Tucson

The Cross-Border Issues Group small group — Richard Schaefer and myself — traveled to Tucson last night with a goal to follow through on our promise to Roberto’s family to try to find out what happened to him in the desert in May. We also want to connect with the various groups that research migration, handle the bodies of migrants pulled from the desert, and speak to Border Patrol officials, an attorney who works with migrants’ legal issues, and whoever else crosses our path in the next few days who is on the migrant trail.

My buddy Donie Gignac is not only kind enough to put us up, but she didn’t even get bugged when we came in late — after 1 a.m. — and still got up in the morning to make us coffee! She didn’t mind us rambling on and on about what we’re doing and who we would like to connect with. And, as a good librarian, she had some solid leads for us. She shined us on to Adjunct Lecturer Raquel Rubio-Goldsmith of the Mexican American Studies & Research Center at the University of Arizona. She also suggested Isabel Garcia, attorney, Pima County Legal Defender’s Office. We love librarians!

Our first appointment of the day was with Rubio-Goldsmith. She is an older woman, probably approaching 70. Her hair is tied back in a bun and she walks with a cane. Before bad knees took travel off her docket, she was in Chiapas researching the effects of NAFTA on that poor Mexican state. She is comfortable and confident on camera, and outspoken about migrant issues. She told us that immigration laws haven’t necessarily changed much in recent years, but the way they’re enforced has. She told us that for many years, Mexican immigrants, many of whom were undocumented, would be convicted of petty crimes and misdemeanors — or even for more serious offenses. They would pay fines, serve time, whatever was deemed appropriate, and would put those events behind them. Now, she said, those individuals are being targeted by ICE or the Border Patrol. “They pound on doors at 2 a.m. demanding to see ‘Jose Perez,’ let’s say. They storm in, demanding to see everyone’s papers. They round people up who don’t have proper documentation and they leave children behind. I’m a historian. It reminds me of Nazi Germany,” she said. It also constitutes double jeopardy, by U.S. law.

She also described deportation policies that select some 70 people out of approximately 800 to be “tried” as immigration criminals. “They say they’re randomly selected, but we don’t think so,” she said. She said that the group is tried together. “A judge may spend an hour or an hour and a half on the entire group. The good judge will talk to each migrant, but translation services aren’t always very good,” she said. Then, the entire group is found “guilty” and signs documents attesting to that. The result is they can be prohibited from legally entering the country for 10 or 20 years–or if they have a prior criminal history of any kind–they are forbidden to return to the U.S. for life. Rubio-Goldsmith admonishes, “Although right now they are using those procedures with immigrants, when rights are stripped from any group, it isn’t difficult to imagine that those same policies will ultimately be applied to the general public.”

Our next stop, after popping into a gas station for directions, was the Pima County Medical Examiner’s Office. Dr. Bruce Parks, Chief Medical Examiner, told us about the huge numbers of cases his office receives of migrants found in the desert. In 2001, the office received so many bodies in July — I think he said 69 — that they had to rent a refrigerator truck to hold them all. Ultimately, they had to purchase an additional cold storage unit for the bodies because the time it takes to identify them is lengthy and difficult, and meanwhile more cases are coming in all the time. The bodies are hard to identify because many have no, or invalid, identification. And the desert is a harsh environment. Animals and insects ravage the bodies. The heat bloats the body and then dries it out. It is hard to get fingerprints or any other identifying marks from the bodies. Many times all they find is bones — incomplete skeletons — bleached by the sun. But they try very hard to put a name to the bodies of mostly young, very recently healthy, men. They catalog all items found on the body, plus the location where it was found. They document the clothing and then Parks said, “We launder the clothes the migrant was wearing because colors change from dirt and sweat, or a design fades. After washing them, we have found names and numbers written on the inside of shirts.”  If someone remembers what the person was wearing prior to going missing, it might help to identify him or her.

Parks also said that most of the people die from dehydration and/or heat stroke. “A person can be fully hydrated and still succumb to heat stroke if the body cannot regulate its temperature. People usually maintain a 98.6 body temperature through sweating, if they are in the heat. In extreme heat, their temperature rises, they may experience abdominal pain and exhibit unusual behavior and become disoriented,” he said. They sit down and they die.

Parks gave us a tour of the facility, but quickly whisked us out of the in-take room as a vehicle arrived to deliver a body. He handed us off to Robin Rieneke, a U of A anthropology graduate student who is working in their office investigating cases of missing migrants. She receives information from the Mexican consulate, parents, and migrant groups. She is a friend and classmate of Wendy Vogt, whom we met in Oaxaca. Vogt had told her about Roberto.

She explained that she sent one of their forms electronically to Vogt, who filled it out with the requisite information — Roberto’s name, age, height, weight, clothing, tattoos and anything else that could help identify him. He had four black plastic bracelets, black pants, “rocker” shirt and a black backpack, she reported. They also document the last place he was seen alive. Because so many of us have approached the coroner’s office about Roberto, Rieneke has more information, including a map written by Abel, one of the people who traveled with Roberto.

Rieneke is angry that the U.S. government has enacting these “funneling policies” that make it more difficult for migrants to pass through normal urban areas — El Paso, Nogales and Tijuana. The U.S. deems the harsh desert environment as a natural barrier to migrant travel. But it isn’t. What it is is an extreme danger to people who don’t think they have an alternative. And, as Rubio-Goldsmith said, it is a human rights issue. She said she applied for funding to study the human rights abuse present in the way the U.S. government controls its border, but learned that capital punishment is the only human rights abuse in the U.S. that qualifies for research money.

Rieneke checked her files on unidentified migrant bodies against the information she had on Roberto. One individual was found in July in roughly the same area and had a black plastic bracelet. She plans to ask the forensic anthropologist to check to see if she thinks it could be Roberto. But, she thinks Roberto’s body is still in the desert.

Tonight, we will take Donie to dinner and maybe get some sleep instead of driving across New Mexico and Arizona in the middle of the night. It’s an idea…

Mexico City and Home Again

The Cross-Border Issues Group gathered for breakfast at Del Principado. They had the traditional options of cantaloupe and watermelon, but also had fresh pineapple. They featured many dishes including enchiladas, beans, eggs with chorizo, pancakes, cereals and yogurt. Orange juice or grapefruit juice (toronja) and coffee rounded out the fare.  We still preferred having menu choices made for us by Rafa and placed in front of us. We’re a bit spoiled.

Well fed, we decided to head to Chapultepec Park and to the castle of Maximiliano and Carlota. Rodrigo thought it would make the best use of the time we had before needing to check out, get in a cab and get to the airport.

