern on Sunday, July 20, 1969. That was when the lunar module carrying Mr. Armstrong and Aldrin, having separated from the Apollo 11 capsule, began its hazardous, nine-mile final descent to the moon’s Sea of Tranquility.
Collins, waiting in lunar orbit, could only hope that the two would make it back.
The lunar module, or LM (pronounced lem), was dubbed “Eagle.” Its 1969 computer, overtaxed during the descent and flashing alarm lights as it fell behind on its work, guided the spiderlike craft most of the way to the surface.
In the last few thousand feet, however, Mr. Armstrong, looking out a window, saw that the computer had piloted Eagle beyond its targeted landing spot. The craft was headed for a massive crater surrounded by boulders as big as cars.
Mr. Armstrong, as planned, took manual control of the LM at 500 feet. Standing in the cramped cockpit, piloting with a control stick and toggle switch, he maneuvered past the crater while scanning the rugged moonscape for a place to safely put down.
Although the world remembers him best for walking on the moon, Mr. Armstrong recalled his time on the surface as anticlimactic, “something we looked on as reasonably safe and predictable.” Flying the LM was “by far the most difficult and challenging part” of the mission, he told a group of youngsters in a 2007 e-mail exchange.
The “very high risk” descent was “extremely complex,” he wrote, and guiding the craft gave him a “feeling of elation.”
“Pilots take no particular joy in walking,” he once remarked. “Pilots like flying.”
‘One giant leap’
As he and Aldrin kept descending, balanced on a cone of fire 240,000 miles from Earth, the LM’s roaring engine kicked up a fog of moon dust, distorting Mr. Armstrong’s depth perception and clouding his view of the surface.
Meanwhile, the descent engine’s fuel — separate from the fuel that would later power the ascent engine on their departure from the moon — dwindled to a critical level.
“Quantity light,” Aldrin warned at just under 100 feet. This meant that Mr. Armstrong, according to NASA’s instruments, had less than two minutes to ease the LM to the surface or he would have faced a frightful dilemma.
He would have had to abort the descent, ending the mission in failure at a cost of immense national prestige and treasure, or he would have had to risk a sort of crash landing after the fuel ran out — letting the LM fall in lunar gravity the rest of the way down, hoping the slow-motion plunge wouldn’t badly damage it.
Finally, with 50 seconds to spare, the world heard Aldrin say, “Contact light,” and Eagle’s landing gear settled on the lunar soil. Their precarious, 12-minute descent into the unknown left Mr. Armstrong’s pulse pounding at twice the normal rate.
Humanity listened, transfixed. “Houston, Tranquility base here,” Mr. Armstrong reported. “The Eagle has landed.” The response from mission control was filled with relief: “Roger, Tranquility, we copy you on the ground. You got a bunch of guys about to turn blue. We’re breathing again. Thanks a lot.”
About 61 / hours later, Mr. Armstrong, soon to be followed by Aldrin, climbed down the ladder outside the LM’s hatch as a television camera mounted on the craft transmitted his shadowy, black-and-white image to hundreds of millions of viewers.
How Mr. Armstrong wound up commanding the historic flight had to do with his abilities and experience, plus a measure of good fortune.
Months earlier, when he had been named Apollo 11 commander, NASA envisioned his mission as the first lunar landing — yet no one could be sure. Three other Apollo flights had to finish preparing the way. If any of them had failed, Apollo 11 would have had to pick up the slack, leaving the momentous first landing to a later crew.
Why the space agency chose Mr. Armstrong, not Aldrin, for the famous first step out of the LM had to do with the two men’s personalities.
Publicly, NASA said the first-step decision was a technical one dictated by where the astronauts would be positioned in the LM’s small cockpit. But in his 2001 autobiography, Christopher C. Kraft Jr., a top NASA flight official, confirmed the true reason.
Aldrin, who would struggle with alcoholism and depression after his astronaut career, was overtly opinionated and ambitious, making it clear within NASA why he thought he should be first. “Did we think Buzz was the man who would be our best representative to the world, the man who would be legend?” Kraft recalled. “We didn’t.”
The stoic Mr. Armstrong, on the other hand, quietly held to his belief that the descent and landing, not the moonwalk, would be the mission’s signature achievement. And it didn’t matter to him whether the Earthbound masses thought differently.
“Neil Armstrong, reticent, soft-spoken and heroic, was our only choice,” Kraft said.
As for his famous statement upon stepping off the ladder, Mr. Armstrong said he didn’t dwell on it much beforehand, that the idea came to him only after the landing.
He would always maintain that he had planned to say “a man.” Whether the “a” was lost in transmission or Mr. Armstrong misspoke has never been fully resolved. As his boots touched the lunar surface at 10:56:15 p.m. Eastern, the world heard:
“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”
Ever the precise engineer, Mr. Armstrong later said that if it were up to him, history would record his immortal words with an “a” inserted in parentheses.
The ultimate mission
Neil Alden Armstrong was born Aug. 5, 1930, outside the little farming town of Wapakoneta in western Ohio. From the morning in 1936 when his father, an auditor of county records, let him skip Sunday school so the two could go aloft in a barnstorming Ford Trimotor plane near their home, the boy was hooked on aviation.
