3/7/15
El Tajin, Veracruz, Mexico
When I travel, the hardest thing I ever have to do is call an
audible. Not the long drives, not the
Munich runs, not the hikes, no, calling an audible is harder than all of
that. I’m not talking about changing
where I go for lunch or when circumstances cause me to readjust my
schedule. I’m talking about
substantially and intentionally changing my agenda for the day. In the two years since I was last in Mexico,
much has changed, and I have traveled around the world, probably over 100,000
miles by air, train, boat, and car.
However, in all that time, I can probably count on one hand the number
of times I’ve called an audible. The
most significant one was the “Copenhagen Option” during my Eurotrip. Since I’m #WingingIt this trip, it seemed
fitting.
I woke up on the plane with a
splitting headache, no doubt the brutal combination of sinus pressure and cabin
pressure. I felt like my head was going
to explode. I got up to get something to
eat. They said they had water and
sandwiches. I saw some fun size Milky
Ways sitting out. “I’ll just take a
candy bar,” I said, reaching for one.
The flight attendant literally slapped my hand away, saying it was just
for them. Okay, then. I settled for water. The pain subsided enough for me to fall
asleep, and, when I woke up, we were making our descent, and they were handing
out landing cards. Immigration was
perfunctory, and Enrique was waiting for me on the other side of Customs. Even after two years, we recognized each
other immediately and greeted each like old friends.
In those two years, so much has changed in my
life, but much is the same, and I will expand on that when I get to my hotel
tonight. Suffice it to say, the way I
travel has changed a bit. I am more
experienced, and some things have become more or less important. When I was in Mexico City two years ago, I
didn’t care about seeing Congress. This
trip, it’s a must see. Last time,
Plaques were practically a necessary part of a WHS. Now, they are just a bonus. Mexico WHS are one step below US and Canadian
ones, but the plaque is not necessary.
There were three things I wanted to see this trip: El Tajin, the Monarch
Butterfly Reserve, and the Olympic Stadium.
The plan was to go to see the Monarchs first thing this morning, and I
wanted to try and squeeze in El Tajin afterwards. Enrique said that was impossible. I would not have time to go to El Tajin
tomorrow, since the soccer match at the Olympic Stadium was at noon, impossibly
breaking up the day. I called an
audible. We would go to El Tajin
today. Tomorrow, I would walk around the
Stadium, and then we’d make a mad rush for the Monarchs. It could work.
I lit up a Romeo, one of the cigars I had
purchased on arrival, and we were on our way, stopping for gas, coffee, and
snacks. It was a process to get the
snacks, including a burrito, and the cigar was out by the time I had paid for
everything. There was nothing Official
about that meal. I slept as we drove,
and I realized that Enrique had no idea where he was going. He was just using the Navigation on his
phone. I could have rented a car and
done that myself for a third of the price.
Anyway, we eventually got to El Tajin.
Other than the souvenirs and this entry, there were only two things that
mattered: the plaque and the nomination photo.
I had downloaded a picture of the plaque and showed it at
reception. “Ah, la placa.” They knew exactly where it was displayed, and
it was displayed very prominently.
We
also had no trouble finding the spot of the nomination photo, a distinctive
large rock on the ground being unmistakable.
We took some pictures and walked around, the simple wonder of the
ancient site being all I needed as I smoked my Montecristo (another pickup from
Duty-Free). After I had seen as much of
the site as I wanted to see, I headed to a bench that afforded a view of the
nomination photo. I asked Enrique to get
my computer bag. I felt a little awkward
about it, as I like doing things for myself, something I no doubt inherited
from my father. Oh, along those lines, I
had a very interesting debate on Facebook with my cousin and one of her friends
as we drove. When Enrique came back with
my computer bag, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so
that we can get lunch and make our way back to the city.
Mexico City, Federal District, Mexico
Mont Tremblant, Vienna, the Drake Passage, and Belmopan. No, this night, this view of the Mexican
capital cannot live up to them. My
reader should know what this means by now.
I am smoking my 2008 Christmas Pipe and comparing it to the previous
places I have smoked it. This does not
compare. In fact, nothing will ever live
up to the Corinthian. Now, that I have
two months of distance, I can separate the good memories from the bad and
easily place it in the top five of my trips of al time. As the sun sets over the Federal District, I
find myself perched up on the window sill, quite contentedly writing this
entry, and I am happy.
In fact, I would
say that, at this very moment, I am purely happy, no stress, no regrets, no
doubts. I don’t know how many minutes
that will last before I find something to dampen my happiness, but, at this
very moment, I am happy, purely happy.
Two years ago, I think I was also purely happy. Two years ago, when I was last here, I was in
the process so of remaking myself into the person I wanted to be. The externalities were not there, but that
didn’t matter. As long as I worked
everything out from the inside, the rest would follow I told myself. I was right.
It did. I made new friends,
succeeded at work and school, was exactly the man I wanted to be for a
year.
