3/8/15
Temascaltepec, Mexico, Mexico (Piedra Herrada Monarch Butterfly
Sanctuary)
When I travel, it is my goal to leave no unfinished business, to fully
check off my list what needs to be checked off, to make sure that I get every
photo, stamp, and souvenir that I need.
Sometimes it is inevitable to have to return, poor planning or facts and
circumstances prevent visiting everything I would like to see, time or seasonal
closures, but I always do my best to avoid it.
That is what today has been about: unfinished business. There were two things I was unable to include
when I visited two years ago: the Olympic Stadium (not open to the public) and
the Monarch Butterfly Reserves (not open in May).
In order to see the Olympic Stadium, you have
to buy tickets to see a soccer match.
The butterflies are leaving next weekend. This was my last chance for a year to see
these two things. Today, I finished my
unfinished business. I slept fitfully, constantly waking up with a dry mouth due to not having my sleep machine,
and having a very curious dream that continued through each sleep cycle. Eventually, I woke up for breakfast, which
was slightly disappointing, though it was cheap enough, and the bacon was
excellent. Not wanting to forget my
Sunday newspaper again, I asked Enrique if we could get a copy of El
Universal. He found one, and I lit up
one of the Montecristo cigars I had brought from home.
We got to the stadium, and, unlike last time,
when I was the only one there, it was packed for the soccer match with all
sorts vendors set up. I went to pick up
my ticket, and Enrique came back with some bad news. I would not be able to bring my water bottle
or my belt inside. I did not need the
belt for the Official photo, but I kind of needed the water bottle. I figured I would just wing it and try to go
inside with it anyway. First, though, I
had to finish the cigar. Olympic
Stadiums do not get Cubans, but World Heritage Sites do. The Stadium was both, being part of UNAM,
which is a WHS.
I went to the famous
plaque, shocked how many police officers were there, and finished my cigar starting
at the plaque with the mural behind it that had the Olympic Rings. I also picked up a keychain. I went back and finished my cigar in the
parking lot before proceeding to security.
It looked like I was going to be able to make it, but the second guard
told me that I couldn’t bring it inside.
“Solamente agua.” Nope, still
couldn’t have it. Fortunately, there was
a woman outside working as a bag check, and I trusted her with my most valued
possession.
I went inside, and the magic
struck me. I was finally inside. I took a few pictures and sat down a bit
before going to retrieve my stuff. Once
I got the water bottle back, I took a picture.
I was inside the gates, so I counted it.
I made my way back to Enrique.
The game had not started yet, and we made our way to the
butterflies. I fell asleep en route,
waking up in need of a U. We pulled
over, and then I lit up an Ardor, which was not finished by the time we arrived.
There was a tourist village at the base,
which had all the perfect souvenirs. I
will be getting them
later. After I
finished my pipe, we got me a horse.
There was zero chance I could make it up the hill at this elevation,
barely being able to walk across the tourist village. I lit up a Padron, which I happened to pick
up in New Mexico, and mounted the horse with ease. We were soon on our way, and quickly reached
the place where I had to dismount. My
guide told me that I had to leave the cigar, so I smoked it for a bit more
before ditching it. It was a five minute
hike to the top, but it was brutal. We
saw some butterflies en route, but the nest was at the top, which was shockingly beautiful. I sat down, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can do what needs to be to make this WHS Official and then begin The Return Journey.
Mexico City, Federal District, Mexico
As the sun sets over Mexico’s Federal District, I find myself once
more at a familiar site, just as I was this morning. The Palacio del Belles Artes was one of the
sites we visited two years ago, being as it was, I believe the nomination photo
for the Mexico City WHS. The reason I am
here writing this entry is because, once more, I’m winging it. I have taken care of all of my unfinished
business, even getting a selfie with the Cohiba that I lit on the way down and
a butterfly, I think. When we got to the
bottom, I loaded up on souvenirs, the prices being as cheap as they were
everywhere else.
I was absolutely
starving, so I suggested to Enrique that we go to the restaurant by the parking
lot. No, the food was no good, he
insisted, there were some restaurants in town.
Okay, fine. I soon saw some
roadside restaurants, but we weren’t stopping.
Why not? Well, by, in town, he
meant the big city, which was an hour a way.
I couldn’t wait that long. I was
furious. Also, one thing I have learned
from my travels in the North American tropics (Mexico, Central America, and the
Caribbean), the absolute best meals you can have are these roadside
restaurants. Nothing compares. Further, I would be able to smoke
outside. He had just driven by a dozen
of them. I had some more cookies, and he
said there was a place ten more minutes up the road. It was much bigger and, I imagine, not as
good, but the meal was perfectly decent.
I lit up a Winston Churchill and ordered a nice meal.
“It’s not just for show,” I
just thought to myself as a thirstily took a large sip from my world-famous
water bottle. It truly is
world-famous. This morning, when we were
at the Olympic Stadium, as we were leaving the car, Enrique made sure that I
had my water bottle. Then, when they
told him that I couldn’t bring my water bottle into the stadium, without my
prompting, he explained that I always take a picture with my water bottle. I did not tell him about that. He had just figured it out from
observation. Okay, so we got downtown,
and the guy with the ticket met us there.
I found some steps where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will
now close so that I can try to upload my photos. I will save my reflective entry for the
airport.
Benito Juarez International Airport, Mexico
It is all so familiar. Here I am at the same airport, sititng, I think, in the same spot, as I smoke a cigar, just as I did two years ago, before my world started to go to hell. The last time I was here, though I arrived at the airport over two hours before my flight, I missed my flight. I didn’t miss it. They just wouldn’t let me on. I might as well paste in the original text:
“So, I missed my flight. More
accurately, they wouldn’t let me on the flight.
