Northern Mexico, May 17
On first glance, there appear to be no rules driving in Mexico. However, as you go, you realize that there are rules, but they are different and not posted. For instance, the speed limits are less than suggestions and turn signals in Mexico are used far more broadly than in the States. They are used to indicate that a vehicle wants to pass, that a semi is in the process of passing and sometimes that it is safe to pass. The physical setup of the highways are different here as well. Unless it is a divided highway, the roads are the width of three lanes. The yellow line is in the center and then, where in the US where the solid white lines would be are dashed white lines and a large, half lanes wide, shoulder. Cars are expected to drive one set of wheelsover the dashed line, thus leaving the center of the road free for passing. Out there in the middle is a free for all and if you want to pass you have to bring your big boy game. -JF
Mountain pass just south of Cuidad Victoria in northern Mexico
Mexico City, May 19
The people of Central and South America are a diverse group.
While in the States, historically, a strict racial line kept races separate, south the many varied races mixed far more. What this means today is that Mexico is a huge palette of colors. There are Mexicans that could pass as whites and Mexicans that are nearly as dark as Africans. The vast majority though are clearly descended from the native populations. But the advertisement is not geared toward them. The pictures of women on the front of magazines are white, the mannequins in the stores clearly have anglo features, and even the foam mascot suit I saw today was designed to look like a white person. In a country anglos are so few that Nathaniel and I tell each other if we see one almost every advertisement features people of anglo ancestry. -JF
Restaurant we ate in the second day in Mexico
Mexico City, May 19
Bucket list check. Thursday afternoon Jake and i noticed a soccer game in progress in the park across the street from where we were staying. We walked over and watched for a while before asking to join. They were playing two-and-out. Whoever scores 2 goals first stays in and a new team comes on for the losers. Jacob and I joined one of the teams on the sideline. Just watching for a few minutes it was apparent that one of the teams was superior to the rest. The level of play was pretty competitive and the field was dirt. Our team lost to the good team 2 or 3 times in a row. The other players on our team seemed a bit hesitant to pass to us since we were a couple gringos from the USA. Finally one of our amigos passed it to me in the center, I dribbled the first defender, pushed the ball up close to the second, and fired a low left-footed drive into the bottom corner. A couple minutes later one of our teammates scored a second.
We were surprised by some of the differences in mexican pickup soccer. They don’t celebrate, and there doesn’t seem to be much comradery. Nonetheless, it was a great time and one of our favorite experiences thus far. -NW
Mexico has the best food
Central Mexico, May 20
I love driving in this country. It is how Nathaniel and I have always wanted to drive. A strange mixture of cautious and reckless, driving takes more skill and demands more from the drivers themselves. Here, there is more room to improvise. Is traffic to slow? Pass on the shoulder. Driving here both Nathaniel and I drive differently than we did in the states. You have to. You cannot be too cautious, you have to follow the flow of traffic. Plus, it’s fun. Are we too reckless? I am 25, single and I say no. Would my answer change if I was married, or 10 years older? Probably, but then, I never would have gone on this trip if I was. -JF
Our favorite chief in Mexico, notice the trowel he uses
Cosamaloapan, May 21
The air is hot and heavy as we enter the cathedral. Last night there were thousands of people in the town plaza for the fair but this morning there are only a faithful few in mass. They are sequestered off in a small side chamber. Nathaniel and I sit conspicuously on one of the main benches outside the room, very much aware of our skin color and protestantism. The priest is leading the small group in a prayer, each members dutifully reciting along. I can see farther up in the church around the great dome, four painted statues resting in each corner. San Juan, San Mateo, San Lucas and San Marcos. The congregation begins to sing and I marvel at the beauty of their voices rising into the echoing chambers above. Sweat trickles down my as the priest brings the wine and wafers for communion. He stands at the front and offers the wine dipped wafer to each member, placing it in their mouths. The small side room separated from the main chamber by a beautiful wrought iron gate. I begin to see this gate as a metaphor for the Catholic church. Beautiful to see, man made and a self imposed barrier between man and God. As the priest ends the service with what I think is the Hail Mary and Nathaniel and I rise to leave, I am profoundly thankful have been raised protestant. I am thankful that Jesus is my savior, my prophet, my king and now, more acutely aware, my priest. -JF