It was a cool, brisk morning and we had the streets to ourselves.  Rodrigo told us yesterday that Avenida de la Reforma was a road created by Maximiliano because he wanted a direct route from his home to the Zocalo. Jen decided he had the right idea – nice castle overlooking the city and a beeline to the Zocalo. The castle is resplendent in gold leaf trim, ornate to point of looking downright French. Apparently that was the point.  I noticed when looking through my photos that I don’t have any of the gold curly-cues or any of that anything-but “quiet, understated good taste.”

What I did take pictures of was murals. I loved the murals. Must be the peasant in me. Rodrigo and I talked about how murals were used as a tool to teach people, especially those who don’t read. Or, as he told me, the Aztecs didn’t have a written language so they were used to “reading” in picture forms. The murals are wonderful.

One that I particularly liked was “Mural painting of the Mexican Revolution” by Jose Clemente Orozco, painted in 1948. It prominently features Benito Juárez’s face. Juárez was president of Mexico between 1858 and 1872. Because of Juárez’s liberal policies and pro-indigenous stance, he was much admired by 20th century Mexican muralists.
The mural depicts a demonized image of a church figure. Juarez enacted the “laws of reform” in which he separated the Roman Catholic Church from the state. Until Juárez’s Reforma, Catholicism had been the official religion in Mexico and those who were not Roman Catholics couldn’t get a birth, death or marriage certificate.

Juarez also confiscated many of the church’s valuable possessions and lands, including Santo Domingo Church and Convent, which we visited in Oaxaca. From that day on Benito Juárez was admired by the church’s critics and criticized by the church’s followers.

Another mural, this one painted on the ceiling, represents the Niños Héroes, or Boy Heroes. They were six teenage military cadets who died defending Mexico at Mexico City’s Chapultepec Castle, then the Mexican army’s military academy, from invading U.S. forces in the Battle of Chapultepec on Sept. 13, 1847.

Juan Escutia is the centerpiece image of the mural. He was admitted to the Academy as a cadet on Sept. 8, 1847 and is believed to have been a second lieutenant in an artillery company. Legend says Escutia wrapped himself up in the flag and committed suicide, jumping from the roof to keep the flag from falling into enemy hands. His body was found on the east flank of the hill, alongside that of Francisco Márquez. The mural depicts his jump from the roof with the Mexican flag.

The castle is a must-see in Mexico City. From its many balconies and windows, one can see the cityscape from many angles.

We left the castle behind and Rodrigo directed us to the subway so that we could find a place to pick up those last souvenirs, the last bits of trinkety crap to throw into our suitcases to share with family and friends back home.
Rodrigo didn’t steer us wrong. We entered a large artesanias mall and everyone starting looking for those last minute items. I picked up a couple magnets, Jen found the Lucha Libre mask she’d been scouting for, Leah found some handcrafted leather goods and then we realized it was almost 1 p.m. Our taxi to the airport would be waiting.
Leah and Rodrigo lagged behind, but that was OK, because Leah’s plane was about an hour later than ours. We got back on the subway, exited at Insurgentes, our stop on the pink line, and made our way back to the hotel. We saw the hotel’s own taxi waiting for us and we ran upstairs to grab our bags.

We met in the lobby, turned in our keys and watched as the driver tried to figure out how to cram all our luggage and equipment into the taxi. The only way was to put some of it in the front seat while we held other things on our laps.

The drive to the airport gave our eyes one long last look at Mexico and Mexico City. We got to the airport and scurried through with our many bags. We got to the Continental Airlines check in station and had to weigh our bags. Three of them were overweight. Jen to the rescue! She had an extra bag, which cost us an extra $25 to check, but we were able to move things around to bring the weight limit down on the other three. That’s a good thing because they charge more for each overweight bag than they do for an extra bag. Go figure.

I was annoyed because we had pre-selected our seats, but got bumped anyway. I had my window seat and after a while Richard offered to give me a computer, so I started naming the last of the photos and tried to draft this blog post…obviously that didn’t get finished.

We landed in Houston and took our bags for a walk through the airport and through customs. No problems there. Rechecked our bags. I realized I’d lost my boarding pass in the Mexico City airport when we were dancing the luggage tango, so I had to go get a replacement copy. We had several hours to kill and Jen and Richard read some of the migrant stories from a book we’d gotten from Candido Morales. I wandered, watched the planes, wandered some more.

We got hungry. I got us some barbecue sandwiches. About 8:30 p.m., an announcement came over the speaker that they were ready to board our 9:15 flight, but there was no pilot or crew. Now I’m not an airline professional, but I’m pretty sure airports need two things: airplanes and pilots. We had to wait while they flew in a pilot and crew from Atlanta. So, instead of leaving at 9:15, we got off the ground about 10:20 p.m. Jen, Richard and I sat together, thanks to a man who traded seats with Jen, and we watched a very weird movie from Belgrade with Spanish subtitles. Very strange, but it killed the time.

We arrived in Albuquerque, reclaimed our luggage and made our way to the exit. The Albuquerque air was hot, even at 11:30 p.m. We were home!

Cuernavaca to Mexico City

We woke up this morning for the last time this summer in Cuernavaca. It’s so different in the summer than Albuquerque. Being closer to the equator, the sun doesn’t come up until sometime between 6:30 and 7. The sounds of insects outside that kept me awake for the first two years are now like background music. It’s cool in the morning with none of that “OMG it’s going to be blazing hot in a few hours!” kind of mornings that July and August bring to New Mexico.

All had been packed, so it was a matter of trying to do my hair the way Carlos did it the day before. Yeah, well, I’ll figure it out eventually; and then in for coffee and juice. Mara made papaya agua and I sigh at the thought of that cool glass of nectar sitting on the table for me carefully covered with cellophane (the glass was covered, not the table).

Mara called a cab for us and we, and all our our luggage and equipment, piled in. We dropped our stuff off at the girls’ place and went to the school for breakfast. Ernesto and his friend Agustin joined us for breakfast. Only later did I learn that they and Amanda and Jen had gone out last night…and none of them had slept! Leah had gone off to do an interview and also came home in time to throw all her stuff in her suitcases and bolt out the door.

Richard gave Rafa the Guelaguetza cowboy hat I’d given him and he wore it as he served us breakfast. We had our last plates of watermelon and papaya. Those who got there early also had star fruit. We had fresh squeezed orange juice and some more coffee before Rafa brought us a kind of baguette with a bean spread and cheese served with pico de gallo. Doesn’t sound particularly exciting, but they’re great, partly because the bread is so fresh.

We thought we’d have to pony up for cabs to the bus station, but Ernesto graciously provided both a driver and a camioneta. We are a parade with six people and tons of luggage so doing anything is six times as difficult…or fun. We only had to wait about a half hour for the next bus into Mexico City. Richard opted to save us each 10 pesos by not putting us on the bus that served beverages. “They never have Diet Coke,” he told me. Amanda told him that wasn’t true because I’d had one on the way in from Mexico City day 1. I’d survive. I bought a coke for 7.5  pesos in the bus station.