Then I found her, the perfect
woman. It was what I had been waiting
for. She liked me. She thought I was funny. It seemed the most natural thing in the world
to ask her out. I finally plucked up my
courage. “I’m gay” was the
response. Four months later, she quickly
become one of my best friends, and I possibly fell even more in love with her. When I threw out my Objectivist values to date my
ex, she was the one rock that tethered me to whatever remnants of those values
remained.
It was another rock, the girl I
love more than I do anyone outside of my family that helped me remember my
Objectivist values when I needed them most about six weeks ago. Three times now she has brought me back from
the brink. The first time, she made my
life worth living again, though she doesn’t know it, and I will not tell her
160 characters at a time. That needs to
be done in person. The second time, she
called my ex “dumb and annoying.” She
was right. It was exactly what I needed
to see and exactly whom I needed to tell it to me. It was four hours after the breakup, and, by
the end of our conversation, I was over my ex.
I’m still not fully over her, but, once I find someone else, I will
be. The third time, I found someone
else, someone whom I did not respect and could never love. She was crazy about me, but I knew that I
could never feel for her a fraction of what I felt for the girl who was texting
me dozens of times a day. I avoided
doing something I would regret and broke it off with the new girl, knowing that
I would one day find someone worth loving.
I will not justify those last two words.
Anyone who understands my values understands that I believe love, like
anything else, is to be earned, not given.
In the past two years since I’ve last been in Mexico, I have come to
realize the truth of it.
What else has
changed in the past two years? Well,
this Travelogue for one. I have started
to publish it, which means that I self-filter and self-edit as I write, instead
of meticulously recording every detail of every event and every thought that
enters my mind. I have established new
protocols and dismissed some old ones.
The Official Us. That’s the big
one. How about in my life. The staff at work has almost entirely been
replaced. Excluding management, of the
15 or so workers there, only 3 were there the last time I was in Mexico. The staff at the cigar store has undergone
some changes. I believe only one
full-time worker now was working there full-time when I last went to
Mexico. The old manager, my best friend there,
left. I still visit him in Brooklyn from
time to time, just like I used to. He’s
really the only person I’ll cross water to visit. He’s been my friend for over eight years now,
and I hope to enjoy his friendship for another eight years or more.
Hmm, who else was in my life then that is
still in my life now. The three
coworkers, along with my family, obviously.
My best friend who is a brother to me in all but blood and name. The girl I have been talking about, though we
were barely friends back then, just the occasional Facebook interaction. Now, she’s like a sister to me. Then, she was just a crush and a happy
memory. How about the new people in my
life. I mentioned a few of them in the
previous entry. New coworkers,
obviously. I now consider my brother’s
fiancée to be my sister in all but blood and name. I was not too fond of her back then. My new best friend. I certainly did not know him when I was last
in Mexico, nor the other girl whom I consider to be like a sister, as
well. I guess Pablo was in my life then
as well as now.
I’m still living in my
same apartment, with the same TV, the same entertainment system, the same
Blu-ray discs on the floor, the same clothes in my closet, the same toys on my
shelves, even the same damn towel and bathrobe.
New suit, new water bottle, new suitcase, new phone, same laptop
though. Same penchant for tobacco and
alcohol and Diet Coke and Chinese food and pizza and bagels and cookies and everything
else I enjoy consuming. I am once more
back on my Objectivist path, so, I guess, not much has changed.
Alright, enough of this. Time for the adventures of the day. Wait, I already did that, not much left to
report. After I closed, we got lunch,
regional mole for me, along with a beer.
I, of course, used chopsticks.
Enrique gave me a surprised look, but I realized that it was not the
chopsticks that surprised him, rather the ravenous manner in which I ate my
food, being so starving. He didn’t give
the chopsticks a second glance. I got
all the souvenirs I needed, and we headed back.
I lit up an Ashton ESG, a huge cigar, a big mistake, since I wanted to
fall asleep.
As soon as I finished it, I
fell asleep and woke up a few blocks from Congress. We took our pictures and headed to the Casa
del Habano. It was not the same one we
visited last time. It was on the second
floor of a mall, and it was closed. Damn
it! Well, I could get something at
Duty-Free tomorrow night. I could not
find the down escalator. Not wanting to
waste time looking for it, I ran down the up escalator. Two cute girls gave me an amused look, and
one said with a smile, “Que practico!”
("How practical!”) My Spanish is
pretty decent, and I’m decent enough flirter once the ice has been broken. However, I was not quite sure I could pull
off flirting in Spanish.
We went to the
hotel, picking out a restaurant on the way, which is possibly the most iconic
restaurant in Mexico. It is only a few
blocks from my hotel. Que suerte! I checked in, went up to my room, relaxed a
bit, messaged back and forth with my new and old friends, and put the shower
cap over the smoke detector. I had
requested a smoking room. They did not
oblige. The fee for smoking is nominal,
about 18% of what it usually is in the US, so I’m willing to risk it. I wanted a nice view of the city while I
wrote my entry, so I rubbed out my tobacco and hopped up on the window ledge,
where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can head
out to dinner. It was bright as day when
I started writing this entry. Now, it’s
as black as night. It’s remarkable how
quickly it gets dark in the lower lattitudes.
