Adios, Mexico

Internet service was not at the tip of my fingers due to unforseen circumstances involving the work schedule of my hosts. Snippets from my journal:

Basilica de Guadalupe - Feb. 21 - Very peaceful inside the antiqua Basilica. Some people were walking on their knees toward the front of the new church. Some people were crying. People crossed themselves right and left. I felt the place was obviously very magical, but I felt "more" at the pyramid site at Cuilcuilco. I think the people here really believe.

Chapultepec - Feb. 22 - Museum of Modern Art (pretty disappointing), the Zocolo (impressve). Tacos. Coffee. Street merchants everywhere. Downtown very European.

Zactepec - Feb. 23 - Hard to get a moment alone. The price one pays for company. Have to admit I am grateful to be visiting someone. People who know the ropes and are usually available for translation. Tonight we leave for the weekend.

Cualta - Feb. 24 - I will be sorry to leave the Hotel Espana, with its bright orange and white paint, deep orange ceramic tiles, plants everywhere and the refrigerator of juices, sodas and cervezas by the front desk. I love it here. . .walking through the streets last night, past the old church and children were begging on the streets; I didn't feel any overwhelming sense of sadness, though, and I don't know why. I usually do these days.

Amecameca - Feb. 25 - Our driver took us to the base of the mountains. El Paseo de Cortes. A man with a basket was selling sweets, and it was hot this morning, sun beating down, the volcano smoking so close, the white frost glowing. This man with a basket walked up to me and said something I didn't understand, and I shook my head. And as he walked away, I thought about him. I saw that he was going to spend the rest of the day walking up to tourists and asking them if they wanted to buy something. Everyone in Mexico seems to be wanting to sell you something, anything. The man walked away from me and hitched his backpack over his shoulders, and the basket was carried on his left arm, and he walked a few hundred feet away and set down the basket and scanned the parking lot.
All of a sudden, he broke my heart.
I ran toward him. "Senor, senor, por favor," I called in my poor Spanish. But I didn't really want anything, so I asked for one of the few things I could pronounce: "Tienes chocolate?" He fished out a Nestle bar, and then I saw some peanuts, and I took those instead. "Cuantos?" I asked, and he said, "Siete." Seven pesos, the equivalent of about 70 cents. I reached into my bag for a 10 peso piece, and handed it to him, waving my hand in protest as he looked for change. "No cambia, gracias, gracias, Senor," I said. I walked away from him so he would not see the tears begin to crawl and then run. I walked away toward the spot where the tourists like to get their pictures taken in front of the active volcano, and I sat down on the steps with my bag of seven-peso peanuts, and the tears would not stop.