The students all slept and with Shrek 2 playing in Spanish on the bus televisions in the background, Richard and I chatted about all the things that were running through our minds — the program, future endeavors, funding, all the great people, the need to meet with Cheo when we get back, what a tremendous group of students we had, the exceptional support from Fray Luca, the excitement of collaborating with Tec de Monterrey, needing to write some thank yous to Toby Duran, Cheo, the Latin American and Iberian Institute, we did essentially what we do all the time: Talk.

The traveling circus spilled out of the bus and we hauled our stuff to the taxi area. Richard paid for taxis and then we learned we had to pay a 50 peso excess baggage fee. Three people and tons of baggage in two taxis, we set out into the Mexico City traffic. Our driver followed the other, which was easy to spot with Richard’s blue duffel bag…and was that his backpack with the computers?! strapped to the top of the car.

Arriving at Del Principado was yet another Mexico homecoming for us. Richard and JoAnn discovered the place when they came into the city last year. It was quite a find. The rooms are everything we like: bueno, bonito, barato…and breakfast is included. And we already know it won’t be ghetto corn flakes and toast.

Jen and Leah disappeared into their room to catch some ZZZs, while Rodrigo wanted to show Amanda parts of the city. Richard and I tagged along. We are in the Zona Rosa, not too far from Chapultepec Park, so we wandered that direction down Avenida de la Reforma. I spotted an Office Max and wanted to check to see if they had a tube to carry my posters in. Rodrigo said to wait and we would walk back that way. We passed Torre Mayor, the tallest building, he told us, in Latin America. We walked past a statue of the goddess Diana that is exactly like one we’d seen in Acapulco.

On the way into the park Richard bought some pumpkin seeds and I bought some fruit. We’ve come a long way from people hesitant to eat street food to subsisting on it. Richard didn’t even ask if they used “gotas de disinfectante.”

Soon we needed to head back so that Amanda could get a cab to the airport. Our group had already been diminished by two when we left Arturo and Paola in Cuernavaca. We were now losing “Piernas,” or “Legs,” as Richard called her because of her long, lithe legs. Rodrigo was quite the gentleman and escorted her to the airport. He later reported that they had altered her flight time and she had to scurry to get through security. I am also anxious that perhaps she won’t have adequate time to get through customs in Houston. Leah may have the same problem tomorrow, but I hope not.

I went back to my room after our walk and Richard to his. I crashed for about an hour, got up and knocked on his door to see about grabbing a computer. I got no answer, though, and went downstairs to use one here at the hotel, another nice amenity. Richard found me about an hour later after I’d been blogging. We gathered the troops minus Leah, who decided she’d rather sleep than eat, and we went to dinner. Afterward, Rodrigo came back to wait for his dad who is coming to take his big suitcase so that Rodrigo doesn’t have to struggle with it when he goes home tomorrow when we leave.

Jen, Richard and I went to do a little shopping and then had a Starbuck’s break. We enjoyed our beverages while the rain fell. Jen told us about stuff from a student perspective and it was enlightening.

Rodrigo’s parents came and Richard and I had a chance to sit down with them over a cup of coffee and talk about the program and Rodrigo’s contributions, as well as his efforts to further the three-way convenio with Fray Luca. They were proud and deservedly so.

Tomorrow may be a day of museums, shopping, walking, sightseeing…whatever it is, it will be a fine closure to a great month together.

Cuernavaca Day 11

We woke at the usual time with a game plan to be to the school at 8:30 a.m. We enjoyed our papaya, mango and tuna (a cactus fruit, very succulent with little seeds) with our coffee and orange juice. Ernesto came in and offered to take us to the school. No autobus, no taxi! Gracias, Ernesto!

As a result, we were the closest to being on time that we’d been all month. We enjoyed our breakfast – starting off with star fruit, cantaloupe, watermelon and papaya – and moving on to the main course of open faced corn tortilla tacos with chicken cooked with tomato. Various toppings were put out including crema – a cream served with many dishes here – white cheese and a green chile salsa. The salsa tends to be tangier than we’re used to and it’s because they use tomatillos.

Journalism students learn early from their professors and mentors to be deadline people. No one was completely ready for our noon presentation so we planned to head back to our aula, classroom, to finish our work. In the meantime, the school was a flurry of activity. An exhibition was set up in the main courtyard and people came by to invite us to a 9:30 English-language presentation and a 10 a.m. presentation. The students’ faces told me they needed the time to work, as did I. Richard took off to the English presentation and I lugged his heavy backpack stuffed with two computers and enough wiring to connect a small Central American country, back to our classroom.

Jen came to get photos from me and by the time Richard joined us, people started giving him memory sticks with their PowerPoint presentations on them. He queued up video and made sure everything would run. Arturo came by and helped the girls with Spanish-language questions, and Rodrigo asked some questions that I and others fired off to him about ways to say things.

For example, I wrote up a page of thank yous because I didn’t want to forget anybody. I didn’t know the word for “staff,” as in the school’s professional staff. Rodrigo taught me the word “profesorado.” It’s a great word.

Vero came by to have Richard sign some certificates for the students. She came by later and asked Richard to take his computer down to the auditorium a little early so they could make sure the connections worked. Richard commented that we never got finished early enough in the past to be able to do that. As it turned out, this year was no different. We were making our way downstairs at noon.

Paola, who had been missing all morning, showed up with her presentation. Richard needed to load it into his computer. A sound check…an introduction…and we were on!

Rodrigo led off with Guelaguetza video – very colorful, very demonstrative of the great events that took place less than 2 weeks ago. He moved on to discuss the history of the event and the discord that took place in 2006 and how that became a year of dueling Guelaguetzas. No one had told him that we were to limit our presentations and he took about a half hour.

Amanda followed with a presentation on the impact of migration on families. Her soundbites included Padre Fernando at Casa Buen Samaritano in Oaxaca, and Candido Morales from the office for Mexicans in the Exterior. Good job, Amanda. For a gal who hardly spoke in Spanish around us, she was well-prepared.

Leah followed. She tackled a difficult topic and we had never been able to get in to interview the people in the office for people interested in migrating into Mexico. She addressed the legal issues and some of her graphics were daunting and demonstrative of the difficulties migrants into Mexico face. She had difficult words to say — legal language and words that we haven’t had to use, and she came through it. She was also gorgeous in her yellow dress and high heels, especially now with her Acapulco tan.

Paola came next and successfully pulled together her video slide show from the Albergue in Ixtepec. She succinctly described Padre Alejandro’s work, the conditions, the realities and the humanity in crisis. Her piece was critical before Richard, Arturo and I presented.

