The first night I stayed in a hostal but the following nights I slept on a thin mattress with a thin blanket on the floor of Bar Fly. This time I won’t pretend that it was, in fact, a learning experience to view this social underbelly of Guanajuato, this group of close friends and travelers who love each other dearly but always know that good byes are coming, this constant, gossipy, festive, directionless swirl of partying and meandering people. Truth is, I like these people. They make me feel at home every time and we all share a unique love for life and each other. And, of course, they give me a free place to stay anytime I’m in town. With these folks I can even tolerate the terrible nickname given to me when I first came to Mexico which follows me ever since, even when they slap their hands on both sides of their face and shout “Ahhhhhh!!!” (again, think Home Alone) when I walk into the room. Everyone is mildly frustrating and completely endearing and you can’t help but get the feeling that if you double cross even one of them, you’ll get run out of town.
So, I swung back into the rhythm of this tight-knit bunch, parties, food runs, dog walks, coffee breaks, drama, belly laughs, confusion, familiarity and all. Again I found myself pushing back my trip to Mexico City day after day. It was a combination of really loving where I was at and really dreading getting back on a bus anytime soon. I mean, why not spend an entire afternoon at Café El Santo, drinking coffee and chatting with a Norwegian lady that had decided to make Guanajuato her home? Or, going to get pizza at the mall (I’m still not sure why we went to the mall) and then playing for hours in the parking lot with dogs and shopping carts and escalators? Or walking all around the twisting, rising, falling streets with a Canadian traveler who shares my affinity for taking pictures of doors? I had no real reason for staying in Guanajuato other than I really was enjoying my time (Heaven forbid), but one morning I woke up feeling so great that I packed up my things, asked an Italian couple on the street corner if they were also going to the bus station and wanted to share a cab, and a bit later I got on a bus for the monstrous and beautiful city of Mexico.
20 February 2008
The Return Pt. 1: Escape
I don’t want this to be overwhelming, but certainly a lot has happened in these past few weeks. In some ways things were planned (what a joke eh) and in most ways, seemingly spontaneous moments found themselves accidentally, needlessly, miraculously all tied together by geography and time. I’ve been lucky.
The last time I decided to write I was miles and miles away from where I am now. It was cold and depressing and then damp and brown (but not before I slipped on the ice and banged both knees up) and then I got on a train. I packed what I thought I would need for the coming year into an entirely oversized suitcase, my family saw me off at the bus station, I started heading south again.
I tend to try and leave out folk’s names. Though this blog is only very limitedly read, I’ve never asked anyone if I could write about them in what is still technically a public space, so for that reason I usually just leave individual names out of this.
Even in Kentucky, where the grass was still green, I wasn’t satisfied with the rise in temperature. I was still bundled up, my movement restricted, thoughts only on things like hot coffee, warm food, hot shower. In attempted denial of the cold, we had a barbecue outside, but as soon as the food was done cooking we all ran inside and shut the door and enjoyed the heat of the indoors again. Despite the lingering of the winter that I was trying to escape, I did get to visit an old friend and meet several interesting folks, many of which I’d heard so much about. I even met a 4 year old girl who proudly told us she could speak 4 languages (Greek, Bosnian, Spanish, English). I’m not even sure how I should go about learning a 3rd language at this point, but anyway a few days in Kentucky were enough and the next place I set off for was “The hellish Greyhound experience.”
My bus was “direct” from Louisville to San Antonio, meaning we stopped about every 4 or 5 hours to get off the bus, get our luggage off the bus, get confused about which line to stand in, and get back on the bus. I did get lucky in the sense that at least half of the time I had two seats to myself, precious time that I took good advantage of. I wasn’t interested in talking to other folks, I just wanted to ride and sleep and finally disembark in a warm place. I didn’t even eat and rarely drank water. Finally, Texas.
I wasn’t sure if by the time I got to San Antonio I would be too exhausted to continue by bus or not, so I had a couple Couch Surfers phone numbers in my pocket just in case. But I found that the only thing I wanted to do was get back on the warm, dark bus and ride throughout the night. I don’t have any trouble sleeping on buses so I bought a ticket for Monterrey and re-boarded the bus.
Sometime around 3 in the morning I woke up to see a small woman standing at the front of the bus, talking to the passengers. I could see that she was an immigration official but none of the folks in the back of the bus could hear anything she was saying. I figured at some point someone would tell me what to do because clearly I was too tired to figure out what was going on myself. Eventually I saw her point to one young guy sitting in the front row of the bus. He got off, went in the office and we all watched as he pushed the button on the stoplight and it flashed green. Someone behind me worried that they were going to make us all get off one by one. But instead, after this guy got back on the bus, we sped across the border and into the early morning, into Mexico. Was I really the only U.S. citizen on the bus? I suppose so because no one else said a word.
