I suppose that if your stomach is going to crap out on you and the only comfortable position you can entertain is a fetal one, than there is no better place than a hammock on the Mexican coast. Cecilia has escaped for Zipolite beach with our friends. In the meantime, I let the waves breaking and the scittered clatter of the palm frawns amongst themselves calm my entire being. This morning I toughened up and actually ate breakfast, but I think I over-indulged: scrambled eggs, toast, fruit with yoghurt and honey, fresh OJ and coffee. Only small portions but still enough to keep me sick and satisfied til 5pm when I’d be able to stomach a banana (which I’d later regret).
We met up with an older couple from Rhode Island and brought them with us to La Ventanilla to take a tour of the lagoons. We walked along the beach for about 10 minutes. I laid in the sand as we waited for our boat to fill, and then slid into the last spot, trying to slither as low to the floor as they’d allow me. We slipped into the water and glided along the mangroves as the guide explained their restoration cooperative. The sounds were more incredible than the sights – white birds with woodpecker features on their brows made sounds like this little toy I used to have a as a kid. It was also a bird and when you jiggled it, it would go “oyoyoyoy.” There were scores of them in the trees. Huge ospreys (or maybe egrets?) and little black birds shared the webs of leaves with the others and also made peculiar sounds. There were also grey toucans with bills like platypuses. A croc or two nosed its way into the fingers of the mangroves, completely unphased by our presence. We docked at a small island where we would spend most of our time, and I would spend most of it doubled over. I took interest in some animal whose name I can’t pronounce and the friendly spider monkey named Yupi. But I hardly glanced at the deer or the crocodiles and by the time we stopped to get a drink I was a goner. I threw dignity to the winds and laid myself in the black hard earth, gently trying to expel all of my pain without drawing too many glances. Cecilia suggested water, but I had visions of my intestines bursting. Still, through it all, I continue to be grateful that I’m continuing on this trip rather than dripping in self-pity on an uncomfortable couch in Cholula.
That night we left for Oaxaca. Never again will I sit in front of a mega bus. It was a real life roller coaster, twisting and winding us through the dark desert mountains, slowing at the last moment near the switchbacks as the reflective arrows whizzed into our past. We skirted bunnies and tire shreds without so much as a wince from the agile beast that was carrying our loads and our lives. It was a fluid ride, but on a few occasions I submissively reminded God that I had much of His work to continue.
We arrived at 7am in Oaxaca where it was surprisingly brisk outside. I was actually hungry for the first time in a while, so after we found our hostel we immediately hit the market. The markets in every city in Mexico are the hub of the culture and the flavor. Oaxaca is the epitome of this and our original plan had been to eat our way all the way through all day long. I tasted everything but didn’t actually consume anything: We kicked off with chocolate atole (the corn drink) and bread (both of which Oaxaca is known for), so it was a good start.
We ordered a chile relleno next – fried egg (like egg foo young) with a pepper stuffed with cheese; beans and tortillas. Devil’s food. Cecilia had another drink of pure cacao and corn with pure milk fat on top – it’s her favorite, but I wasn’t super impressed. The agua de horchata (sweet rice milk with spices and fruit) was pretty great though. Cecilia bought $800 pesos worth of leather purses and I considered a $6 USD hat but decided against it. My stomach was fierce again, so we bailed and went to a contemporary painting museum. We had some great conversations about art and artists and I was surprised at how much I remembered from senior year of high school. We later met up with our friends we’d met at the beach for supper. I managed to choke down a salad and some bread, but I must say that the company was far superior to the food – we laughed the entire time. The entire city was on the zócalo celebrating Semana Santa when we exited the restaurant and strolled into town.
Last night I dreamt that I was in band class/simultaneously orchestrating a group therapy session. When I woke up around 6am I realized that the tuba was not in my band class but actually at the church across the street. Now I’m sitting up on the hostel’s terrace noticing all of the purple (thank you Alice Walker via Lauren), and listening to the monastic-style chanting. The lower parts of the tree immediately buffering the church and the terrace have fat raindrop leaves and fuzzy fuchsia flowers like the top of a troll pen I used to have. Some of the flowers even look like they have 2 white eyes to observe all of the worshipers below. The empty branches towards the top all reach outward and upward – like they too are acknowledging this holy day. There are huge lavender tapestries and plain wooden crosses hung on each edifice and flags of white and purple strung above the vendors on the streets.
Here are my observations from the bus ride from Oaxaca back to Puebla at the very end of our trip (sorry it's kind of stream of consciousness):
Jade green rocks. Goats butting heads. Dr. Seuss’s wonderland. Comically awful movie on a gently rocking bus. Mossy mauve slopes into an empty neverland. Spherical palms like an exploding star. Small home of stones and concrete on top of a canyon – needing nothing from soap or necklace vendors, nothing we could offer. Layers. Rich overlooked colors of the desert. Rock waterfall. Campesino in an orange t-shirt walking towards nowhere. Cows scavenging spiny greens by the roadside. Freestyling policemen and topiaries at the checkpoint. Moon mountains. Lolipop tree with yellow mushroom branches. Leafy shrub popping from the bare cliff face like a stripper from a cake. Green. Orange. White. Who knew there would be so many shades of grey? Squat umbrella trees. Some are crying. Rusty car the color of the earth. White flowers in an old stream pass. A mask of concrete over a fence frame pegs the mountain to itself. Hope that I never forget the contrast of the mountains, but certain that I will. Vertical fields of cacti. Neon flowers surround a bored soldier’s station. Bustling city. Hectic bus station. Home.
No comments:
Post a Comment