But next, Jen, who presented what happens to migrants on the trail. It isn’t a story about picking up and leaving and suddenly being in a new place. It’s a struggle from the time they put that first foot out the door until they reach their destination, and many, she noted, don’t. She also used video from Casa Buen Samaritano. She featured Juan, a Central American migrant who had seen enough on the journey to decide to stay in Mexico and forget any plans to continue north. A father with a wife and baby, he wants to be in his child’s life. She also used video of Guadalupe, one of the volunteers at the Albergue in Mexico City. Guadalupe talks about the transformation of the migrants as they make their way north. Journeys without faith. Journeys fraught with peril. Tragic tales. Jen did a great job.

Then it was the Arturo, Richard and Carolyn show, but because the presentations had taken longer than anyone anticipated, we decided we needed to hurry through ours. We didn’t run our audio-video clip of our first year radio program and we hurried through many of the slides. Arturo made sure we got in the information about the program’s history, but he also decided to forego showing a video clip that his students created about the multi-year UNM/UFLP relationship. I saw it later. I wish everyone could have seen it.

Important to what we did show, though, was a moment in the Albergue in Ixtepec when Padre Alejandro pointedly asked Richard and me why we were there. Richard’s voice expressed our reasons – now beyond journalism and teaching. I hadn’t known that Richard captured my response on video. It showed me as the tired, hot and exhausted person I was that day, but it also captured my sentiments that echoed Richard’s while also revealing my own heart in this project. I viewed it as a less than professional moment, but Richard disagreed with me and later told me that objectivity isn’t always a journalist’s call. Were those who opposed slavery supposed to write about the benefits of it? How about those who exposed the concentration camps? He made a compelling argument.

Also important to our presentation was our next steps. Arturo pulled us aside the day before to talk to us about the pieces of the puzzle (rompecabeza, literally “broken head.” Isn’t that a great word?) that are missing from our migrant story.

We need to go south – to the countries of origin for the Central American migrants. We need to go deeper into Guatemala. Visit El Salvador, Nicaragua and Honduras, he said. He also said that we have the vast frontier of the north – from Mexico City northward. We gave that real consideration. With our connections in the Albergue system, we could do that. We heard of one in Salamanca. We know of another in Ciudad Juarez and we have contacts there. It’s looking like that may be the focus of our efforts when the Mexicans come up in April. We could meet them in Ciudad Juarez and do some work there and then go up to Albuquerque.

So, although at the beginning of the month both Richard and I were thinking that this year would mark the end of the migrant issue for us, we discovered that we’re really only beginning. Fray Luca extracted a commitment from us. But more importantly, I think, our hermanos migrantes did.

I gave a quick thank you and then in fine Fray fashion, they bestowed gifts on Richard and me. And people wonder why we keep coming back! I received a lovely tray and Richard got a Oaxacan figurine. Fortunately,it comes apart for easy packing or we would’ve had to attach it to the top of his hat and he would’ve had to wear it home.

We took pictures — pictures that become a part of Arturo’s videos. Gracias, Arturo! I then had to scurry off. I had a 2:30 appointment with Carlos to get my hair styled and colored. I have missed Carlos since last summer and I wasn’t going to be late. The others sat down to eat. I think Richard told me later they had chicken parmesan, but I’m not sure. I didn’t want to think too much about what I’d missed.

Following my 3-hour hair appointment which reminded me of my mother’s adage, “We must suffer to be beautiful,” or in my case, at least presentable, I caught a cab back to Rancho Cortez and Margarita Privada #7, Gloria’s house, and ours for one last night.

Richard and I walked to one of the hamburguesa places near the Emiliano Zapata traffic circle (glorieta). He got his carb fix on with some fries while I had a burger with fries, my first burger since ‘Burque. I had a piña agua (pineapple drink) and Richard had a guayaba one.

Oh, a word about guayaba. It’s a fruit grown extensively in and around Cuernavaca. Therefore, around Mexico, Cuernavacans are known as “Guayaberos.” We also learned that those from Mexico City are called “Chilangos,” but I’m not up on why.

We headed back up “Gloria’s Hill,” surprised to discover it isn’t nearly so daunting when you aren’t carrying an entire film studio on your back, for the very last time. We whined about having to pack. Wished Mara would come pack for us. Tried to get Rodrigo to pack for us…but he could barely pack for himself, our little one-armed hijo.

We each headed off to bed hoping to rest enough to haul our heavy stuff from pillar to post from Cuernavaca to DF.

Cuernavaca Day 10

Thursday was busy for all of us. We staked out a classroom at Fray Luca and worked on interview transcriptions that we needed for our presentation at the school the next day.

The school was crazy busy because a number of events were happening the next day. Music was blaring from the courtyard where we eat our meals and the general echo of the place brought the sound into our classroom. Music that is normally welcome and an invitation to us to go see what the dance class is doing, became something of an impediment in trying to work with the taped interviews. If it isn’t hard enough to listen to a Spanish-language interview and try to capture each word, try doing it with background music.

Our long-lost child, Paola, came back. She had been sick since our return from Oaxaca. It was very good to see her and to discover that she’d worked diligently on transcribing the Padre Alejandro interviews. She worked on one of the migrant interviews, as well. She got some photos from me to use with the audio she had from Padre Alejandro. Her plan was to create a photo slideshow to go with her presentation. 

Everyone else tackled his or her presentation in his or her own way. We micromanaged much less than we had in years past. We no longer felt we needed to sell the program to the Fray Luca folk. Maestra Gloria saw us working night after night, not only this month, but in March when we came down to participate in their Congreso.  

At the end of the day Arturo offered to drive us back to Gloria’s. The girls went back to their place to get ready to go to a party at Ernesto’s. Wait a minute…that’s at our place. Richard, Rodrigo and I still had quite a bit of work to do to prepare for the presentations and weren’t ready to celebrate until the presentations were in the bag.

We needn’t have worried, though, because the party was in the house behind the big house where we stay. I heard the familiar thumping sounds of bass and occasional melody, but wasn’t really bothered. Richard had me put together the slides for our PowerPoint and then he worked to pull together video clips for the students’ presentations. Rodrigo used both his computer and the one I’d been using to pull together everything he needed to bring Guelaguetza to life for the Fray Luca group.

I took an early shower in Richard and Rodrigo’s bathroom because Gloria had wisely opted to sleep in her room in the big house to avoid the noises of the party below. The bathroom I use is connected to her room by a large sliding glass door. I didn’t want the light or the noise to distract her.

To block out the sounds from below, I put on my earphones and drifted off listening to the very American sounds of Waylon, Willie and Merle.

