Road Trip

I arrive at the parish punctually at 7 a.m. for a pilgrimage to a chapel built by a parishioner in honor of his deceased wife, even though I knew that all the rushing I did to get there in time will be in vain. The parishioner, Stephan, is waiting patiently at the gates of the parish. He is a quiet, tall, slim man in his 70`s with pale skin and white hair.

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The night before, Soledad (one of the church ladies) had come to our house at 10:00 in order to tell us that Padre was inviting us to the chapel benediction in a small town in the state of Michoacán. The proposal came when we were already exhausted from that day`s events as we had taken a group of young people from the parish to a diocesan youth festival. Different activities had taken place in tune with the lives of Jesus, Mary and Joseph and were categorized by play, prayer and values. We spent the day humiliating ourselves in volleyball, waiting to go to confession, going to Mass, and waiting in line for karaoke. We got lost on the way there and on the busride home, I read a political magazine while the kids and younger chaperons sang and roughhoused. ( I felt old until I realized the scene was similar to bus trips when I was an anti-social teen who ran high school track.) We finally returned to a crowded parish, where the grounds were overflowing with people who had brought their baby dolls to be blessed in honor of the feast of the Presentation of Jesus. We watched the chaos for a while before returning home and Soldedad`s invitation followed.

A few days ago, I decided to give into the fact that life in Mexico--particularly among the poor--is unstructured and random. I realized that if I could be more accepting and go-with-the-flow, I would be happier, instead of grumpy and irritable as I was last week when a jackhammer kept me up until 3 a.m. as workers built street lights at night.

So even though Jessica couldn`t come and I wasn`t sure what the trip would entail, I agreed to go along for the ride. I actually thought it would be good for me to be without Jessica since I rely on her for translation and to explain appropriate cultural behavior.

``Be there at seven on the dot,`` Soledad told me several times, through Jessica, and I got up a little after six to shower and prepare.

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A little after seven, Father lets me and Stephan inside the parish, puts on coffee, and wanders off. Stephan cares for a hermitage behind the church that was the home of Santa Fe`s founder. Father thinks the hermitage should be open to the public and he often leads marches to grounds during which parishioners sing, pray and plant crosses. At the gate, Stephan will appear and explain simply and solemnly that you need special government permission to go in. Sometimes, he lets a few stragglers enter.

Face-to-face, Stephan seems sad and I doubt he cares all that much about the hermitage. He tells me that his wife died eight years ago, and today is the anniversary of her death. I think that he is just waiting to join her.

We sit around awkwardly in the kitchen with him wondering, I suppose, what to say to the foreign English-speaking girl who is tagging along on his sacred trip. He tries small talk and says we shouldn`t be gone for long, since it only takes two and half hours to get to his village on public transportation. Soledad breaks the tension by arriving at 7:20 with her chronically late, unemployed and exuberantly cheerful daughter Lupita in tow. I learn Lupita is coming along, which is good since we are the same age and she is friendly. The two of them heat up rice-milk and chatter about the contents of Lupita`s purse. Father returns and Antonio comes in with eyes blurry from sleep. We all sit around drinking hot beverages and eating cookies. Since I`m being accepting, I stop myself from complaining inwardly about arriving at seven and enjoy my second breakfast.

Guillermo and Louisa, two parishioners who I have seen occasionally visiting Father, arrive at 7:50 to take us to the chapel. They are a quiet, sweet married couple who look alike as they both have round, smiling faces, small eyes and jet-black hair. We set off in their van and the scenery changes from the slums of pueblo Santa Fe, to the skyscrapers of new Santa Fe, and then to the country. We drive on windy roads for about two hours and we stop at a barbacoa stand. Everyone but me has tacos and Lupita insists on taking me to a tamale lady for food. Even though I have already had breakfasts and the tamale has cheese in it, I eat one to be sociable.