Pure happiness. Yes, that is
what I am feeling right now, what I am continuing to feel even three hours
later. Ever since I left NYU in 2008, I
had only told one person that I love them.
Sure, I have written in my Travelogue about the people I love, and they
have read how I feel about them, but that doesn’t count. I had only said or written “I love you” to
one person. That one person was my
ex. I suppose there is some kind of code
of conduct for what you and cannot say about a person after the relationship is
over. The first time we said it, just
four months ago, she told me not to include it in my Travelogue. “I wouldn’t,” I had told her. Do I still have to honor her wishes now that
she chose to walk away, now that she chose not only to leave the relationship but to
leave my life entirely? If I had said,
“I promise I’ll never say anything about it,” there would be no question. My word is my bond. However, that was not the phrasing I
used. I merely said that it’s not the
kind of thing I would do, and it presupposed me having feelings for her,
feelings that no longer exist.
Alright,
here goes. She was always very
uncomfortable saying those words. I will
respect her privacy to some extent and not explain why she was uncomfortable
saying. Suffice it to say that she
was. The truth was, I’m uncomfortable
saying it, too. I don’t say it to my
family, not to my best friend, not to anyone.
When I was writing about the four women in my life last semester, they
were the four women outside my family I love the most in the world. I would not have hesitated a second to say it
to any one of them every time I saw them or spoke with them, so long as it
wouldn’t make them feel uncomfortable.
I’ve lost count of the times I almost blurted it out to my philosophy
classmate during or after our long post-class discussions, discussions that
would last sometimes the entire length of a Churchill. I have no doubt that she knew how I felt
about her. She is smart and intuitive
and rational enough, and she knew me well enough to be able to figure it
out. During one of our conversations,
she said that she was uncomfortable when people, even friends said it to
her. I signed her graduation card “With
much philia,” philia being one of the four Greek words for love, the one that
best described how I felt towards her. I
knew that despite whatever, “Let’s hang out” promises she made, day of the
final was the last time I would ever see her.
Or, if I see her, it would only be extremely rarely. I could not tell her how I felt, but when I
kissed her goodbye on the top of her head, I’m sure she knew what I left
unspoken. The kiss on the top of the
head is kind of my trademark move for people I truly and utterly adore. Actually, I’m not going to go into that. If I see her in person, I’ll tell her how I
feel.
That leaves the last of the four
girls, the one I met most recently, and the one with whom I am now
closest. We have previously messaged
each other that we adore each other, one step below the L word. Hmm, I wonder if this more properly belongs
in WIJG. I might have to edit it out,
but it speaks to why I’m feeling pure happiness right now, and, if I don’t
include it, I’ll need to edit out this entire section. I’ve gotten ahead of myself, and I need to
establish the proper context.
After I
closed, I headed out to the restaurant, a short walk from my
In last
night’s WIJG entry, I wrote about how I often view texting (and, by
extension, Facebook) as just a game.
When I think of something funny or see something interesting, who would
appreciate it the most? Who would
respond to it the best? If it’s
something that has wide appeal, I’ll post it on Facebook, then the game becomes
how many Likes I can get from my Facebook post.
Sometimes I hit the mark.
Sometimes I miss. Like any game,
you win some, and you lose some.
The
response let me know how well I hit the mark.
“Hahahahaha, I just love you”
Yes, the girl whom I so dearly love, as much as I could love a sister,
just said that she loved me. I did not
hesitate with my response. I did not
hesitate to write the three words that I had not sent to anyone in over seven
years, that I had only said to one person in those seven years. “Aww, I love you, too :)”
The meal was delicious, and I couldn’t even
finish it. The dessert was even better,
natillas and Mexican coffee. I needed a
cigar, badly, and I had an Avo with my name on it. I once more felt pure happiness as I walked
home, though now I’m just tired. I still
want to do my primacy versus recency WIJG entry. In short it will describe how I will always
place higher value on primacy than recency, that I value my history with
someone far more than my current relationship.
I stopped to pick up some desserts, not that I needed them, and they’ll
probably make it back to New York, at a pharmacy and an Oxxo (Mexican 7-11),
along with some coffee. I was shocked
how cheap it all was, about a third to half of what I expected to pay. I have a very good danger sense, and I know
when I am someplace safe and when I need to keep my guard up. Walking back to my hotel, I felt extremely
safe, as safe I would in Midtown Manhattan, despite the scare stories I got
from the ladies at the office.
I headed
back up to my room, lit up my Avo, and sat down in the chair, where I proceeded
to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish, write my
WIJG entry, and get some sleep. Clocks
are springing forward an hour in New York, but, here in Mexico they are staying
the same, which is convenient. It also
means that my watch, which is now on New York, will neither be on Mexican nor
New York time when I wake up tomorrow, ironic.
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