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.

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

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.

A Friend Indeed

Right before Alex set off for the bus terminal I heard him talking to his Dad on the phone. After a few pleasantries, my name came up. "No Dad, I don't know when he's going to take off, probably tomorrow with Ricardo to head to Playa for New Year's." I felt a bit of concern. Alex had assured me that it was cool to crash with his folks for as long as I wanted, and even stop by after a bit more of my aimless wandering for one of Dulce's home cooked meals, a comfortable bed and a hot shower. And after being welcomed with open arms into Gonzalo and Dulce's house I felt it would be rude to not accept such a generous offer.

But when I heard my name mentioned my immagination immediately filled in Gonzalo's side of the conversation with something like "He's not going to stay too long is he?" I didn't want to be a burden, to put anyone out. But it turned out Gonzalo just needed to know if I was staying so he could figure out what to ask Dulce to make for dinner. I need not have worried, this warm Mayan culture couldn't possibly be more welcoming. And since I was their son's friend, I was golden and I knew I would forever be welcome in their home.

Alex and I exchanged a hug and he set off for the bus to Cancun so he could catch his flight back to San Diego. I still had no real idea what I was going to do, but I was starting to make a semblance of a plan. I took a moment to reflect on the past two weeks and how Alex and I had grown as friends. I'll be happy to get back to doing my own thing, devoting more time to my yoga practice and not feeling like I have to keep up with his hard drinking ways. But I'll miss the touch of chaos he brings into my life. We are two very different people, Alex with his work hard, play hard ethic. And me with my constant quest for moderation in all things. But our easy-going natures compliment one another quite well. And travelling together with someone for an extended period of time either brings you closer or tears you apart. And we are definately better friends now than ever before.

During this time travelling together, I've come to realize what makes us true friends is the fact that we both encourage and nurture each others dreams and ideals. Alex with his desire to build and create, developing those 11 acres of land in Jamul. And me with my desire to learn and teach and be in a constant state of introspection. We are the sorts of friends that work to help each other realize their dreams. That take joy in each others successes and accomplishments. And after this trip, those dreams are intertwined to the point where we can only succeed by helping the other realize their own.

As I came to that conclusion I also realized the flip side, all the other people in my life, who despite their friendship and love, only held me back from realizing my own personal story. The friends who itemized and counted against me each inconvenience that my escape caused them. The lover who by not wanting to be a burden, rejected the most precious gifts I tried to bestow. My own family members who only saw how my irresponsiblity put their own security at risk.

I've grown to understand that only by recieving friendship and love when it is freely given can you put yourself in a position to return it. For acceptance of that gift creates an implicit understanding that you must pay it forward, backward and to those all around. Those who refuse to accept the gift of friendship that is given freely do so because they don't want to put themselves in a position where they have the obligation to return it. And by doing so they lose out on the most valuable treasure that life has to offer.

I've tried to forgive those who've rejected the gifts I've given. Those who offered gifts to me inauthentically, and resented the fact that I accepted. Those who accepted willingly but never gave back as good as they got. I know intellectually that it does not matter, because in the long run the universe evens out those scores, karma still applies. But I've yet to transcend my humanity to the point where I can let go of the pain caused by the unskillful actions of those I've tried to pull in close. I still keep score because it's too hard to embody a true Bodhisattva nature. I realize that those unenlightened actions are only a result of their own unresolved fears and they can only be overcome by continuing to pour out love and friendship to those who have failed to hold up their end of the bargain ... but it's just too hard. So I choose the easier route, to pull away and keep at a distance those who refuse the embrace of a true friend.

And then ironically after Dulce got back from dropping Alex at the bus terminal, I saw that which I resent in others manifest itself in my own being. I was hungry, having not as of yet eaten. And she offered to cook me some eggs. My initial reaction was to say no, I will just grab an apple, I don't want to be a burden. And then I spotted it, my own inability to accept that which is given freely. So when she offered again, I smiled and said "Si, por favor." The eggs had just the perfect amount of grease, the beans the right amount of garlic and the croissants were toasted perfectly. No one ever goes hungry in Dulce's kitchen. And she sat with me while I ate and told me about the places she's gone. "San Cristobal!" she said when I asked her what her favorite Mexican city was, with a smile that lit up the room. And now I have a new destination on my journey and my own surrogate Mexican mother who will make sure I never get too skinny.

People often ask me why I travel. What it is that I do while I'm not doing what it is that I'm supposed to be doing. And I realize now, it's not for the things I see or even the people I meet. But rather the unfamiliar surroundings present an opportunity for growth and advancement. Usually it's two steps forward one step back, but that still gets you somewhere. And with this current journey, I'm curious to see where that will be.

Homeward Bound

I don´t know exactly when it happened, but at some point between shrimp tacos in Sayulita and ceviche in Mazatlan I decided it was just time to go home, wherever that was. Swimming up and down the Pacific Coast of Mexico had proven to be lots of fun, but it was getting a bit tiring. Sure the water was perfectly warm, the food was generally excellent, the people nice (except for whoever nicked my bag while I was swimming in Sayulita) and the scenery beautiful, but I was just kinda done.

I decided against exploring the Copper Canyon from Los Mochis or reliving the history of Hermosilla. Instead I hopped a plane to Tijuana, perhaps the crappiest city in the world unless you happen to enjoy street prostitutes or 18 year olds drinking and yelling ¨woo!¨ It made a lot of sense at the time, I figured as soon as I had enough I would just head up to San Diego and get started on this whole return to normalcy thing.

I knew íf I gave myself a couple days to get used to the idea I could probably get started with all the stuff I need to get done. And if nothing else I´ve managed to convince myself that things truly are going to be alright even though there are about a 1000 questions running through my mind of what´s what.