Mexico City

The girls were all on their own to work today. Richard, Rodrigo and I met Arturo and Vero at Fray Luca at 7:30 a.m. to travel to Mexico City for a meeting with Rodrigo’s professor, Alejandro Ocampo Almazan, to invite and encourage him to join the Cross-Border Issues Group. We have been so pleased with the work that Rodrigo has done, and Rodrigo has valued tremendously the opportunity to have praxis – the merger of theory and practice – through our efforts this summer. He wants other students from Tec de Monterrey, Estado de Mexico, to have the opportunity.

Richard, Arturo, Christian and Vero met yesterday to discuss creating a three-way convenio between UNM, UFLP and Tec. All thought the best approach was the three-way convenio since UNM and Tec already have a convenio, as does UNM and UFLP. UFLP and Tec, however, have no formal relationship and we wanted to create it within the context of this program.

Before the meeting, we had tortas at a nice outdoor cafe at the school. And like any good university, there was a Starbucks at the ready.

Alejandro needed little convincing from us. Rodrigo had shared with him his reasons for wanting to see the program expanded to include Tec and he also told him what we’ve been doing this summer. In short order, we were in the International Programs office with Vero explaining how to establish the convenio.

Thereafter we had a tour of the campus, met the dean, saw the classrooms and studios and quickly saw the benefits for all of us in having a place in Mexico City. The potential is great for all the institutions and their respective students. And, from a UNM perspective, I know that we would consider it a great recruitment tool for our graduate programs.

Upon leaving I got on my Blackberry and fired off an email to Eliseo “Cheo” Torres, UNM’s vice president of Student Affairs. These Mexican relationships wouldn’t exist without him and I knew that he would be excited to see the expanded program. I copied Robyn Cote from UNM’s Latin American and Iberian Institute because she’s the one who actually draws up the convenios for UNM. We were facilitators, but nobody would trust Richard and me with the details.

From there we headed to the Albergue we heard was in Lecheria, the colonia by the tracks where the migrants get off the trains coming up from Chiapas and Oaxaca, and where they get on to head north. We pulled up and immediately noticed the stained glass windows of the church next door to Casa Migrante. We were warmly welcomed by Gustavo and Guadalupe. And again, our dear friend Nancy Garcia from Oaxaca gave us this contact. Even these many miles north of Oaxaca she is still our guide.

The Albergue in Mexico City is quite different from the one Father Alejandro runs in Ixtepec. For one thing, it is in the middle of a colonia. Guadalupe noted that it’s been hard for them to operate the facility because not all the neighbors appreciate their activities. The building is old, but brightly painted and elaborately decorated with murals. I first noted one that stated a phrase we’ve often heard on the migrant trail, “If the migrant isn’t your brother, then God isn’t your father.”

Guadalupe noted the lack of faith among many of the migrants, but added that they find faith on their journey. She said that there were some commonalities that ran through the lives of many of the migrants, most of whom come from Central America — Honduras, El Salvador and Guatemala. Many of them come from broken homes and were raised by grandmothers. Sometimes this happens because their families have migrated.

As a fulltime volunteer, Guadalupe works tirelessly from 9 a.m. when she opens the door to migrants who just arrived on the train, often until 11 p.m. or midnight. She cooks, she cleans, she tends to the wounded, she listens, she answers questions. She is, quite frankly, an angel of mercy. Some of the young men have touched her deeply, inluding one young man, Mario, a Honduran who came with the flu. The entire Albergue was put on quarantine. No one could enter or leave for 15 days. Mario had to go to the hospital a very, very sick 18 year old young man. She thought for a while that he wasn’t going to make it. He had no family with him. She sat by his side during his hospital stay. He recovered and continued his journey. He is now living in Miami Beach, Fla., she said with relief.

Another young man who has stayed in Guadalupe’s heart is PeeWee. She was concerned about him because he was a bit of a lost soul, hanging out with an unsavory element. She waits to hear from him.

Gustavo and Guadalupe log in each migrant. They note the person’s name, age, birthdate and country of origin and the date they came through. The information is gathered and shared with a collaborative body of Albergues in Mexico. Guadalupe told us that their Albergue is the only one in all of Mexico City except a very small one that can house about 5 people, whereas they can handle up to 120, with separate facilities for women.

We interviewed several Honduran migrants. Again we had trouble understanding some of them. One man, 28-year-old Luis Antonio, wasn’t hard to understand, but then he’d lived in Detroit, Mich., for 13 years. He was deported when he was caught driving without a license. He was making his way north again when he was riding on a train and got electrocuted by a cable that touched his head. The power ran through his body and exited through his foot. He has horrific burns on his back, buttocks, leg and foot. His mobility has been impaired not just because of the burns but because of the electrical shock to his nervous system. And he’s anxious to get going north again. He has a family in Detroit waiting for him. A family that includes a wife and four children ages 8 to 1. His wife is Mexican and the family is living with her mother while they wait for his return.

We heard from a 50-year-old man trying to make his way north to Pennsylvania where his sisters live. Unfortunately, in an attempt to board a moving train, his foot slipped because there was grease on the rung to the ladder and he lost his footing and fell onto the track, slicing open his chin, which bears a long, jagged scar. Disoriented, in an unfamiliar place and in bloodied clothes, he needed medical help, which he got because he was traveling with friends. They have gone on and he is still recovering and figuring out when he’ll be ready to move on. He noted that the more youthful migrants can more readily run to catch trains, outrun robbers and kidnappers and are generally more resilient, but he still sees a number of middle aged people on the migrant trail.

We spoke to one young man whose pain is so apparent in his eyes. He was the victim of a kidnapping and still bears the wounds of daily beatings and kickings. His newfound distrust in his fellow man has robbed him of his youth and invincibility. He has a hard time walking, and certainly would have difficulty catching a moving train. He talked about being tricked into a kidnapper’s lair by being told it was a migrant safe house, complete with a cross, he said. He talked about men having fingers cut off and sent to their families to secure ransom. He saw people tortured to get phone numbers so that they could get money from the victims’ families. He saw one victim die. He thought he, too, would die. He escaped when a door was left open. He left with his life, but he hardly left unscathed.

It seemed to us that the leg of the journey between Chiapas and Oaxaca was particularly grueling. We asked Guadalupe if they, like Padre Alejandro, educate the migrants about the perils, distances and other things critical to their safe passage. She said they do, and in fact they have a migrant who is going to paint a big map for them that shows all the Albergues along the way. She noted that the migrants may not have a clear sense of geography, but they have their own “maps.” They know the places to avoid that are well-known for being thick with kidnappers, drug dealers and officials who are notorious for rape, extortion, murder, robbery, torture and beatings of the hermano migrantes.