He got his pilot’s license on his 16th birthday, before he was legally old enough to go solo in an automobile.
After a few semesters at Purdue University, he left for Navy flight training in 1949, eventually becoming the youngest pilot in his fighter squadron on the aircraft carrier USS Essex. He flew 78 combat missions in the Korean War and was shot down once before his tour of duty ended and he went back to Purdue.
After earning an aeronautical engineering degree in 1955, he joined NASA’s forerunner, the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics, and was soon rocketing in the stratosphere, pushing the boundaries of aviation in ­missilelike research planes.
In 1959, at the beginning of the Mercury project, which would soon blast the first American into space, NASA chose its storied “original seven” astronauts from the ranks of active-duty military fliers. Mr. Armstrong, who was less than enthusiastic about the program, remained at Edwards as a civilian test pilot.
Then, in 1962, his 2-year-old daughter, Karen, died of brain cancer. Mr. Armstrong’s grief “caused him to invest [his] energies in something very positive,” his sister recalled in an interview with Hansen. “That’s when he started into the space program.”
Not long after Karen’s death, when NASA recruited its second group of astronauts, about 250 test pilots applied, and Mr. Armstrong was among the nine who made the cut. Most took part in the Earth-
orbiting Gemini missions of the mid-1960s, refining flight procedures that would be needed later in the moon-bound Apollo program.
Mr. Armstrong’s harrowing Gemini 8 flight, in March 1966, was aborted hours into its three-day schedule after the spacecraft began toppling end-over-end, pinwheeling so violently that Mr. Armstrong, the commander, and crewmate David Scott were in danger of blacking out, which almost surely would have been fatal.
A malfunctioning thruster was the culprit. “I gotta cage my eyeballs,” Mr. Armstrong remarked, deadpan, as he and Scott, their vision blurred, struggled to cut short their flight. NASA officials were impressed by Mr. Armstrong’s handling of the crisis, and three years later they entrusted him with command of the ultimate mission.
A very private life
After weeks of hoopla surrounding Apollo 11’s return — a ticker-tape parade, a presidential dinner, a 28-city global goodwill tour — Mr. Armstrong worked in NASA management for two years, then joined the University of Cincinnati’s engineering faculty.
“We were not naive, but we could not have guessed what the volume and intensity of public interest would turn out to be,” he said of his worldwide celebrity.
Over the ensuing decades, Mr. Armstrong, a solitary figure, warded off reporters’ efforts to penetrate his privacy until most gave up or lost interest. Unhappy with faculty unionism, he resigned from the university in 1979 and spent the rest of his working life in business, amassing personal wealth as an investor and a member of corporate boards.
Although he was loath to exploit his fame, Mr. Armstrong signed on as a pitchman for Chrysler in his waning months as a professor, appearing in ads for the nearly bankrupt automaker, including one that aired during the Super Bowl in January 1979.
He said he agreed to the deal mainly because it involved an engineering consultancy and because he wanted to help a beleaguered U.S. company buffeted by imports and rising foreign oil prices. The arrangement was short-lived, however, and afterward Mr. Armstrong repeatedly turned down opportunities to endorse products.
Hansen, now an aerospace historian at Auburn University, said Mr. Armstrong felt awkward taking credit for the collective success of 400,000 employees of the space agency and its Apollo contractors. In 2003, Hansen recorded 55 hours of interviews with Mr. Armstrong after years of coaxing him to cooperate on a biography.
He was not a recluse, as some labeled him. In 1986, for instance, he was vice chairman of the commission that investigated the explosion of the space shuttle Challenger.
But that was a rare step into the spotlight. As a rule, Mr. Armstrong was extremely choosey about his public appearances, limiting them mostly to aerospace-related commemorative events and to other usually low-key gatherings that piqued his interest, such as meetings of scientific and technical societies.
“The lunar Lindbergh,” he was dubbed for his refusal to grant interviews to journalists. His remoteness also irked some NASA officials, who had vainly hoped that Mr. Armstrong would become a forceful public advocate for the funding of space exploration.
“How long must it take before I can cease to be known as a spaceman?” he once pleaded. Yet by the time he retired in 2002, to leisurely travel and enjoy his grandchildren, the “First Man” finally had outlived the nation’s fascination with him, and he could often walk down a street in blissful anonymity.
His 38-year marriage to the former Janet Shearon ended in divorce in 1994. Later that year, he married Carol Knight, a widowed mother of two teenagers. Besides his wife, survivors include two sons from his first marriage, Eric and Mark; two stepchildren; a brother; a sister; and 10 grandchildren.
“Looking back, we were really very privileged to live in that thin slice of history where we changed how man looks at himself, and what he might become, and where he might go,” Mr. Armstrong said in a 2001 NASA oral history project. “So I’m very thankful.”

