Fear not of Man
Every trip, every trek, every night has a turning point. A single point in time where a split-second decision will lead to outcomes and eventualities that can only be imagined in advance. Wisdom is nothing more than being able to recognize those moments and the consequences of the decisions we make. I stared at that shot of mezcal, it stared back at me. I wondered how I had managed to arrive at this point.
I didn´t mind so much the tequilla. Tequilla and I had danced before and I knew what I was in store for. Johnny had turned me on to Tequilla Sunrises and the ecstatic joy of Hafez just a few days before in Campeche. And I knew my encounter with him and his friend Amy was one of the turning points I speak off. It was while getting to know those two, my new favorite stoners from Oregon, that I caught Maddie looking at me and she caught me looking at her. And that led to a splendid week of trapzing through the jungle, exploring Mayan ruins, jumping off of waterfalls and understanding what Hafez was talking about.
And I also realized that I wouldn't have met either of them if it wasn't for the warmth and openness displayed by my good friend Alex. When he invited two perfect strangers he met minutes earlier in an internet cafe to stay at our crash pad I initally joined Patrick in expressing doubt and concern. But he told me not to worry, he had looked into Munia's and Nyasha's eyes and knew they were down. And when I let go of my fear and did the same, I saw what he saw. That led to 4 wonderful days of adventues and connections and a change of mindset.
So when Emanueli, the Italian guy we met at the hostel in San Cristobal de las Casas offered to buy me my 3rd shot of tequilla that night I initially declined, but soon afterwards allowed myself to be talked into it. I loved Emanueli's energy; his way of answering awkward requests with "Yes, of course" in his Italian accent; the smile on his face as we caught a ride in the back of that pickup; his love of sampling exotic liquors from around the world. So I couldn't turn down his offer to share a drink.
It was the prior night, when Emanueli and I kept our cooks for the night, Maddie and her friend Jessica company, that proved to be another turning point. Emanueli was an engineer as well, and He asked me why I was changing professions from that of engineer to pursue yoga as a career. Since his English was limited and my Italian non-existent I had to come up with a simple answer that conveyed the point. I was having troubles explaining it, until I found the word "freedom." He smiled and nodded in understanding and I learned something about myself.
And so far, this last night in San Cristobal de las Casas, I was pretty happy with myself. I'd let Tim and Taylor the two crazed Botanists buy me the first two shots of tequilla I didn't even want. But since even the faux-innocent girls from the University of Texas were down I wasn't going to start out the night as the party-pooper. I did, however, turn down the offer to shotgun a beer outside of a church while we waited for the bar to open. Fucking botantists.
Once the doors to "Madre Tiera" finally opened, we helped the proprietress setup the tables for the night and ordered ourselves several beers. And before I knew it, there I was, with a far healthier buzz than I wanted, and a shot of mezcal calling me all sorts of dirty names. Everyone had already picked theirs up and was getting ready to "salud!" and throw them down. I just leaned back in my chair and sat. Maddie must have seen the look on my face, she just took a wee nip, made a face that resembled death, and put it back down. Jessica drank a little and dumped the rest into her beer.
I am far from a wise man, but even with the clouds of alcohol floating through my mind, I could see where this night was heading. And I knew we were at that turning point. Maddie had already let me know a few minutes earlier that she was ready to bolt, and I had yet to learn to say no to those ferocious green eyes of hers.
The mezcal mocked me once more "are you afraid! are you going to run away?" I answered with full confidence, "No, I'm not afraid, I just have a healthy respect for your powers. And I won't be running, but walking away slowly, making sure not to turn my back on you."
I was the one who did it, who ended the night early, who made another man take his shot of mezcal, who started the round of goodbyes, who gathered up our group and started the walk back to the hostel. It was a position I hadn't found myself in all that often, but that night played out exactly as it needed to.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Friday, January 02, 2009
Turn the Page
It took about half an hour, but my naive optimism had vanished. With each additional step I felt the straps of my backpack digging into my shoulders. What had started as a wonderful feeling of being grounded and pulled towards the earth was starting to turn into a ache in my lower back. As the 100th car drove past me without slowing down I started to wonder what it was that I was doing again.
It had all started out so easily once I left Chichen Itza. I was kinda timid at first, failing to raise an arm to the first car that passed. But within 15 minutes a frinedly long-distance truck driver named Alberto had stopped and offered to take me the first 105 kilometers of my journey back to Merida, the city I had left the day before.