It was a sad afternoon, but an important one for the Cross-Border Issues Group. Gustavo and Guadalupe invited us for a meal, but wait, we heard a train! We thought we would go shoot some video in case there were migrants getting off the northbound train. Guadalupe advised us that both Univision and TV Azteca had been denied the right to film on the tracks by the rail authorities. We thought we’d give it a try. Richard took the big camera and Rodrigo and I ran out armed with less conspicuous Flips. We stationed ourselves on the opposite side of the track and Richard noticed that there was no battery in the big camera because we’d been using it plugged into an outlet. He ran back to get a battery. As the train approached, Richard ran across the track to stick the battery in the camera that was in a bag hanging on my shoulder. I admonished him afterwards for running in front of the train. Actually I admonished him the rest of the evening. I may do so the rest of the trip. It wasn’t even a good video op. There were no migrants getting on or off the train.

We will be back in Mexico City on the weekend and may try again to get that video. In the meantime, what we do have is the faces and the stories of another group of migrants who have suffered on the migrant trail.

Returning to Cuernavaca was a challenge. The traffic was horrible. Poor Arturo. He said he’d rather drive around every part of the Republic of Mexico except for Mexico City. Can’t blame him there. We came home to a great surprise. Ernesto, Gloria’s son, was back from China. It was awesome to see him especially since we’d heard he wouldn’t be back until Monday. He and his buddy cleaned up, contacted our students and are out on the town.

Tomorrow we absolutely must prepare for our Friday presentation!

Cuernavaca Day 9

From a blog perspective, this would appear to be a lazy day. We didn’t interview anybody. We didn’t visit any interesting sites. What we did do is work. This morning Richard loaded up his firewire drives and computers and we headed to Fray Luca.

First, we had to have breakfast. After our Acapulco corn flakes, we were happy to see Miguel and Rafa, fresh orange juice, coffee, fruit — cantaloupe, mango and kiwi — as well as scrumptuous omelets of mushrooms and cheese. We had refried beans, but rather than the black beans normally served in Mexico, these appeared much like our familiar New Mexico pintos, with a bit of cheese on top. We’re home!

We set up in a classroom that the school has generously provided us with. Richard had painstakingly digitized the interviews and backed them up. It takes incredible memory space and he’s prepared for it. He wanted to be able to share the files with Arturo and this way Arturo can copy the files from one drive to another. The students, with some input from us, determined which interviews they were going to transcribe. Some people, like Candido Morales and Padre Fernando, are easy to understand. Best to start with those. Our Honduran immigrants present more of a challenge. Fortunately, we have Rodrigo – who not only jumped in with the transcriptions, but helped me when my computer wouldn’t let me onto the Fray Luca network, answered questions the girls had when they didn’t understand something, and generally was a big help.

I wanted to finish naming all my photos. I don’t want to try to figure out how to do it when I get home when all of them are loaded on this computer, which is Richard’s. It took most of the day. I am now attempting to load some on Flickr to add them to the blog. Keep your fingers crossed!

We broke for comida at 3 because Richard threatened to eat our food if we didn’t. Scary thing is, he probably would eat our food! We had flor de calabaza soup which has the flowers from the squash plants, plus squash and elote, the white corn often sold on the cob here. It was delicious, especially if you squeezed a little lime into it. Soup was followed by barbecued chicken in a tangy, sweet sauce with a side of rice. Postre was a corn-based cake with vanilla flavoring.

Conversation at lunch centered around our plans to visit with Rodrigo’s professor at Tec de Monterrey in Estado de Mexico. The plans got firmed up today and so we had to make arrangements to get there. Bus? Camioneta? Metro in the city? Buses? Turns out vehicles from outside the city with certain license plates can’t enter the city before 11 a.m. That would make for tight scheduling to get to the northern end of the city for our 12:30 appointment. But, our Fray Luca family came through for us. They have a van that can get into the city before 11 a.m. and of course Arturo must go with us. The International Programs person, Veronica Espitia, is also going with us. We hope to develop a relationship with Rodrigo’s professor so that the collaboration between UNM and UFLP can be augmented by Tec de Monterrey.

We will have to be at the school by 7:30 a.m. More time on the road, but we make the most of it. Makes me glad I downloaded Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again” onto my MP3.

We came back to Gloria’s in a taxi because of all the things we were carrying. Gloria and a friend of hers came in so I got sidetracked from uploading photos. I’ll figure this out, one way or another!

Acapulco to Cuernavaca

Plans were for some to go shopping on Monday morning and others to have one last dip in the water. But, everyone stayed up late the last night, chatting in the girls’ room. Actually, Arturo and Ivan went to sleep, but the rest of us hung out in cellblock 9, the girls’ room. It was great to chat about the things we’d seen — a hairy guy in a thong — no one should have to see that — and our own beach adventures. For those who don’t know it, a man’s thong is known as an “elefante” down here. The man’s butt cheeks are the elephant’s ears, and well, you can figure out what the trunk is.

No one turned in until about 2 a.m., so getting up early wasn’t happening. I was the first up and out from our room. I found Ivan getting ready to sit down to eat, so I joined him. I had my rations of coffee and toast, and the warden was feeling kindly so we got jelly and butter for our toast. Joy!

I wanted to go shopping. I can’t leave Acapulco without my trinkety crap. I’d spotted a store the night before that I set my sights on. By then, Richard and Arturo came to breakfast, but there were still no sightings of the girls. I asked Richard to walk with me to the souvenir shop, but when we got there we discovered someone had shattered the glass door and so we couldn’t go in. We went to a couple other shops and I picked up a few things — t-shirts for Christian and Camden, my littlest grandsons, and some Acapulco keychains for my friends. I didn’t get any magnets or postcards from Acapulco, but I think I’ll survive.

We got back and packed up. Jen and I walked to find a bank, but didn’t. We stopped so she could get some munchies for the road — she’d missed breakfast — but not much. We loaded into the camioneta and headed for Cuernavaca. I decided I wanted to sit up front with Arturo and Richard. The view is better and the middle seat is higher and has better back support than the other seats. I am also nosy enough to want to be a part of whatever conversation is taking place up there. Everyone else pretty much tunes into an iPod and dozes.

Arturo, Richard and I had a good discussion about what we’ve been doing this summer and perhaps ways to expand upon what we’ve learned. Arturo suggested getting some interviews with people who considered going to the US, but opted to stay in Mexico. What played into their decision-making? Are they happy with the decision they made? Regrets or satisfaction in that? I thought that was a particularly good idea. He also said he has some good friends he went to school with who left to live “sin documentos” in California about 20 years ago. He’s going to try to track them down through their parents. We’d like to capture their stories, too.