We make it to Stephan`s hometown where the buildings look like those in pueblo Santa Fe, only spread out and surrounded by grass and fields. We stop at Stephan`s sister`s convenience store and the women end up outside while the men are in the shop. Father calls me in so that I can try some homemade liquor.

Now, I`ve been trying to ease up on drinking and in general I don`t believe in alcohol consumption before noon. But when your priest and a grieving widow want you to join them in a shot, it`s hard to refuse. I sample sweet, sticky blackberry and sassafras mixtures.

We head to the chapel, which is quite pretty, gleaming white, and decorated with flowers, statues and photographs. Father jokes with a small crowd and then leads them in prayer. It is a short benediction and we go on to look around the grounds of Stephan`s house, bless a home under construction and pray at his wife`s grave. It is different from routine and I realize how much I have been missing fresh air and the ability to walk around.

We wrap things up around 12:30 and Father suggests going to the nearby Monarch Butterfly Reserve, which causes Lupita to squeal and clap her hands excitedly. I imagine that we will take a half-hour diversion in order to go to a roadside park full of butterflies. What no one anticipates is that we won`t actually end up getting home until 3:30 in the morning.

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A toll both operator gives us directions to the reserve, saying it will be about twenty minutes until we get there. Twenty minutes turns into two hours, during which we repeatably ask for directions and I sleep intermittently. Everyone keeps saying to keep going straight and that we will get there soon. Finally, we see buildings on the highway that look promising--The Butterfly Hotel and restaurants with signs in English that signify tourists go there. A schoolboy tells us to go straight ahead and that we will get to the butterfly reserve in an hour.

We enter another village where we are told to go straight and where we have to pay an entrance fee for a car. Boys plead for pesos and one hangs on to the back of our vehicle. The car treks up a steep mountain full of a multitude of shacks, small houses and donkeys and burros on the streets. This is the lifestyle I expected when I signed up for mission work, but seeing it for the first time is jarring.

After a slow drive, we make it to the parking lot of the butterfly reserve where we learn that it will be a 40-minute walk to actually see the butterflies. Guillermo asks if we all want to go ahead despite this, and at this point, no one can turn back.

During the uphill walk, Lupita and I clutch arms and count steps, alternately in English and Spanish. We lead the way (except for Father who meanders nearby on his own), to Lupita`s credit as her boots have three-inch heels.

The ending point is a restful spot, where, as you would expect, many butterflies fly overhead. However, not as many as I expected because their migration period begins soon. We can closely observe dead insects and those with broken wings, which Lupita and Father are fascinated by. I enjoy the stillness and quietness of the woods, along with my exercise high.

The trip downward is much easier, but we are again confronted by children begging for us to eat at their family restaurants or to give them pesos. They run alongside the car pleading with us. No one acts that desperate in Santa Fe and I wonder if the people in the country are worse off or if they just know they are more likely to get money from tourists. I contemplate whether I should be doing mission work in an area poorer than Santa Fe, than think of how the people I work with have their corporal needs met but are missing family and companionship. Then I think of Washington, DC where there are many social programs to help the poor, but homeless people freeze due to the harsh climate. It`s overwhelming trying to create a formula in which you calculate who is neediest by assessing their lack of money, food, love, company and good weather. I decide you have to help those close to you, accept that it`s something but not enough, and enjoy life where you can.

We drive to a nearby town for dinner and eat at a small restaurant where there are three meal options. The waitresses/cooks/owners take their times serving tables and I have rice and beans and sip cinnamon coffee while everyone else enjoys chicken and mole. Father checks in at the parish to tell the deacon to say evening Mass and to let Jessica know that we will be arriving around 10:00.

Stephan opens up a bit more and says that his work at the hermitage is a distraction for him. He explains that he lives with other retired people.

``Like a monastery,`` Father jokes, as he translates to me.

I think of my house where Jessica and I don`t have television, a computer, boyfriends or heat and where lately, we have been praying every night.

``Mi casa tambien,```I say.