http://www.washingtonpost.com/national/health-science/neil-armstrong-first-man-to-step-on-the-moon-dies-at-82/2012/08/25/7091c8bc-412d-11e0-a16f-4c3fe0fd37f0_story.html?wpisrc=nl_headlines_nonlocal

FUN.: "Some Night" (official Video) ... We Are Young





on the range Chipotle Chiles The history of chipotle chiles is rich and flavorful BY MICK VANN, 12:15PM, SUN. AUG. 26

Chipotle Chiles: The history of chipotle chiles is rich and flavorful
Austin Chronicle (blog)
A Huachinango is a fresh red jalapeño grown in Puebla and Oaxaca, measuring 4 to 5-inches long by 1½ -inches wide, with a thick, sweet flesh and a rounded, complex spiciness. A chipotle tamarindo is even larger than the grande, acquiring its name from...
See all stories on this topic »



on the range

Chipotle Chiles

The history of chipotle chiles is rich and flavorful

BY MICK VANN, 12:15PM, SUN. AUG. 26

Chipotle Chiles
Chipotle chile’s name derives from the Nahuatl word chilpoctli, which means “smoked chile pepper”, AKA chile ahumado, chile meco, and chilpotle.
Chilpotle is closer to the actually spelling of the original Nahuatlword, but over time, dropping the “l” before the “p” found favor as the more popular spelling, perhaps because the old-school chilpotle is a little more difficult to pronounce, and folks opted for the easier route.The Aztecs used this smoking process to preserve all kinds of foods, which allowed the foods to be stored for long periods of time. It is speculated that the thick-fleshed jalapeños were smoke-dried because they tended to rot before drying, otherwise.
Whatever you call it, a chipotle chile is a large jalapeño chile that is first dried, and then smoked (although it can also be dried over smoke, to give it a more intense and flavorful smokiness). Jalapeños are named after the town of Jalapa in Véracruz State, and are also known by the names cuaresmeño or gordo. In its dried form, the traditional chipotle chile is a dull tan to deep coffee brown in color with a wrinkled, ridged surface. It is usually 2 to 4-inches long and 1-inch across, with medium thick flesh. The taste profile is smoky and sweet, exhibiting subtle tobacco and chocolate flavors with a Brazil nut finish, with deep, complex heat; the piquancy is rounded and slowly fading, not sharp and intense, usually in the 5,000 to 10,000 Scoville unit range. They are commonly used in soups, stews, sauces, salsas, marinades, salads, stuffed with fillings, and these days, in desserts.
There are two main types of chipotles: morita and meco. Morita, which means “small mulberry” in Spanish, is grown primarily in Chihuahua State; smaller than the meco, with a dark reddish-purple exterior. They are smoked for less time, and considered inferior to the meco. Most of the chipotles consumed in the States are moritas. The larger chipotle meco, also known as chile ahumado or típico, is a grayish-tan in color with a dusty looking surface; some say it resembles a cigar butt. They tend to be smokier in taste, and are the preferred chipotle of most natives. They are also sometimes called chile navideño because they are reconstituted and stuffed to make a very traditional dish popular at Christmas time. Most chipotle meco never makes it past the Mexican border, although you can occasionally find it for sale here in Mexican and specialty markets.
Chipotle grande is a smoke-dried Huachinango chile with a similar flavor profile, but the chile is larger, and they cost more; fresh in the market, they sell for 3 to 4 times as much as a jalapeño, when you can find them. A Huachinango is a fresh red jalapeño grown in Puebla and Oaxaca, measuring 4 to 5-inches long by 1½ -inches wide, with a thick, sweet flesh and a rounded, complex spiciness. A chipotle tamarindo is even larger than the grande, acquiring its name from the shape of the tamarind fruit pod; it costs even more than the grande, and is the most prized of stuffing peppers. When you see a chipotle labeled jalapeño chico, it is a jalapeño that was smoked while it was immature and still green. Every now and then you might find chipotles capones (“castrated chipotles”), referring to a smoked red jalapeño without seeds; these tend to be much milder. In the market you’ll find chipotles as whole chiles, as powdered chile, and canned, packed in adobo sauce.