We passed through the many toll gates and again crossed the many beautiful bridges as we made our way north through Guerrero. Again we passed through the capital, Chilpancingo. Compared to Acapulco with its more than 600,000 population, Chilpancingo isn’t much more than a pueblito with a 62,000 population. Guerrero is one of the poorer states in the Republic of Mexico. Chiapas and Oaxaca are two of the others. Guerrero is named for General Vicente Ramon Guerrero Saldana, (Aug. 10, 1782-February 14, 1831), the second president of the republic. He was a hero of the Mexican War of Independence.

We stopped just once for a restroom break and were quickly on the road with our sites on Cuernavaca. Arturo was anxious to get back and we all needed a little bit of time to get our stuff back to our rooms and clean up a bit before our 6 p.m. appearance on Canal 3’s “Red Migrante.” Rodrigo, Richard and I took a taxi back, stopping along the way to pick up “tortas,” sandwiches, on the way home. We were all pretty hungry. They are so big that Richard and I shared one and were still more than satisfied. Rodrigo saved half of his for later, declaring that he was going to hide it from Richard.

I texted Jen with the directions for Canal 3 and we called a cab. While in it, I get a text back from Jen that they were already at the station and that the program is at 7 p.m., not 6, as we’d been told previously. We sat around, the girls and I were texting, Richard was snoozing. All of us were feeling like we were losing steam for the interview, but by the time Leonardo French and Yvonne, the hosts of the show arrived, we were ready to rock ‘n roll. The broadcast booth was too small to accommodate all of us at once, so Arturo, Amanda and I went first. We had the opportunity to present the program, Arturo was great at explaining what the exchange is all about and them we got into the meat of our work. French at first wanted to cast a negative shadow over the US for its treatment of Mexican migrants, but I reminded him of the fact that in New Mexico, migrants fare better than other places, with scholarship opportunities and access to higher education available even to those who don’t have documents. I also told him of the abuses we’d seen in Oaxaca — Mexicans and Mexican officials engaged in the systematic abuse, physically and economically, of the migrants coming up from Central America. That took the focus south. French asked Amanda what she’d seen that affected her and she related the experience of Roberto, the migrant who got lost in the desert trying to make his way to California. No one has seen nor heard from him since May 11. French asked us what steps we plan to take. I told him that Richard and I plan to follow up with people in Arizona to find out whatever we can. The devastation of that family is so evident. They need closure, if nothing else.

Our half-hour passed quickly and then Richard, Rodrigo, Jen and Leah went in. I couldn’t hear what they talked about, but we had strongly suggested to French that he talk to them about the people we met at Padre Alejandro’s Albergue and about the Padre himself. Richard said that was the primary focus of their air time.

Soon we were back out in the cool Cuernavaca air. Papa Schaefer gave the girls some money to take a cab back to el centro, Arturo went home to his family, and Richard, Rodrigo and I walked back to Gloria’s. It was a beautiful night to walk. In no time at all, we were back and busy preparing for our last few days here.

Acapulco Day 2

Nothing quite like waking up inside a refrigerator to make you anxious for a hearty breakfast and the sun on the beach. Breakfast was included in the cost of the hostel and we’d had good breakfasts at Don Nino’s in Oaxaca, so we thought it would be okay at K3, too. Well, what we got was our prison-issue corn flakes, toast and coffee. There was lukewarm milk for the cereal. Oh well, we’re in Acapulco and the beach awaits.

Today we’re going to take a boat ride to an island and Arturo promises that we won’t get stoned to death on the shoreline. The boat ride was a lot of fun — they pointed out interesting houses and such along the way and even featured a diver jumping from the rocks into the water. He swam over and passed through the crowd collecting coins. Later, they opened up the bottom of the boat and we could see schools of fish being led by a man holding some kind of meat to entice them. It took a long time to make it to shore because they allowed people on the boat to sell food. We were something of a captive audience. Leah and Jen bought a shrimp cocktail. I guess their free breakfast wasn’t particularly filling.

We got to the island and an English-speaking Mexican approached us with an opportunity to go to a secluded part of the beach  –  a 10 minute walk from the main beach. He said he wasn’t asking to be paid for it, but we could rent snorkeling gear, etc., there. We decided to take him up on it, but about halfway there, Arturo told me he didn’t like it. He said that we’d been sized up in the boat and he didn’t think it was a good idea for us to separate from the beach crowd. I told Richard, who at first didn’t agree and even thought about going on without us, but I told him NO, and we returned to the beach. One of the restauranteurs told us that it is, in fact, a ploy to get people or groups of tourists alone to rob them. Thank goodness for Arturo and his gut instincts.

We got a place on the beach with two umbrellas, chairs and tables, and we were ready for the afternoon. We had to keep an eye on the clock because the last boat leaves at 5 p.m. We ordered lunch to be brought to our tables at 3 p.m. The water really was delightful. Warm and calm, but there were still sharp rocks — the Pacific Ocean is not Maria Christina’s swimming pool in Cuernavaca — and so we all ended up leaving a little of ourselves in the ocean and stepping gingerly the rest of the day.

The food was delivered promptly and it was delicious. We’d gotten red snapper and it came with rice, salad, bread, salsa and chips. We enjoyed it immensely.

Arturo had bought a blow up raft the day before and everybody was out on it at one point in time or the other. For me, the water was so calm I lay back and floated on it for ever. Occasionally, jet ski lifeguards came around, but the water was essentially just for swimmers. The girls attracted attention everywhere. Jen was always being offered a life jacket because she’s not a particularly strong swimmer. She played so much soccer she didn’t have time to swim, I guess. Amanda did as she had the day before. She’d go in and cool off and then hang out under the umbrella with Rodrigo. Leah is the fish. The only time she came to shore was to lie on the beach in an effort to eliminate a tan line from her shorts that she got in Ixtepec. At one point, she was lying on Arturo’s raft in front of our tables and a young man walked by carrying a tray he’d just collected from another table. The young man looked at Jen, smiled at her, then tripped right over Leah, dumping the tray in the sand. He wasn’t hurt, and fortunately, neither was Leah, but I think his pride was wounded a bit.

Leah and Jen made their way out to a boat that was anchored in the cove. Leah had managed to keep from getting injured on rocks the entire time, but then managed to scrape her leg on the boat. Our “lastimas,” or injuries are our badge of honor.

We took the last boat back to shore and got back to K3 to again wash the sea out of our hair. I think, though, we will have sand in our ears for a while to come. Arturo and Ivan went off to find something to eat and so did the rest of us. We found a delightful restaurant that served a complete comida for $40, a good deal anywhere, but especially in a resort town. We had cream of calabaza soup, gisado — a thinly sliced beef in a chile sauce — served with potatoes, beans and tortillas. We also had agua de jamaica. For dessert, or “postre,” we had jello.

