Let me tell you a story.
Way....back....when....the earth cooled.
Okay, not that far back.
How about October 1990? Whew now that's 20 years ago! TWENTY...how'd that happen? Hold please why I try to catch my breath at the thought that 20 years has past since I lived in Mexico.
Yep, my Junior year in college, first semester I was an exchange student who lived with a wonderful family in Guadalajara Mexico. I went to the University of Guadalajara Center for foreign students (in Spanish I think that's Centro Estudios por (or para) los Extranjeros (CEPE) I think...what? It's been 20 years). For the Dia de los Muertos celebration a couple of us decided to travel to Patzcuaro, Michoacan - a place known for its celebration of dia de los muertos.
We hopped on a bus...a packed bus, with our over night cases, and a dinner packed from our respective parents and we were off. We had a hotel reserved, but we didn't have a clue what to do when we got there. Oh the free spirit of the young.
On the bus we were actually able to find seats together - it was a rare thing to find seats, let along together. We talked about what we should do when we got there, and how we should go about finding the cemetery. We knew that Patzcuaro wasn't overly big and we'd most likely be able to ask a local. The ride was long, bouncy and bumpy...but we arrived. Upon arriving I realized my camera was tucked safely in my drawer at home. Argh. No photos of what was sure to be a fantastic day/night.
We found our hotel and deposited our bags and we headed out.
Four American girls with varying levels of Spanish, in search of the cemetery. We had no idea where it was or how to get there. We stopped at a restaurant and had some
Side bar: looking back now it was extremely unsafe of us. I can't believe I felt so invincible to just hop into a truck (granted it was the bed of the truck) with two men/boys we didn't know.
We stopped at the bottom of a HUGE mountain. Our guides pointed to the top of the mountain and said, the cemetery was up there. And we began to climb.
At the top of the hill, mountain, whatever was this HUGE statue that I for the life of me can't remember what it was of. I just remember it was enormous...I'm gonna google it...hold please.
Right, so this isn't my picture, but that's the hill (which looks smaller I might add) and that's the statue. Behind the statue is the cemetery and most of the town.
Anyway, we reached the hill at/around 10 pm and climbed with hundreds of people to the top. Once there I was stunned to see the hundreds and hundreds of people already there and celebrating.
The graves well all decorated. Food sat out for the spirits. Families gathered and talked about their loved ones that passed. It was magical.
We spent about 4 hours up there walking through the cemetery talking to misc families. Our guides introduced us to his family, and their neighbors, and their cousins, and their relatives from the north, and more relatives...it was insane.
My memories of that night are still quite vivid...details aren't so vivid, but I remember thinking how fantastic it was for these people to celebrate their families and the passing of loved ones. Some may think it's morbid, but I thought it was respectful and honorable.
Mexico has a lot of culture...and a bad rap for the border towns. But when I look back to my 6 months there I smile. It was such a wonderful experience that I'm sure helped shape me into who I am. I know it helped me remember not to ask "tienes juevos?" (A colloquialism meaning "do you have balls?") and follow it with "Queiro los grandes" - meaning I want the big ones. Yes, I learned a lot in Mexico. Much won't be forgotten.
1 comments:
I didn't read this, I didn't read this, I didn't read this. This gives me chills even now that I have JUST FOUND OUT about this. How many times do I have to tell you not to take rides from strangers??? ESPECIALLY in a foriegn country???? I am sure grandma is rolling in her grave!
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