But I head to San Diego tomorrow, and amazingly enough I even have a place to crash for a few days (thanks Greg and Nicole!) until I get settled in a bit more. And Greg and I have got tickets to the Dylan show lined up already, in just a few short days. A plane ride to Seattle Oct 28th is already purchased and a road-trip back to San Diego with a good friend a few days later is in motion. Thanksgiving in Madison with my family rounds out the plans, although who knows, I might make it back to the Carribean some time in between.

Now if I can just find a job and a place to stay it´ll really start looking like I´ve returned to the real world. But for now, I´m going to be pretty content to go visit some friends and see what the rest of the world has been up to fo the last year while I´ve been vagabonding around. Yeah I´ll miss the amazingly magical sunsets in Mazatlan and the calm tranquil waters of Bucerias but I´m sure there are new, as of yet unimagined adventures to be had as I settle in.

I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends

The two Scotish boys, the Irish boys and I piled into a cab and headed off to the bus terminal. They were heading off to Mexico City, I was going in the opposite direction, to the coast. We all had a brilliant time in Guadalajara, which has the reputation of being the center of the real Mexico. The home of tequila and mariachi bands. We even managed to take in a futbol match, a super-clasico no less (Chivas vs. Club America) and some Lucha Libre. That along with the Orozco murals, street side tacos and variety of cervezas made me feel like I had indeed experienced Mexico at it´s authentic best.

But after spending my last night in Guadalajara playing drinking games with the aforementioned group, along with a few Mexicans and Aussies I´ve decided I´m just too old for this shit. I can´t hang and I don´t really care anymore. A nice relaxing beach sounded just up my alley and that´s exactly where I was heading. Five short hours later I was in Sayulita.

I spent the bus ride like I normally do, staring out the window and pondering all there is to ponder in my life. I watched the landscape change from the blue agave cacti fields set among the low valleys of the central Mexican hills to the drier, more desolate, more sparse jungles of the Pacific Coast.

I`d just recently gotten to the point where the growing anxiety about what my life would be like when I returned to the ¨real¨world was begining to subsist. Find a job, find a place to live, move my stuff to a different city and visit friends and family and start a new life. I was trying to figure out how I was going to manage the logistics of all these contrary needs. I´ve spent much of this trip relying on the kindness of strangers to get by, and while there have been some really rough times it´s all worked out. But as of late a few good friends have decided to go to extraordinary lenghts help me out, levels which have suprised and humbled me.

Somewhere deep inside I had a sense of calm. Things were going to be ok, I reminded myself. They always had been in the past. I remembered to breathe and thought to myself as long as I can make it to the next stop in the road, everything else will work itself out. I idly glanced out the window and wondered where I was. I asked the elderly Mexican gentlemen next to me and it turned out this was my stop. I could see the warm welcoming water´s of the Pacific right around the corner and the next thing on my agenda was to go for a swim. Everything else was going to be alright.

Back in North America

Mexico City gets a pretty bad rap from most travellers. Most people associate it with rampant over-population, shockingly polluted air and being quite literally one of the most dangerous cities in the world. Given all of this I wasn´t too excited about the prospects of coming here.

When Katie asked me if I was sure I needed to go to Mexico I replied with a less than confident "I think so..." And as I rode in the cab toward the airport in Cartegena I seriously pondered what would happen if I just turned back around and went to the hotel.

Katie and had met only 4 days earlier, but we hit it off right away. Maybe it was because our paths crossed on a boat heading to paradise. Well it was actually Cabo San Juan de Guia in Parque Nacional Tayarona, but within about 30 seconds of getting there we both agreed it was paradise.

Maybe I was just hoping that as a practicing psychologist she could provide some free psychotherapy. But if she managed to figure out any of my many pathologies she didn´t clue me in, which is probably for the best. She didn´t even bat an eye when I destroyed her camera, for which she has my eternal gratitude and admiration. In any case we spent the next 2 days with our hammocks strung up next to each other, enjoying the sun, water and fresh fish that came with paradise.

After a hop, skip and a jump we were in Cartegena and it was time for me to leave. Throughout my travels I´ve noticed that some goodbyes have taken far too long while others have come with such haste one cannot even process the surrealness of that one instant.

With all of this on my mind as my flight began it´s descent into Mexico City I cringed at the fact that I was now here. It all seemed like such a good idea when it came to me about a week ago. Mexico is close to the US. I need to go back to the US at some point, so why not just go to Mexico instead and somehow make my way north???

I knew nothing about Mexico City of course, except all of the things that were now turning me of to it. And I had no idea where I was going to spend the night as usual. But I found a pretty nice hostel fairly quickly without incident and spent the next day exploring the town.

And much to my suprise I´m finding I kinda like it. It´s full of beautiful colonial architecture, wide tree-lined streets and monuments to seemingly everything and anything even remotely related to the nation´s history. And after a few months of complaining about the difficulty of finding a good cheap meal in South America I´m absolutely in love with the culture of street food, although needless to say there are some drawbacks.

And there is something comforting about looking at a map of Mexico. It´s like Bob Dylan or the Grateful Dead laid out a song book right there in our neighbor to the south. Cities with names like Durango and Acapulco, Oaxaca and Ixtapa, Tabasco and Tequila just excite the imagination. I don´t know exactly what route I´ll take, but I already know the destination.

No later than Oct 22nd I will be in San Diego. The thoughts of how exactly to put the pieces of my life back together and what exactly this wonderful insightful "plan" that everyone assumes I have already figured out are bouncing around my skull. But for the time being I´m going to try to enjoy this, the last leg of what has been a wonderful journey, a long strange trip indeed.