Chipotles are principally grown and smoked in Véracruz, Oaxaca, Sinaloa, Chihuahua, South Texas, and Southern New Mexico. As much as 1/5 of the total Mexican jalapeño crop, some 620,000 tons in 2009, and 30% of the total chile varieties grown, is smoke-dried into chipotles. Jalapeño farmers pick green chiles for market, but allow some to ripen red, to be smoke-dried for chipotles. The longer they are left on the plant, the drier they get, and the easier they are to process. This is often done towards the end of the season, since maturing fruit signals the plant to stop chile production; ripe mature seeds have been produced and its job of procreation is done. Once harvested, the ripe chiles are moved to a smoking chamber, where they are placed on racks and dried for several days (or longer) with low heat and wood smoke. Every few hours they are stirred around to expose them to more smoke; the smokier, the better. It’s said that it takes about 10 pounds of fresh red chile to make 1 pound of dried chipotle. Creative and unscrupulous producers have started to use large capacity gas driers, spraying the chiles with liquid smoke to mimic the traditional process. Smell your chiles carefully; liquid smoke often has an unpleasant artificial chemical fragrance.
Americans are most familiar with the canned variety, packed in adobo sauce. Adobo sauce originated in Spain as a marinade or food preservative, and was widely adopted by all of the areas visited by the Spanish explorers. The adobo sauce used with canned chipotles is technically a marinade, in this case, usually made of tomato, powdered dried chiles or paprika, brown sugar, salt, onions, vinegar, garlic, bay leaves, and oregano; some brands and home cooks add a small amount of sesame oil. La Morena brand has the most intense chipotle flavor and the best flavored adobo sauce, with accents of rich tomato, garlic, dried chile, and a touch of sesame; San Marcos is the brand known best in Austin stores, and probably next best of the many brands offered (La Costeña, Goya, Herdez, Embassa, El Mexicano, La Victoria, Roland, etc.). San Marcos (and other brands) also makes a canned chipotle sauce that is basically pureed chipotles en adobo; easy to use straight from the can. Canned chipotles are often of the morita type, because the smaller size is easier to fit whole into the small cans. In Central Mexico, when chipotles are preserved in a sweet-tart brown sugar and vinegar marinade they are called chipocludo; chipotles canned in a seasoned sauce are called chipotles adobado, or en adobo.
To cook with dried chipotles, they can be lightly toasted on a dry comal or skillet, just until they get fragrant and swell slightly; overcooking them makes them bitter. Once toasted, the seeds and ribs can be removed to lower the heat level if desired (but why would you?), and the chiles can then be ground or used whole. For some traditional Mexican sauces the toasted chiles would then be sautéed in oil or lard before being pureed. Alternatively, the chiles can be soaked in warm water or stock until they become pliable, and then added to a dish or stuffed. With both methods the stem is removed before use. If using the canned chiles en adobo, you can use only the drained chiles, or use the marinade as well. Try chipotles in salsas, in queso, in soups and stews, in chile con carne, in cooked sauces, in pickled vegetable mixes, in scrambled eggs or chilaquiles, stuffed and baked, added to cake or brownies; the list goes on endlessly. No matter how they are used, they punch up the flavor of any dish, making it better.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