He didn´t have too much to say, although we made some small talk here and there. I think he just liked having some company. He offered me a few cigarettes and stopped once and had me run out and buy two cokes. We listened to his cumbia CDs and although his truck was slow the ride went rather fast. When he dropped me off on the side of Mex-180 I was excited to catch the next ride on my way to Campeche.
I figured getting the next ride would be just as easy. So I started walking with my pack along the side of the freeway. The first kilometer went really fast, but as I walked passed the exit to the Centro where the bus station was I wondered if I should just spend the $9 on the bus that would take me to Campeche.
I´ve been reading the stories of characters like Dean Moriarty and Alexander Supertramp my entire life. And I´ve always had this romanticized, idealized notion of what it would be like to hitch rides cross country. When I met Nyasha and Munia in Playa del Carmen and they told us about hitching from San Franciso to the Arizona / Mexican border my ears perked up. When we met the tall German guy who spent three weeks hitching from Tijuana to Playa I was hooked.
Sure I had hopped in the back of a few pick-ups here and there and caught rides across town. But I had never actually travelled across any significant distances by using my thumb. I liked to tell everyone what a roaming vagabond I was but I never left home without my credit cards. It was an experience I decided I needed to have.
I used to think of myself as an independent sort, that squared away my debts and always did what was fair. But over time I have grown to realize that no man is an island unto himself. We all survive only through the grace of God, Allah, the Universe or whatever you wish to call it. I had experienced first-hand the kindness of strangers, and the truth of the matter was, we all depend on it to survive, whether we wish to acknowledge it or not. We are connected in ways we cannot even begin to understand.
But after about an hour and a half of walking the along the freeway trying to wave down cars with no luck I had my moment of doubt. Gonzalo and Dulce´s house was still only a few peso cab ride away and I knew I would be welcome with open arms. Or I could still just try to grab a bus headed to Campeche. I looked down at my feet and noticed the increasingly ridiculous looking tan line from my sandals. It was still early, about 2 PM and the hot Mayan sun beat down without mercy. But I set my intention, no, this was something I was going to see through, just to collect another life-experience and for no other reason.
After 7 kilometers I started doing some mental math. I had 155 kilometers to go, so at this rate that would put me in Campeche, approximately never. I stopped at the very next refresco stand I saw off the freeway exit ramp and regrouped. I figured if worst came to worst I could just sleep under a freeway underpass on my yoga mat or maybe under some trees in the median of the freeway. But I wasn´t going to give up on this stupid idea that easily. I kept waving down cars with zeal and then finally an old school red VW bug stopped right in front of me. I felt my eyes light up and I practically ran to the car.
The driver, Martin I would later learn, asked me where I was heading. ¨Campeche¨ I told him. He thought about it for a second and told me to get in. We started talking immediately just like old friends. When we saw a car broken down on the road in front of us he pulled over and offered to help change the tire. ¨No gracias¨ they said with a smile, they had it under control.
¨You´re a very helpful person¨ I told Martin. ¨Si?¨ he replied, as if he had never noticed. We traded stories about women and travels and jobs we´ve had and everything else. As we grew closer to Campeche he told me he was off to visit a friend about 1/2 hour outside of town and invited me along to meet him and to grab some tacos. ¨Si, como que no!¨ I answered, I had nothing else really to do. He told me he had met Carmello, a Pentocostal Minister a year ago, when he picked up Martin and his two boys while they were hitch hiking and since then they had become good friends. I mentioned how I thought it was funny how things come around full circle sometimes.
We pulled up to a broken down church in the middle of Pumach, a town of about 6000 people. I met Carmello and his wife Susana and their two adorable kids. And then it turned out there was someone from his congretation Carmello wanted Martin to meet, to see if he could help him get a good high-paying job on the oil rigs outside of Ciudad de Carmen where he worked. So we spent the next few hours socializing and tracking down friends and looking for food.
It was getting dark and I was wondering how I was going to get to the hostel in Campeche when Carmello asked if I had a place to stay. ¨No exactamente¨ I replied sheepishly. He told me I was welcome to string up one of their hammocks in the bulding they used for sunday school if I´d like and I accepted immediately. After dinner Martin headed back to Merida, having had accomplished what he came to Pumach to do. But not before we exchanged contact information and vague promises to keep in touch and come visit when possible.
I went home with Carmello and Susana and we sat and talked for a while, they showed me their wedding pictures while I played with Suri the cutest two year old Mexican girl you could imagine. Right before bed-time Carmello gave me a pocket Bible in English that someone else had given him. I already had explained my religious views to him, as best I could, but he told me everyone needs some guidance from above and I agreed with a heartfelt honesty that suprised even myself.
