Mexico has such a potent presence in my psyche. She was the first place I saw a structure thousands of years old, the first place I lost myself in a world completely foreign from my own, the first time I walked the streets of a city with 32 million inhabitants where the majority were impoverished. She was the first time I was submersed in a place and culture where no one spoke my language save for my traveling companion.
Mexico has held a special place in my heart since my first visit. I was so moved by her cuisine and culture that I went on after my first visit to study her cuisine, specialize in her foods, and ultimately become the Chef at the best regional Mexican restaurant in Atlanta. In addition, I studied her language, fell in love with her music, married one of her daughters. My daughter Margaret results from that union and mi Rosa Mexicana Chiquita (my little Mexican rose).
First trip to Mexico
The first time I traveled to her shores was in 2002. I had traveled for a vacation, but God wanted me to experience something different. We flew into Cancun international airport with a hurricane in the region. Initial reports had the hurricane well away from the Yucatan, but its trajectory quickly changed. The hurricane, known as Isidor, quickly moved towards the peninsula, and shortly after we landed, the airport shut down, and evacuation proceedings were beginning to be discussed. This was exactly a year after my same traveling companion and I were stranded in San Francisco for an extended vacation after 9/11. We were due to fly home on September the 12th but were stuck wandering the airport and local area for what I remember as weeks. That is until my guardian Angel brought us home.
Even as I tell this story today, it seems unreal. It was myself and Davin’s mother before we were even married. I had a friend Claudia Truis. She was in college, in her 40’s, and a classmate of mine. In exchange for doing her computer work, she sent us to San Francisco on an all-expense-paid vacation. We spent time in Sausalito, Point Reyes, the Mir woods, and of course, all over San Francisco. On September 11th, 2001, we awoke at around 7 a.m., 10 a.m. New York time.
9/11
Our hotel was one of the oldest and most prestigious in San Francisco, the Prescott. In the hotel was a Wolfgang Puck’s restaurant, the Postrio. We ordered sourdough waffles and mimosas. As our waiter delivered the food, he asked if we had watched any news this morning. I informed him that we had not, and he asked when we departed and where to. We told him Atlanta the next morning, and he suggested we take our food to the room and call our airline as there may be issues with our tickets. Not giving us much more information, we obliged and returned to our room.
Everyone knows what we saw, and I immediately phoned American Airlines. Unfortunately, I could only get an automated female voice that said all flights are permanently grounded until further notice. In the beginning, things were ok as her brother and his boyfriend were also in San Francisco on vacation, and they had rented a car for the duration. So we had transportation, and they even let us stay in their hotel room as they had some overnight excursions planned to Sanoma and Napa.
Haunting memories
Things were going alright for a couple of days, nice restaurants and more sites to see, but things weren’t getting closer to a plane ride home. I will never forget, however, the evening of 9/11. We all rode around San Francisco with the windows down, and the city tuned every T.V. And radio to the now-famous speech by then-President George W. Bush. Through the neighborhoods of Haight-Ashbury, the Fisherman’s Warf, and China Town, all that could be heard was the resonant sound of George W. Bush. I will never forget the moment when Psalm 23 echoed through the skyscrapers, alleys, and streets of San Francisco.
“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for you are with me.” It was the only time in my life since and probably ever when America was united, United for the cause of America. It still gives me chills recalling it. Our companions were ultimately headed to Seattle, and their time in San Francisco drew to an end as our troubles really began. What ensued was a daily routine of transferring to cheaper motels and spending our days sitting against the walls of the Airport. Overnighters with no hotels filled the chairs. Each evening we were sent back to our rooms and the cycle repeated.
Circumstances deteriorate
Train tickets were being bought up at a rate so astronomically fast the closest tickets were months away. Circumstance gobbled up rental cars faster than tic tac’s, and the drop-off rate for a car cross country was thousands of dollars due to the circumstances. Our world was caving in around us. We were two broke college kids, and our funds had dwindled to nothing. Our families were wiring us money, and in the last hope of desperation, my mother had found a room at the Marriott in Oyster point across from the airport that we could at least get some sleep in for a few more days but time was quickly running out.
As we checked into that Marriott in Oyster point, so to did our guardian Angel. We settled in the room, and I headed down to find something as cheap as possible within walking distance to eat. The elevator door opened, and an older gentleman about 70 stood inside. I stepped in and pushed the button for the lobby. He struck up a conversation, and though I wasn’t entirely in the mood, I obliged. He asked about my situation, and he told me a little of his.