It started to rain and we decided to wait it out. It continued to rain and several in the group ordered coffee. We had the restaurant to ourselves. Of all the times not to bring my backpack with my umbrella and shoes for the water. Ultimately, we took a cab back to K3. The girls were all dressed to go out, but decided they didn’t want to go out in the rain. It stopped after a while and Richard and I took a long walk. It started sprinkling again, but it was a soft rain that cooled the air and made a pleasant end to a pleasant day.

Acapulco Day 1

We’ve been a hard working group for nearly three weeks. We needed some downtime and perhaps the opportunity to interview migrants who have relocated to an area that attracts tourists if they don’t have the resources or inclination to go to the US.

Destination: Acapulco.

We met on Saturday morning at Fray Luca bearing minimal luggage — how much space does a swimsuit take? — and we loaded up in the smaller camioneta and Arturo “El Falcon” Lopez Duran was again behind the wheel transporting the Cross Border Issues Group on an adventure. What a beautiful road trip it was. Arturo later explained that the particular highway or “autopista” that we traveled was financed by a Japanese company in exchange for 20 years’ worth of tolls. It’s a great road with some marvelous bridges. We stopped and took photos on the way as we meandered through the Sierra Madre del Sur. Richard commented that he didn’t think the US has mountains with the same type of vegetation as we see in this zone. And we’ve seen a lot of these mountains this summer. Arturo noted it was the more tropical climate that allows for the verdant vegetation rather than pines generally associated with mountain ranges further north.

The name “Acapulco” comes from Nahuatl and means “place of big reeds.” To us, it meant sun and swimming, beach and a boat ride. We found our hostel, K3, and checked in. When Rodrigo explained to us that “K3″ meant something along the lines of a mat for soldiers to sleep on, we should’ve known better, but we checked in anyway and climbed upstairs to put our things down in our “room.” If it weren’t for the window, which we absolutely had to have, the place would’ve looked either like a prison cell or a submarine dormitory minus the porthole. Metal bunkbeds with numbers on them were placed on either side of the window. Between them was a space of no more than 3 feet. We stored our stuff under the bottom bunks. Leah and I got top bunks; Amanda was below me, and Jen below Leah. If we thought we were close in the hostel in Oaxaca, we didn’t know what close is.

Arturo invited his son Ivan, 14, to go with him. With all the time he spends with us, Arturo probably needed some family along. The men slept with Arturo and Richard in top bunks and Rodrigo, his arm in a cast unable to climb up to a top bunk, and Ivan, a thrasher in the night, taking the other bottom bunk.

Oh well, the beach awaits, so we quickly dug out swimsuits or tossed off outer clothing with swimsuits already on, and headed to the beach. Poor Arturo, always trying to park a camioneta, or van, somewhere. The parking along the main street wasn’t marked, but he found out that most places were available for 15 minutes only. Ultimately, he found parking on a side street next to a strip joint. No doubt he worried about the camioneta constantly because there was every kind of broken bottle and trash as well as bricks, broken concrete and more next to the camioneta each time we went to get in it.

We decided to grab something to eat and found a place on the beach. The service was rather slow, but we ate well. The girls all had hamburgers and french fries and we had agua de limon, a much needed thirst quencher. Richard, Rodrigo and I had the fish fillet — we were too close to the sea not to. The ocean provided our view. And Arturo had another kind of fish. I think it still had its eyes and teeth.

Afterwards, we paid to have an umbrella on the beach and got into the water. And got thrown to shore. The waves were pretty fierce for desert dwellers. Amanda and I got knocked around a couple times and decided that perhaps we were better off under the umbrella. Her foot, my ankle, were already bloodied. Soon Ivan came out with his knee bloodied and we were pretty sure the ocean was winning the fight against the Cross Border Issues Group. Leah and Richard, however, made their way further out and alternately rode waves and dove waves. They were fun to watch. Arturo was in and out of the water.

Soon it was time to get Jen at the airport. We thought we’d surprise her because I’d told her I didn’t know what we’d be doing and gave her the info for the hostel. We gave ourselves 40 minutes to get to the airport, but when we got there we couldn’t find her. I think we were quite a sight. Leah and I had our swimsuits on and she had shorts and I had a sarong. Arturo’s hair was sticking straight up and his clothes were damp. We all smelled a little fishy. We thought maybe Jen saw us and decided she didn’t want to be with us. She’d have to ride back with her head out the window to avoid the smell of us.

We ultimately connected with her back at the hostel after she dropped an unbelievable $380 (pesos) on a taxi – the airport really is a distance from the center of town. It was an interesting drive, though, because we passed every hotel imaginable, saw more American-owned businesses than ought to be in a Mexican town, we saw beautiful houses lining the hills above the shoreline and we saw the wide expanse of the sea from every angle.

We stopped at Oxxo, the Mexican equivalent of 7-11, for some beverages and a cooler, and headed back to the beach. More people were there than when we’d left, so it took us a while to find our group, but we did. Everyone was happy to see Jen and Jen was happy to see the beach…and everyone else.

Back in the water! I decided to sit quietly on the edge of the water where the waves wouldn’t toss me against the rocks, but soon Richard came out of the water and told me I needed to get past the waves and then it is much easier to swim and isn’t as rocky. We stood up, and almost instantly, a wave knocked us down, only it knocked him down on top of me. The pull of the water dragged me against the rocks while pulling up my swimsuit bottom. I got me some hot-crossed buns. I didn’t realize it at the time though. And Leah came to my rescue. She got me past the waves, counting to tell me exactly when to dive under them. After that, it was funner than fun. Richard finally had to entice me by waving a Diet Coke at me from the shore.

We all went back and cleaned up and went out for tacos al pastor. It was easier for some people to sit than it was for others. Afterwards, we went for a walk to check out the sweaty nightlife. The only thing I liked as we passed the clubs was the brief bursts of air conditioning. Later, we returned to the hostel to our little cubbies and slept. The A/C there was fine. If it hadn’t been for a sweater Amanda loaned me, I would’ve frozen to death with only my prison-issue sheet and pillowcase to keep me warm.

Acapulco is in the state of Guerrero is an important tourist destination. There are three main areas of tourism, known as the Triángulo del Sol (triangle of the sun). The first is  Acapulco, the second Taxco, a colonial town noted for its silver; and the third is Ixtapa/Zihuatanejo. Ixtapa was a destination created by the federal government during the slow economy of the 1980s to increase tourism. This is important to me because one of my favorite songs is Triángulo del Sol by Joan Sebastian. I told Arturo that we need to go to Zihuatanejo to complete our triangle of the sun. We went to Taxco the first two years, and now had Acapulco. He agreed, but also agreed with Richard about going to Havana, so who knows what happens next.