It wasn´t the first time in my life someone had presented me with a Bible, but I had never made much of an effort to read one before. As I lay swinging in that hammock I found myself more interested in flipping pages than heading off to sleep. The Gospel of Luke caught my attention. verse 6:38 in particular
The next morning when Carmello and I sat down to coffee he filled me in on the parts of Martin´s story I didn´t know. His job at PemEx involved being on the oil-rigs for two weeks at a time, away from home. About a year ago, he found out his wife was cheating on him and abusing the kids so they wouldn´t tell, burning them with cigarettes. When they divorced Martin got the kids, which is practically unheard of in Mexico. But in August she broke into his house and stole everything and kidnapped his two boys. He hasn´t heard or seen from them since.
My heart sank. How could this person, how just went through the most difficult time I could possibly imagine any person having to deal with, still maintain his faith in humanity? How could he maintain his sunny disposition, how could he be so willing to help everyone who crossed his path, even a complete stranger such as myself?
I spent the rest of my day there helping Carmello run errands around the church. They were getting ready for a party for the kids in the congregation. We bought food and sweets and a piñata. Susana cooked, we talked about family and our cultures and we all played with Suri. As the sun started to set, they asked if I´d like stay another day, keep helping around the church. But I told them it was time for me to head to Campeche. I knew I had to keep on my own journey.
With tears welling up in my eyes I told them if there was ever anything I could ever do for them, they need only ask. I had known these people less than 24 hours but I knew their impact would not soon be forgotten. As I boarded the bus to Campeche and paid my $2 fare I didn´t mind that I failed to complete my intention of getting to town without paying for a ride. I set off seeking adventure but instead I found grace.
It took about half an hour, but my naive optimism had vanished. With each additional step I felt the straps of my backpack digging into my shoulders. What had started as a wonderful feeling of being grounded and pulled towards the earth was starting to turn into a ache in my lower back. As the 100th car drove past me without slowing down I started to wonder what it was that I was doing again.
It had all started out so easily once I left Chichen Itza. I was kinda timid at first, failing to raise an arm to the first car that passed. But within 15 minutes a frinedly long-distance truck driver named Alberto had stopped and offered to take me the first 105 kilometers of my journey back to Merida, the city I had left the day before.
He didn´t have too much to say, although we made some small talk here and there. I think he just liked having some company. He offered me a few cigarettes and stopped once and had me run out and buy two cokes. We listened to his cumbia CDs and although his truck was slow the ride went rather fast. When he dropped me off on the side of Mex-180 I was excited to catch the next ride on my way to Campeche.
I figured getting the next ride would be just as easy. So I started walking with my pack along the side of the freeway. The first kilometer went really fast, but as I walked passed the exit to the Centro where the bus station was I wondered if I should just spend the $9 on the bus that would take me to Campeche.
I´ve been reading the stories of characters like Dean Moriarty and Alexander Supertramp my entire life. And I´ve always had this romanticized, idealized notion of what it would be like to hitch rides cross country. When I met Nyasha and Munia in Playa del Carmen and they told us about hitching from San Franciso to the Arizona / Mexican border my ears perked up. When we met the tall German guy who spent three weeks hitching from Tijuana to Playa I was hooked.
Sure I had hopped in the back of a few pick-ups here and there and caught rides across town. But I had never actually travelled across any significant distances by using my thumb. I liked to tell everyone what a roaming vagabond I was but I never left home without my credit cards. It was an experience I decided I needed to have.
I used to think of myself as an independent sort, that squared away my debts and always did what was fair. But over time I have grown to realize that no man is an island unto himself. We all survive only through the grace of God, Allah, the Universe or whatever you wish to call it. I had experienced first-hand the kindness of strangers, and the truth of the matter was, we all depend on it to survive, whether we wish to acknowledge it or not. We are connected in ways we cannot even begin to understand.
But after about an hour and a half of walking the along the freeway trying to wave down cars with no luck I had my moment of doubt. Gonzalo and Dulce´s house was still only a few peso cab ride away and I knew I would be welcome with open arms. Or I could still just try to grab a bus headed to Campeche. I looked down at my feet and noticed the increasingly ridiculous looking tan line from my sandals. It was still early, about 2 PM and the hot Mayan sun beat down without mercy. But I set my intention, no, this was something I was going to see through, just to collect another life-experience and for no other reason.