A Gaurdian Angel
Additionally, he asked what airline we had booked and gave me his room number, and said I should get my companion and come to his room. He offered to take us to dinner, and though I was a bit hesitant, he seemed harmless, and I had nothing to lose. After getting some information from the concierge, I headed back and spent quite some time convincing my companion to come with me. In a bit of desperation, however, I think the thought of a good free meal was too tempting to pass up. I also couldn’t overcome the feeling that something much bigger than us was moving at this moment.
I knocked on the door, and a few moments later, he opened it. There is something so strange about this experience it’s hard to believe even to myself all these years later. We sat down, and he asked us for our original flight information. He told us he was an international piano man for Marriott and mostly worked the European circuit but had come to California on vacation to meet a group of friends he had acquired on his worldly travels. This, fortunately for us, meant he was not only a guy to get anything we needed from Marriott, but at the time, American Airlines was the partner of Marriott, and he had enough miles and clout to move mountains.
A simple phone call
He took about 20 minutes to talk to his personal contact at American Airlines and had a flight scheduled for us that evening. At this point, only people with clout were moving around by air. Flights were tough to come by and incredibly expensive. I have no idea what kind of miles it cost him to get us home, but he did. He took us to dinner with all of his friends. We sat at this massive table in the corner of his favorite Italian restaurant. We dined with Russians and Frenchman. It was an amazing experience. Towards the end, I stepped out to smoke a cigarette, a habit I have since given up, but at that moment saw an amazing sight.
As I stood in the small valley and looked to the west, a blanket of fog crashed over the mountains between me and the sea. Like a mighty wave, the bank broke over the peaks and barreled down towards the town until I could see nothing around me. As if God was saying farewell and good luck in a wave of fog. Our Guardian Angel took us to the airport, and after a short layover in Chicago, we were home. In the aftermath of home and jobs and school explanations, I tried to hunt down our Angel, but as quickly as he manifested into the world, he seemed to vanish from it. I will never forget that time in my life and if you don’t believe it’s true, ask my mother. It was a miracle to her too.
Mexico
But I greatly digress, there we are a year later from our rough time in San Francisco, and here I am in Mexico. The airport shuts down shortly after I land, and it’s looking like we will need to head inland. Isidor took a strange turn late and would sit over us in the Yucatan for days. Everywhere we went, even inland, was flooded. I didn’t care, and we took the time to explore the saturated ruins of central Yucatan. Coba and Chichén Itzá, cenotes and villages. It was the first time in my life I saw thatch houses and adobe dwellings, the first time I touched antiquity. It would leave an impression in my mind that I would not soon forget.
Mexico City
Some 6 years later, I would embark on my wildest trip to Mexico. It would begin in Mexico City, then the 2nd largest city globally, dwarfed only by Tokyo. With modern global growth, its metropolitan area has dropped on the international rankings, but in the mid-2000’s it was a juggernaut of urbanization. A city so massive most never wander far beyond their barrió (neighborhood), and one could get lost in its expansiveness. The transit system is a nightmare to navigate, and the roads are a patchwork of chaos.
In short, it was amazing. I spent a week stumbling around its burrows and exploring its alleyways. I fell in love with Mexico City. With getting lost from the waterways of Xochimilco to the restaurant Izote in Polanco. When I was in Mexico City, it was voted the most culinarily rich city in North America by Savor magazine two years in a row. Beating out New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco, among others.
The oldest church in North America. San Juan Bautista Church. Construction began in 1592. Exactly 100 years after Columbus took his maiden voyage to the new world.
Xochimilco, Mexico City
A market near Xochimilco
Iripuato, Guanajuato, Mexico
San Guillermo, Guanajuato, Mexico
The Butcher of San Guillermo
There was something special going on in Mexico then, and it was special to be a part of. I would take a series of buses from Mexico City to the hard-to-find, dusty town of San Guillermo in Guanajuato. I would peruse her streets much like here on Isla Mujeres and lose myself in awe. It would spark a desire in me to get lost as often and as much as possible. It would not be until Vietnam that I would get lost again as then. Even now, with a great understanding of Spanish versus my time back then, Mexico doesn’t feel as far off as it once did.
Though I must say it’s an incredible experience to visit a place where no one has ever seen a Caucasian except on T.V. To be the minority and a cliché, a stranger in a strange land, is an amazing experience. As I’ve said before, the world is smaller than it once was, but it’s still big enough to get lost. I will be heading back to Vietnam again in a few weeks. It’s time again to get truly lost. To understand nothing and be at the mercy of the world. It’s a rush I never get tired of.
Click here for the next adventures to Mexico.
