Sunday, March 25, 2007

The Motorcade Diaries, pt. 1


Over 10 days in the middle of March, I traveled through coastal Mexico into the mountains of the central states visiting various cultural sites and the many bathrooms of government run gas stations. It was beautiful, surprising, tiring, and fulfilling. Led by an anthropologist Dr. B who is the definition of wise, twenty of us drove thousands of kilometres between five cars and five cb radios. Together we represented a cross section of America, or at least of South Texas. I tried journaling when possible and can't guarantee the names of towns or the accuracy of the Spanish I tended to slip into. I pick up the story having already driven deep in to country...

Mexico Day Three

The hot springs after a short drive past ravines. The pool reminds you of Barton Springs, but with more therapeutic water falls and cattle. It's all warm and sulfury. Right outside I might have been swindled for a few chile rellenos, but being taken advantage of by old Mexican women in a rain forest is that bad. Even if we never left the car I'd still be content looking through dirty car windows.
Next stop we ate lunch underneath a string of trees running along a downhill street surrounded by goats and beauty. Here we saw el haciedna de Santa Anna y mas. This was luxury back in 19th century Mexico, complete with courtyards, finely carved furniture, geese ponds, and the largest tree I've ever seen in my life. It was Myst-esque to say the least. However, it's amazing how much better people could live back them compared to how poorly most of the country lives today. Then again i prefer to concrete ram shackles to most of the current luxury homes found stateside.
Into the afternoon I saw my favorite museum yet in Xalapa. Nothing by Olmec and other native artifacts housed in an airy cascade of smooth marble galleries. Mixed in too were covered courtyards with a mixture of bird echoing through the open air building. After the long walk through I found the expansive lawn and dozed by a troupe of young Mexican string players.
Quick dodging through winding puebla calles brought us to Coatepec and our personal bedrooms. For the first time,
we ate out as a group. My cecina was cheap and somewhat outstanding, but not far from what you could get in San Antonio. Outside the restuarante, the city plaza was very much alive on this Sunday night. Against normally rational judgment, I spent the next couple of hours walking back streets with my camera. The focus was "dimly lit storefronts and what life I could find behind them." The later it got, the dimmer the streets and the stares I received. I used what Spanish I had to lighten my presence and found those first gente wondering who the hell I thought I was were muy hospitable. I'd later learn that gangs and prostitutes were just emerging during my street walk, but before long I was back at the hotel gateway with the guys discussing architecture and San Antonio.

Day Four
Between swimming in hot springs and lounging on expansive lawns, my legs became home to a couple dozen chiggers. The stop at Texolo falls easily cured me, though. After all of the little ravine and fern shots I'd taken at 70 kmh we were in the middle of Tres Cascadas near Xico early in the morning with it all basically to ourselves. El centro casacada fue un grande vista. Further in el primero cascada seemed fit for Lord of the Rings or Windows desktops. Of course i took as many fotograficos de eso as I had en la todo trip, but I promise not to blow it up for a poster over my fireplace. Even more memorable, all the paths and walls connecting everything were rough hewn stone stacked and stained by years of tropical growth. No matter how old everything was, it's hard to carbon date even the more obviously recent objects. Even a newish restaurant tucked down a trail that I almost missed was as good as old. Honestly it's not historic. It's not modern. it's just what it need to be.
The rest of this Monday was our slow trek across central Mexico away from Xalapa ad the coast. I took over driving the Jeep and learned my best to navigate a meandering network of hill towns streets and the accompanying pot holes. Past the towns up into the mountains, the quaint streets turned to cliffside inclines with larger potholes. The aroma of burning brakes overwhelmed the tropical aroma. Up and down a few thousand feet over a couple of hours put us at where we're at now. Not surprisingly Dr. B has brought us to a fascinating co-op motel Taselotzin with open verandas and more stone paths. Dinner gave us sopa de orga y quesadillas. Dessert was a hesitant group mariachi sing-a-long. It took a few dias, but I'm actually usando espanol to speak to locals and extract information. Conversaciones between otra gente speaking are somewhat understood. This trip is....good.

Day Five
I speak Spanish. Somewhere sometime I took a few classes years ago and somehow my straight A's actually mean something. After a huevos rancheros desayuno, we were free to walk into the town of Cuetzalan. La plaza y las calles were filled with people, children and dogs. Actually, the dogs seem as busy and determined as the people, impatiently crossing la calle y passing you on the sidewalk when you're too slow. As for mi español yo coompro gifts from a couple of aggressive abuelitas. A tortillas warmer, an toy acorn top, and a scarf all for amounts cheaper than I would get in Estados Unidos. The issue is, I've been told to haggle con Los Mexicanos. However, conozco que ellos son pobre so why shouldn't I pago concuenta pesos instead of vienti cinco. They can now afford another week's tortillas and I can save a dollar off my cable bill.

Dr. David Brye, un professor de universidad san miguel arranged our five day lunch with a few local families in what would be the greatest lunch experience ever. Off the highway, through una puebla, and down some back calle were their dirt floor concrete homes filled with Catholic knick knacks and the smell of pollo de mole. Served in old plastic bowls. The single chicken leg was drenched in the smokey sauce with a side of hot corn tortillas in place of a fork. (Said tortillas also became much needed napkins.) For a while the group in our casa ate quietly trying to navigate the fatty poultry pieces that were probably freshly plucked from the chicken that morning. It took someone asking to see the kitchen for the cultural experience to commence. We saw the hanging meats, the hiding children, and scrap dogs bustling in the back. Our small familia's casa's cinder block beds were pushed to the corners of a small room lit by a single glass block skylight or dangling compact florescent.
The next casa over housing the others was home to not only the neighborhood maize grinder but also shaman/chiropractor of sorts that had been arranged to heal Robert of a slipped disk. Watching this with his table of burning candles was nearly spiritual. The silence of everyone watching amidst the bustle of children and chickens outside was a healing in itself.
Next, the man's son or daughter, both young and one being pregnant sold me a few stones and fossils I assume to help pay for burgeoning family. They were proud and young, no more than 18 either one, so the idea of haggling in my Spanish was only so successful and left me with another guilty feeling. I tried adding an American object to sweeten the tradeoff, but there was nothing in my bag I wanted to remembered by. The following few hours we blew our schedule to play with the local niños that had slowly built up on the sloping street. A couple of our women handed out balloons and historic British war plane post cards. Did you know that the famous fighter "The Pink Lady" translates as "La Mujera Rosa? Well now little six year old Alex does now.The boys were particularly fond of my camera which was further elevated by the addition of a telephoto lens. The instant preview was nearly priceless. All together, during our three hour stay I maybe spoke 20 minutos de inglés. Them being only children may have helped. I was knocked out for the remaining afternoon back at the dorms, after which a troupe of musicians played for dinner and everybody danced.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

i'll miss you most of all, chicken

i am now at my fifth apartment in the last 14 months. those keeping track since i started this travel log in august '04, i'm up to mailing address number eight. even sending out a mass email at this point seems ridiculous for all those who even try to keep up. if anything, that email address is home, right? what do they expect in this world of short attention spans and globalization. we're a transient generation and we're just beginning to make money. look out for us.

well here's to electric alarm clocks and a bright future at my new home just down the road.