I probably had the most surreal trip from the airport to the
Island ever.
My Mexican brother picked me up at the airport, he was late,
I didn't care, the airport smelled like Mexico and it was humid and hot. I was
over dressed.
He tied my carry on to the box of his truck with a string and
made room for me on the seat, I commented that he needed an assistant to
organize his life, he figured he could keep 2 assistants busy.
As we weaved in and
out of traffic he filled me in on the family drama, so much drama. He loves
being the first to fill me in, so i can hear his side of the story first. (he
of course is always the innocent bystander in everything). The Mexico 15
through the city is under construction but unlike at home they don't detour the
traffic they let you find your own way around, it was a mess, he never stopped
talking, he didn't make a detour plan at all, we just weaved in and out of
parking lots, across sidewalks, through back alleys, over driveways, cut across
gas station lots and all the time he is talking and talking. We stop at the
Marine school to pick up some important papers, as he walks away from his truck
it starts to roll forward, I try to put it in neutral but can't reach the
clutch, I try to crawl over to the driver side but he makes it back in time to
rescue me a mili-second before we slam into the back of another car. By now I
am sweating, my black leather boots are stuck to my legs, sweat is running down
my back and into my pants. It's hot.
We stop at an Oxxo to transfer some money, I watch as he
greets the dirty homeless guy sitting by the door as he walks in, I sit in the
truck and notice how every single Mexican man greets him verbally or with a
slight nod of the head. It is not in their nature to not acknowledge a person
even a begger on the street. 3 out of the 5 men that walked into that store
gave him some change as they came out.
I am in dire need of tacos, we choose a street taco stand on
the busy Mexican 15, the owner proudly bring us a small sample of his carne
asada while we wait for our order, the flavor explodes in my mouth, how can it
be so good? "why do you North Americans always cut your steaks so thick?"
brother asks, we 've had this conversation before, "I don't know why",
( I really don't) I can't figure it out
either, just because we don't know better I guess. This guy had the best carne
asada ( or maybe it was just that I was so carne starved) his salsa and quac
was the best, he had roasted onions and peppers, as the traffic roared by and
the dust floated in the air, horns honked, and the music played I felt my body
sink into contentment and once again I knew I was in love....with my Mexico. Everyone
has a different experience in Mexico, this may
not be your Mexico, but this is mine.
He drops me off at the dock, he has more errands to do, he
says he will stop by later tonight to see if I need anything, he won't come. I
am welcomed home by the ticket taker guy, the parking lot attendant and my
boats captain. I see the Norwegian Jewel in port, I remember it's Wednesday, Wednesday used to
be the day for 3 ships in port, now we are lucky to get one. The vegetable guy hollers "welcome home" as my taxi
drives by on the other side. My house looks beautiful, there is a new gate in
the front, my laundry station has some new posts, my garden looks great, my
bricks are moldy, my screens all fell out, some plants died but have been replaced
with some new ones. Before I do anything I need to get these boots off....fast.
2 comments:
aaaaahhhh....the relief of the removal of your boots, as well as your arrival in "your Mexico" is palpable. So glad to see you back! I was going to ask Contessa about you, but seems you beat her there. I look forward to a season of sights, smells, and sabores of "my Mexico" through your eyes. ;-)
You are such a great writer, what a welcome home.
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