One Direction - That's What Makes You Beautiful - Dirty PARODY! (Fuckable) - Instrumental Karaoke

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZszLYmx6Pnc&feature=share&list=ULZszLYmx6Pnc

CHRISTIAN BIERI - SWAGIN' IT 2012



CHRISTIAN BIERI - SWAGIN' IT 2012


jaripeo tonameca pochutla oaxaca...rancho san isidro en la feria del 15 de agosto

Google Street View now available for Mexico archaeological sites


Google Street View now available for Mexico archaeological sites

Google street view inah castillo pyramid
MEXICO CITY -- For travelers who've never been to the ancient Maya city of Chichen Itza, a virtual window into the site's pyramids and plazas is available online, among 30 archaeological zones in Mexico now mapped by history's greatest peeping Tom: Google Street View.
From the comfort of a computer, any Internet user anywhere can now zoom in and examine the perfect form of Chichen Itza's Kukulkan pyramid, known also El Castillo, or the Castle.
On Google Street View, a viewer can almost feel like they might tumble into the Sacred Cenote, or natural sinkhole, where Maya priests practiced ritual sacrifice. Or imagine cavorting on the Plaza of the Thousand Columns. Or maybe do some souvenir browsing, up close and in intensely high resolution.
Google and Mexico's National Institute of Anthropology and History, or INAH, announced the new maps last week. Using a 360-degree camera mounted on a bicycle, Google captured "street views" of other major archaeological sites in Mexico, such as Monte Alban in Oaxaca and Teotihuacan outside Mexico City.
Lesser-known Mesoamerican sites are also now mapped by Google Street View, including Tula in the state of Hidalgo and Xochicalco in Morelos.
The Internet search engine has focused its publicity campaign for the new maps on images captured at Chichen Itza, one of Mexico's most storied tourist destinations. But for travelers who have been there, could Google Street View now be better than the real thing?
Consider: A recent (physical) visit to Chichen Itza confirmed that tourists are no longer allowed to climb the Castillo pyramid, no more tackling its famous 91 steps that President Felipe Calderon recently climbed in a widely mocked tourism video.
Visitors can no longer actually, physically cavort among the plaza of the columns. In fact, most of the structures at Chichen Itza these days are off-limits to tourists, who must settle on snapping photos behind wire barriers. Worse, the archaeological zone is also overrun with vendors from the neighboring communities, making a non-virtual visit a somewhat disappointing experience overall.
Since Chichen Itza was declared a new Seven Wonders of the World site in 2007, access has been limited due to concerns over deterioration and also because the site's restoration process is ongoing, said an INAH spokesman.
The same is true at the Palenque zone in Chiapas, the spokesman said, where a visitor like you and me may no longer be able to climb that site's spectacular structures. But on Google, at least, there's a decent shot of a man in an orange polo with a sweat towel on his head.
RELATED:
-- Daniel Hernandez
Photo: A view of the Kukulkan pyramid, or El Castillo, at the Chichen Itza archaeological site in the Mexican state of Yucatan. Credit: Google, via INAH