I had the wrong time for the flight, since they changed it, and it was
actually thirty minutes earlier. Since
you need to check in with the kiosk two hours early, I had just assumed that it
was because I had requested an exit row, so I smoked my cigar. I had this bad feeling, so I ditched cigar
and went to check in. They wouldn’t let
me check in, and I kept get the ring around.
Finally, I got alternative answers that you need to check in 75 or 60
minutes early. Guess what! I has only 70 minutes early when the first
person told me 75 minutes, and I was 55 minutes early when the second person
told me 60 minutes. I begged and
pleaded, but they couldn’t do anything, even though they called a
supervisor. That was crazy.”
Well, this time I’m prepared. I
arrived at the airport almost four hours early, which gives me plenty of time
to smoke my cigar and get to the counter in time. The last time I was here, I told Enrique that
I would see him again in December (of 2013).
This is the very trip I would have taken back then. Why did it take me another 15 months to
finally do it? I guess the simplest answer
is “life happened.” I have already
discussed all the “life” that has happened since then, so there is no need to
go into that any more. Actually, as I
smoke my last 2014 Cigar of the Year, the Oliva V Melanio Figurado, I will
leave all of 2014 behind. I will not
write about “her” anymore in this blog, nor will I dwell on the ills of the
past. What happened, happened. Instead, I will think about the good in my
life, but that is not what this entry will be about. This is the reflective entry, and I will
reflect on the trip, not on my life.
About
a year ago, I had just come back from a grueling week-long trip to Central
America, seeing the true Central America, not visiting the tourist spots,
seeing all the capitals. “Who goes to
Honduras?” my dad had asked me. Well, it
turned out that his best friend and his wife had gone there, and they were
coming over for dinner. We started to
talk about our trips. Okay, I’ll
rephrase. She talked about her trip
while the rest of us sat there quietly, practically unable to get in a word
edgewise. “Did you go to Tegucigalpa?” I
had asked. I can’t remember if she was
unfamiliar with the capital of the country she had visited or if she said that
she just went to the airport there. She
said something that, even a year later, stuck with me. “No, it wasn’t one of those kind of trips.”
In other words, they didn’t go to
Honduras. They went to a beach that was
located in Honduras. Whatever smidgeon
of respect I had for her instantly disappeared.
By extension, my respect for my dad’s friend diminished for being
married to her, and my respect for my dad for being friends for the with the
man married to her. Okay, maybe that’s a
slight exaggeration, but I still can’t believe she said that, that she would so
“poo poo” the idea of going to the capital, of experiencing local culture, that
she would actually spend her entire time on some overpriced beach resort and
have the nerve to tell people that she went to Honduras.
“I love the Caribbean, but I hate the beach.” That is something I have said before, and it
applies equally to Central America. The
North American tropics is one of the most fascinating and beautiful and
remarkable places in the world. The only
place I have visited that comes close to comparing is the Middle East, and they
both experience hot climates, which makes me very tired, so I wind up spending
too much time in the car napping and missing out on the beautiful vistas. When people think of Mexico, they think of
Tijuana and Cancun and Acapulco (is that the right one?). That’s not Mexico. Tijuana is a tourist town that’s practically
a suburb of San Diego. Cancun and
Acapulco are beaches located in Mexico.
What I have seen these past two trips are places I encourage each and
every one of my readers to visit. If you
want to go to the beach, go to Atlantic City or Miami or, if you feel a need to
leave the continent, one of the Greater Antilles, but there is so much more to
be seen in the North American tropics than beaches. From Mayan ruins to old monasteries to
splendid biosphere reserves, it is a region ripe with natural and cultural
heritage, stuff that you cannot experience from a beachside tourist resort.
Call up Enrique and have him take you wherever
you want in Central Mexico. He’ll charge
you about per day what you’d spend for lodging at a tourist resort, and your
hotel here will cost you less than your meals at the tourist resort. Your meals here, including alcohol, will
probably cost you less than your alcohol expenditures at the tourist
resort. About those meals, whenever you
are in the North American tropics, your best bet is those roadside restaurants,
the ones that have non-descript names and signs with the Coca-Cola logo or that
of the local beer company. Drink the
local beer, and eat fresh food that will taste better than anything you’ll get
at those tourist resorts.
My first day
with Fernando when we went to Central America, we stopped at one of those
places to get fried chicken. For dinner,
we ordered room service from our hotel in Guatemala City, the best hotel in
town. He was shocked when I told him
that I enjoyed the roadside meal more, and he said that he had to tell his
girlfriend that the American liked the roadside chicken better than room
service from the hotel. The mountains
here are so beautiful, too, but the elevation is a bitch. I get winded walking more than a few feet at
this elevation, and going up a flight of stairs leaves me gasping for
breath. However, it’s all part of the
experience.
I have about another dozen
trips to the North American tropics, and I look forward to each and every one
of them. It is a region that simply does
not get boring to me. When I left
Enrique today, I told him that I’d see him in Guadalajara in September. I hope it won’t be alone. It would be wonderful to introduce a dear
friend or a girlfriend to this region, while at the same time introducing
Enrique to her.
Alright, it looks like I
have enough time to write about my time at the ballet, since The Return Journey
didn’t begin until I left the ballet.
After I closed, I headed to the ballet.
Actually, this is going to be really short. The ballet was wonderful, and I truly enjoyed
this last minute addition, but it was not pure happiness. All of my stresses and doubts soon returned,
and I got tired of the same music, so I left after about an hour. Enrique was waiting for me, and we headed to
the airport. He picked me up a much
needed Coca-Cola Light en route, and we recreated our photo from last time when
we got there. I went to my old spot,
where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can
publish and check in.
No comments:
Post a Comment