So, I get to Monterrey wondering what to do next. I also had numbers for couchsurfers there but at that point I just wanted to get deeper into Mexico as fast as possible. After almost 2 days of being completely alone, I just wanted to see something familiar, somebody familiar. I quickly find that there are no direct buses for Guanajuato and I listen to some guys argue about whether it’s faster to go through San Luis Potosi or Aguascalientes. I buy a ticket for SLP, then try to change it but the bus has already left for Aguas so I just get on my original bus a few minutes later. Things were quite confusing. Then on the bus, I see that the thickest, whitest fog I’ve ever seen has settled all over Nuevo Leon. Visibility extends about 6 inches in any direction. As the bus crawls at about 5 mph, I start to wonder “Where am I really? Where am I going? Why am I here? Who am I?” I feel like I’m losing my mind and it doesn’t help that the rest of the bus is only occupied by a handful of old, sleeping men, “Do any of us exist?” The bus driver’s assistant hands me two magazines about soap operas and celebrities in Mexico and I find myself reading about Dr. Simi’s (owner of huge chain of imitation drug pharmacies) many young girlfriends. Again, “What am I doing here?”
I feel that I am on the bus for eternity, a ghost destined to haunt empty Primera Plus buses for the rest of time, watching terrible dubbed movies while floating past discarded ham and cheese sandwich wrappers. Eventually I fall asleep and as soon as we arrive to San Luis Potosi I race to a phone to test my ghost theory. “Bueno?” Jonathan answers. “Hey!” I shout and then let Spanish awkwardly tumble out of my mouth. “Hey Macaouly!” he shouts back. While I do hate this nickname (think Home Alone), I am relieved that he can, in fact, hear my voice and that I am still a real person with a name, a nickname even. I jump on the next bus for Dolores Hidalgo and from there I ask very nicely if I can still get on the next bus for Guanajuato despite the fact that I’m short two pesos. The woman waves her hand, “Of course,” and an hour later I meet Mr. Paniagua (always in a suit) at the bus station.
The last time I decided to write I was miles and miles away from where I am now. It was cold and depressing and then damp and brown (but not before I slipped on the ice and banged both knees up) and then I got on a train. I packed what I thought I would need for the coming year into an entirely oversized suitcase, my family saw me off at the bus station, I started heading south again.
I tend to try and leave out folk’s names. Though this blog is only very limitedly read, I’ve never asked anyone if I could write about them in what is still technically a public space, so for that reason I usually just leave individual names out of this.
Even in Kentucky, where the grass was still green, I wasn’t satisfied with the rise in temperature. I was still bundled up, my movement restricted, thoughts only on things like hot coffee, warm food, hot shower. In attempted denial of the cold, we had a barbecue outside, but as soon as the food was done cooking we all ran inside and shut the door and enjoyed the heat of the indoors again. Despite the lingering of the winter that I was trying to escape, I did get to visit an old friend and meet several interesting folks, many of which I’d heard so much about. I even met a 4 year old girl who proudly told us she could speak 4 languages (Greek, Bosnian, Spanish, English). I’m not even sure how I should go about learning a 3rd language at this point, but anyway a few days in Kentucky were enough and the next place I set off for was “The hellish Greyhound experience.”
My bus was “direct” from Louisville to San Antonio, meaning we stopped about every 4 or 5 hours to get off the bus, get our luggage off the bus, get confused about which line to stand in, and get back on the bus. I did get lucky in the sense that at least half of the time I had two seats to myself, precious time that I took good advantage of. I wasn’t interested in talking to other folks, I just wanted to ride and sleep and finally disembark in a warm place. I didn’t even eat and rarely drank water. Finally, Texas.
I wasn’t sure if by the time I got to San Antonio I would be too exhausted to continue by bus or not, so I had a couple Couch Surfers phone numbers in my pocket just in case. But I found that the only thing I wanted to do was get back on the warm, dark bus and ride throughout the night. I don’t have any trouble sleeping on buses so I bought a ticket for Monterrey and re-boarded the bus.
Sometime around 3 in the morning I woke up to see a small woman standing at the front of the bus, talking to the passengers. I could see that she was an immigration official but none of the folks in the back of the bus could hear anything she was saying. I figured at some point someone would tell me what to do because clearly I was too tired to figure out what was going on myself. Eventually I saw her point to one young guy sitting in the front row of the bus. He got off, went in the office and we all watched as he pushed the button on the stoplight and it flashed green. Someone behind me worried that they were going to make us all get off one by one. But instead, after this guy got back on the bus, we sped across the border and into the early morning, into Mexico. Was I really the only U.S. citizen on the bus? I suppose so because no one else said a word.
So, I get to Monterrey wondering what to do next. I also had numbers for couchsurfers there but at that point I just wanted to get deeper into Mexico as fast as possible. After almost 2 days of being completely alone, I just wanted to see something familiar, somebody familiar. I quickly find that there are no direct buses for Guanajuato and I listen to some guys argue about whether it’s faster to go through San Luis Potosi or Aguascalientes. I buy a ticket for SLP, then try to change it but the bus has already left for Aguas so I just get on my original bus a few minutes later. Things were quite confusing. Then on the bus, I see that the thickest, whitest fog I’ve ever seen has settled all over Nuevo Leon. Visibility extends about 6 inches in any direction. As the bus crawls at about 5 mph, I start to wonder “Where am I really? Where am I going? Why am I here? Who am I?” I feel like I’m losing my mind and it doesn’t help that the rest of the bus is only occupied by a handful of old, sleeping men, “Do any of us exist?” The bus driver’s assistant hands me two magazines about soap operas and celebrities in Mexico and I find myself reading about Dr. Simi’s (owner of huge chain of imitation drug pharmacies) many young girlfriends. Again, “What am I doing here?”
