With some ultrasound results of a two-week large baby and doctor recommendations to stick around home the weeks leading up to the possible birth date of our baby, we had to cut the plans to take advantage of Misa´s two week school vacation. Instead of enjoying the crowded beaches of Veracruz through Semana Santa (Holy Week), we will be amongst the only people staying in Puebla through the national holiday. I´ll do my best to recreate Misa´s home vacation…perhaps make some tamales wrapped in banana leaves and pull out the tv wrapped up and held hostage above our closet where, honestly, a pregnant woman should not be reaching. We can spray ourselves with repellent out of nostalgia and I´ll hide some limes around the apartment so we can pretend we are going to the orchard with grandpa. But the loss of this week meant taking a three day weekend this past weekend to soak in all the family we could get before the arrival of the baby.
And so we made our requests to my mother-in-law for a watermelon the size of Camilo, some guanabana, and endless home refried black beans. We made our way out in our newly acquired vehicle, a white VW Vento, perhaps the least descriptive vehicle in all of Puebla who prides itself on housing the VW factory. Although we´d made the trip plenty of times before, google maps guided us to stay away from unmarked freeway exits and charge through until our $5 payment to use the toll-road. It was just our first installation of four on our four hour drive to Veracruz. We like to think of it as a preventative investment, keeping the mugging potential to a minimum.
After we passed the boom barrier, the highway converted from a crowded eight lane road to a simple two lane one. Since the traffic didn´t diminish, this meant slower cars drug the white line, their right wheels thankful for no vibrator strip. The rest of them just zoomed on by right down the middle of the road, without a care whether there was oncoming traffic or not. Out here, following the laws won´t keep you safe. Sticking to your lane at the posted speed limit will most likely get you swiped. Nah, out here it´s about trust, trusting that the other drivers on the road have no death wish. Trusting that two seconds is enough time for that car to get back over.
While I practiced controlling the panic my body wanted to collapse into while Misa calmly drove down the road, our family left behind our beloved Puebla. The high desert like climate home to fields of nopales (popular cactus for eating) vanished into dust devils and further along intense fog until finally we crossed the state border into the land of the Jarochos. Green and lush. Banana trees lined the highway and fields of lime trees and sugar cane created a scene. My hair began to poof and we could almost see the humidity healing our cracked skin.
The panic throughout me calmed as the speed of cars diminished with the change in road quality. Potholes created a minefield and Camilo burst into complaint about the bumps. Despite it all, homeowners and businesses added speed bumps to the drama. With no two bumps alike, we kept our eyes out, reminding me of my years searching for deer crossing the street in early morning hours. Some bumps come with a warning sign, but others blend right in with the road. Some long and nearly flat, others like a long rectangular cylinder. Some we take straight on, others we drift to the side to keep from scraping the bottom of our car.
We surfed along the speed bumps, accepting them as a good wave when we could, until the long downhill came with all of its curves. We drove through a town called El Mohon, which literally translates to ¨The Turd.¨ Misa and I remarked on fond memories of me sticking my head out the window all through the turd city and painting the car with my vomit leading up to Camilo´s birth. We continued to pass through the curves and go through town after town built on a hill. Elderly Mexican women wandered through the treacherous fields in their traditional dress and long double braids with long sticks guiding along a flock of sheep. Others carried long branches on their backs and I’d believe them if they claimed to cut down the tree with only the machete in their boots. Small wooden or bamboo houses lined the roadway and young toddler boys risked having their toes run over as they ran amuck.
I could hear Misa reverting back to his roots as we wandered through this country. His sentences mirrored those of the half gnawed statements from my father-in-law. I became increasingly more aware that Puebla is not his home any more than it is mine. I get asked about my accent all the time, but Misa does too occasionally. He´s from the coast, known for having a sailor´s mouth and an accent resembling their upbeat dances.
As we crept into the towns closer to ¨the city,¨ vendors began to line the streets. Pineapple and jackfruit juice are the most common stands. Fresh coconut. Lime tree starters. Beautiful wooden furniture that would never fit into our sedan.
Eventually we came into the big city, Martinez de la Torre, where the biggest attraction is a Coppel. Misa´s index finger started going off like a pistol, pointing out all his memories. He went to school up that hill, a friend´s house over there, the bus to skip school and head to the beach there. It´s a nostalgia that I empathize with as I live so far from where I came from. We made one stop, at Tacho´s Tacos. Misa greeted the cook as ¨primo¨ and I refrained from asking how they were related, since I´ve learned everyone here is known as uncle, cousin, brother-in-law, aunt, or best friend. Often times, they call one another several of these in the same conversation.
After our fulfilling tacos made from select pieces of the pig´s head, we headed back out for the voyage out of the city and to Misa´s hometown. It was my first time since coming back from our two years in Laos, so I was impressed with the new road. The new government laid down some new asphalt after 20ish years and now both sides of the road were usable. Last time the money only lasted to put in one side. With the new road, it felt like we were flying. Until the moments we literally were flying off a speed bump that we didn´t remember being there years ago.
We drove past ¨Old Town 1¨ and ¨Old Town 2,¨ both homes of the unfortunately popular drive-in motels where you bring your own company and entertainment. We passed through a large plot of land that we used to claim we would buy someday (with no actual intentions of living in the middle of nothing). We saw cows and some horses and small towns. Pineapples for sale on the road.
Eventually, we made it to La Defensa, a town with more habitants than my own, but I´ve never understood how just by looking at it. It´s small enough to walk the whole town in 15 minutes. We passed the town soccer field and newly painted elementary. Then the newly installed park with a half painted tower. At the edge of the park two names are painted in large block letters, ¨Claudia for Mexico¨ (the new president) and an even more familiar name, ¨Gaston Roustand Vargas for coordinator.¨ Misa´s uncle Gaston (actual blood relative), perhaps famous in this town despite his residence in Mexico City. Misa chuckles as he sees the name and has never heard of the position he is running for. Thankful for the park design though.
Just a half a block later sticks out Misa´s home. Larger than others and screaming attention in its bright orange dress. Avocado and papaya trees dress the yard and the generally unloved pitbulls greet us at the gate. Before I got the chance to extract Camilo from his carseat, Misa was inside with a sleeve of Maria´s butter cookies and not-too-strong coffee to his lips with his feet up and a soccer game on the tv. He has arrived.
Leave a Reply