Incidentally, the parish would probably be a VFW hall, similar to those I have been to in Pittsburgh. While I don`t think many of the older handymen who work there have been to war, they are licking the wounds that life has given them, as are the woman without families who spend time there. It felt most like the VFW on Sunday, when I watched the Superbowl in Guillito`s tiny shed in front of the parish, on his black and white TV. Though I am from Western, PA where football reigns, I don`t take much interest in the game unless the Steelers are playing or it`s the Superbowl. So, I had to see the game, which I didn`t really understand because it was translated in Spanish. The guys around me were lost as well, but enjoyed drinking cheap beer, smoking cigarettes and slapping my hand after plays. It was quite similar to bars and clubs I`ve been to with my Dad in Pittsburgh, so I felt nostalgic.

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We leave the restaurant around 7:30 and the drive makes me nervous due to the the lack of street lights. I cope by sleeping and am awoken around 10:00 to the sound of the car skidding. Father gets out and deduces that we have a flat tire.

Lupita takes the breakdown in stride and recounts past breakdowns, thanks God we weren`t in an accident, and suggests calling her brothers. They don`t pick up and more calls are made, to tow-truck companies who don`t want to travel out far to get us. One finally agrees to come, within 20 minutes. It still hasn`t come after 30 minutes and Jessica, who has gotten nervous waiting for me, calls and translates what is going on and tries to find a number for a tow-truck company. Guillermo calls the towing service and learns that they won`t be coming, so he and Father decide to walk to the far-off toll booth for help.

I can`t help but think that in the States, you might not have a spare tire but you`d probably have a three A`s card. And if you don`t have that, after about a half-hour on the highway, a patrol car would happen by and give you aid. Or there`s 9-1-1.

But, I am not in the States and instead of thinking of ways out of the situation, I think of ways we are in danger. (A target for robbers, potential victims of bad drivers.) At the youth festival yesterday, I had gone to confession as required by a novena that Jessica and I have been saying. I wonder if God wanted me to make peace with him before dying and I think that at least my family has each other and I won`t be leaving behind a despondent spouse like Stephan behind.

Thinks look better when a highway repair service called the Green Angels appear. We tell them to pick up Father and Guillermo and then to return. Jessica calls with numbers for more tow-truck services but Lupita says they won`t come out that far and that everything is under control . A few minutes later, Father and Guillermo return on their own, meaning the Green Angels are looking for them in vain. My cell phone runs out of battery power. The Green Angels fail to resurface and Father tries to flag down cars and I don`t know whether to be more afraid that someone will stop or someone won`t. Lupita and I huddle together and say prayers. Stephan seems adrift and I wish I could comfort him because I bet he`s still only thinking of his late wife. He finds a number for a nephew who lives an hour away and talks to him. Finally the Green Angels appear and begin the process of changing the tire. They set up cones and a light and leave us again for a spare tire. Around 2:30, the car is fixed and we return to the city.

Jessica, my own angel, is awake when we arrive and she has fixed up a bed for Lupita to stay in and made up mine . In the morning, we sleep well past the time she has left the house, and eat homemade muffins she has made for us.

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Before all of the mechanical problems, I was thinking of how even though the car full of people had been thrown together, we were operating as a family. Father would be the patriarch, the couple who drove us obedient children, Lupita and I wayward sisters, and Stephan a solitary uncle. At the parish, as when I watched the game, I often feel like I am around family members as everyone participates in food, hugs, and disagreements.

In Mexico, people use the names of family members as terms of endearment, referring to non-blood acquaintances as daughter, son, uncle and aunt. Additionally, Mexicans are much more physically affectionate than Americans and I link arms with, am embraced by and have my back rubbed by people of all ages and sexes. I wonder if the ability to formulate makeshift families and quick bonds with those around them is Mexican a response to the unreliability of the government, social programs and a general sense of time. It seems in Mexico, you can only cling to those are are directly beside you. As I`m learning to tranquilly accept life around me, I`m sure I`m in for many early mornings and and late nights during which to ponder this.