I feel that I am on the bus for eternity, a ghost destined to haunt empty Primera Plus buses for the rest of time, watching terrible dubbed movies while floating past discarded ham and cheese sandwich wrappers. Eventually I fall asleep and as soon as we arrive to San Luis Potosi I race to a phone to test my ghost theory. “Bueno?” Jonathan answers. “Hey!” I shout and then let Spanish awkwardly tumble out of my mouth. “Hey Macaouly!” he shouts back. While I do hate this nickname (think Home Alone), I am relieved that he can, in fact, hear my voice and that I am still a real person with a name, a nickname even. I jump on the next bus for Dolores Hidalgo and from there I ask very nicely if I can still get on the next bus for Guanajuato despite the fact that I’m short two pesos. The woman waves her hand, “Of course,” and an hour later I meet Mr. Paniagua (always in a suit) at the bus station.
08 January 2008
To the teeth...
"The problem is that nothing is under control down there," the warnings fall empty on my ears. I try not to grin or dispute what my dentist is staying. "Now, say aah. And it's just not safe outside of the resort areas." He's just finishing up my routine dental cleaning now, "But you'll be fine. Just be careful and I mean it. If you think that Venezuela is dangerous, now Mexico is really dangerous too. That president they have isn't that great." I think maybe we've found a point of agreement, and I say, "Yeah, not many people like him." The dental assistant is surprised, the dentist sighs, "Not as evil as Hugo Chavez, but he's pretty bad." He sighs again, "But no one could be as evil as Hugo Chavez." New toothbrush in my hand, I step out the door.
04 January 2008
Reminders
I am walking as quickly as I can across a slippery street and then onto a snowy curb, maybe 4 meters from the bus stop sign. The bus is speeding through a green light that I tried wishing red but quickly realized it was too late. But I'm this close, it's this late, it's this cold- surely this bus driver will stop, I did give plenty of warning, the bus certainly can slow down in time. I wave my arm out, still walking toward the stop, now maybe 10 feet away. An empty bus zooms past me, disappearing around a curve, heading toward downtown where perhaps in its journey there and back it will pick up a couple passengers at most. I curse in Spanish, the driver can neither hear me nor would they understand my anger. After all, I wasn't AT the stop. Now I am walking as quickly as I can toward no destination in a cold that feels even more bitter than before. I start to lose feeling and movement in my fingers, despite my snug gloves. I am astounded, and reminded, and I wonder why I come back for things like this. To witness people's internalized habit of favoring efficiency and regulation over humanity.
Today I went to visit Santiago and he called another professor while I was sipping on a sweet little cup of fig coffee. He shouts into the phone, "I hate this country even in the summer!" So, I'm not alone at least.
Today I went to visit Santiago and he called another professor while I was sipping on a sweet little cup of fig coffee. He shouts into the phone, "I hate this country even in the summer!" So, I'm not alone at least.
02 January 2008
Reality/Realidad
The other side: Snow's about as deep as my boots now, I don't mind walking through it because I never have to go too far. It's good to be able to move around in a city on foot- just being a few days in a house where even to get to a convenience store requires some sort of wheels made me appreciate how I like to stretch my legs and move swiftly down blocks, up stairs, down alleyways, through parks, on and on.
Mexico seems incredibly far away, but I don't like to think of it that way. Instead, I'm focusing on this wintery land around me and moving slowly but efficiently. Kalamazoo certainly doesn't feel the same but perhaps nothing does in the dead of winter. I've also found that my body doesn't want to become accustomed to sleeping in a different place every night, but hopefully it can hold out another week at least.
New Year's Eve was filled with love and grief, balloons and stomping boots, dancing and telling stories, and enough Michigan music to put me to sleep like a baby (after jumping, screaming and falling into the snow after stepping out of the theatre).
I still would be able to see the sun sometime, Michigan is beautiful, that's true, but I do miss the sun.
Mexico seems incredibly far away, but I don't like to think of it that way. Instead, I'm focusing on this wintery land around me and moving slowly but efficiently. Kalamazoo certainly doesn't feel the same but perhaps nothing does in the dead of winter. I've also found that my body doesn't want to become accustomed to sleeping in a different place every night, but hopefully it can hold out another week at least.
New Year's Eve was filled with love and grief, balloons and stomping boots, dancing and telling stories, and enough Michigan music to put me to sleep like a baby (after jumping, screaming and falling into the snow after stepping out of the theatre).
I still would be able to see the sun sometime, Michigan is beautiful, that's true, but I do miss the sun.
25 December 2007
What brings a family together...
My family is not religious, nor am I. Yet, we take this wintery holiday as a good excuse, as many do, to
gather, eat, drink, and remind ourselves that a family is a pretty nice thing to have.
23 December 2007
21 December 2007
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