After 7 kilometers I started doing some mental math. I had 155 kilometers to go, so at this rate that would put me in Campeche, approximately never. I stopped at the very next refresco stand I saw off the freeway exit ramp and regrouped. I figured if worst came to worst I could just sleep under a freeway underpass on my yoga mat or maybe under some trees in the median of the freeway. But I wasn´t going to give up on this stupid idea that easily. I kept waving down cars with zeal and then finally an old school red VW bug stopped right in front of me. I felt my eyes light up and I practically ran to the car.
The driver, Martin I would later learn, asked me where I was heading. ¨Campeche¨ I told him. He thought about it for a second and told me to get in. We started talking immediately just like old friends. When we saw a car broken down on the road in front of us he pulled over and offered to help change the tire. ¨No gracias¨ they said with a smile, they had it under control.
¨You´re a very helpful person¨ I told Martin. ¨Si?¨ he replied, as if he had never noticed. We traded stories about women and travels and jobs we´ve had and everything else. As we grew closer to Campeche he told me he was off to visit a friend about 1/2 hour outside of town and invited me along to meet him and to grab some tacos. ¨Si, como que no!¨ I answered, I had nothing else really to do. He told me he had met Carmello, a Pentocostal Minister a year ago, when he picked up Martin and his two boys while they were hitch hiking and since then they had become good friends. I mentioned how I thought it was funny how things come around full circle sometimes.
We pulled up to a broken down church in the middle of Pumach, a town of about 6000 people. I met Carmello and his wife Susana and their two adorable kids. And then it turned out there was someone from his congretation Carmello wanted Martin to meet, to see if he could help him get a good high-paying job on the oil rigs outside of Ciudad de Carmen where he worked. So we spent the next few hours socializing and tracking down friends and looking for food.
It was getting dark and I was wondering how I was going to get to the hostel in Campeche when Carmello asked if I had a place to stay. ¨No exactamente¨ I replied sheepishly. He told me I was welcome to string up one of their hammocks in the bulding they used for sunday school if I´d like and I accepted immediately. After dinner Martin headed back to Merida, having had accomplished what he came to Pumach to do. But not before we exchanged contact information and vague promises to keep in touch and come visit when possible.
I went home with Carmello and Susana and we sat and talked for a while, they showed me their wedding pictures while I played with Suri the cutest two year old Mexican girl you could imagine. Right before bed-time Carmello gave me a pocket Bible in English that someone else had given him. I already had explained my religious views to him, as best I could, but he told me everyone needs some guidance from above and I agreed with a heartfelt honesty that suprised even myself.
It wasn´t the first time in my life someone had presented me with a Bible, but I had never made much of an effort to read one before. As I lay swinging in that hammock I found myself more interested in flipping pages than heading off to sleep. The Gospel of Luke caught my attention. verse 6:38 in particular
Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.Karma baby, I knew that already, but I also knew how I failed to put it into action. How I kept score and resented when I did not recieve back as good as I gave. I marvelled how this family, how Martin, who had so little, welcomed me, a complete stranger into their home. Fed me, offered me whatever they had, embraced me as one of their own and refused all of my attempts to compensate.
The next morning when Carmello and I sat down to coffee he filled me in on the parts of Martin´s story I didn´t know. His job at PemEx involved being on the oil-rigs for two weeks at a time, away from home. About a year ago, he found out his wife was cheating on him and abusing the kids so they wouldn´t tell, burning them with cigarettes. When they divorced Martin got the kids, which is practically unheard of in Mexico. But in August she broke into his house and stole everything and kidnapped his two boys. He hasn´t heard or seen from them since.
My heart sank. How could this person, how just went through the most difficult time I could possibly imagine any person having to deal with, still maintain his faith in humanity? How could he maintain his sunny disposition, how could he be so willing to help everyone who crossed his path, even a complete stranger such as myself?
I spent the rest of my day there helping Carmello run errands around the church. They were getting ready for a party for the kids in the congregation. We bought food and sweets and a piñata. Susana cooked, we talked about family and our cultures and we all played with Suri. As the sun started to set, they asked if I´d like stay another day, keep helping around the church. But I told them it was time for me to head to Campeche. I knew I had to keep on my own journey.
With tears welling up in my eyes I told them if there was ever anything I could ever do for them, they need only ask. I had known these people less than 24 hours but I knew their impact would not soon be forgotten. As I boarded the bus to Campeche and paid my $2 fare I didn´t mind that I failed to complete my intention of getting to town without paying for a ride. I set off seeking adventure but instead I found grace.
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