I hit the road shortly after sun up- headed for the ancient Mesoamerican ruins at El Tajin. The state of Veracruz is beautiful, but the roads are not. Massive, man eating potholes turned the road into a nightmare, and in places the pavement simply stopped and gave way to the worst roads I'd seen in all my years of riding. After about an hour of not managing better than 10 kilometers an hour, I made it to the entrance to El Tajin. The entrance was essentially a market, full of street vendors and booths selling everything from dried chiles to handmade bracelets. I parked next to a stand selling t-shirts, locked up the bike and walked through the stone gate that marked the entrance to the ruins.
The slow pace and terrible roads had left me frustrated, wondering if the detour had been the extra time and energy. But as soon as I rounded the corner my doubts were put to rest. The ruins at El Tajin were one of the most incredible things I'd ever seen.
Nestled in the rolling hills towards the southern end of the Sierra Madres, El Tajin is one of the most important ancient sites in all of Central America. Bordered by rain forest and banana fields, only a small percentage of the sites 150 structures have been excavated and restored. But the structures that are there are massive and beautiful. I felt like I'd walked onto the set of an Indiana Jones movie. (But more temple of doomish, and less last crusade-esque.)
Since I clearly know next to nothing about the site, and have fallen to dated pop-culture references in place of actual information, I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. I will say it was an incredible experience to walk through a piece of history. It seems that experiencing distant places and pieces of the distant pass have the same humbling effect. It reminds me that in spite of what I think, feel, or claim- the world doesn't revolve me me...And it never has... 
After my detour to El Tajin, I aimed to make up time. Speeding through Southern Mexico, my jaw dropped when the road took a sweeping turn to the East, before straightening again-right along the Gulf of Mexico. Palm trees and small beach towns blotted the landscape, but for a solid hour I had a nearly unobstructed view of the ocean. It was incredible. This was the first time the entire trip that I'd seen the ocean, and I was thrilled. After a few minutes of yelling in my helmet, I had the clarity of thought to take some pictures. Drink it in Cincinnati! 
But ruins and beaches were not the only thing I'd experience today. About two hours north of Veracruz, I passed two Harley Davidsons on the right side of the road... I assumed that they were having bike trouble (I would insert a Harley joke here, but my BMW is currently in pieces in a foreign country so....) Stopping to see if they needed help, I found that what I'd stumbled on was in fact a father teaching his son to ride a motorcycle. After five or so minutes of talking with Anrejo (and Anrejo jr.) they invited me to follow them to their home for dinner. Hungry and eager for some human interaction, I readily accepted. 
Their home turned out to be about 30 minutes away, and the ride there was beautiful. Let's have a moment of honesty here-My Spanish is awful. I mean really atrocious. And while neither of the Anrejo's spoke English particularly well, it's amazing how much can be communicated across the language barrier. After arriving at this family's beautiful home, they actually took me out to a restaurant a few minutes away from their home and treated me to a fantastic meal. At that point we were joined by Anrejo's wife and daughter. The wife (whose name escapes me at the moment) made up for her complete lack of English by vigilantly keeping ever micrometer of space on my plate filled with authentic Mexican food. The entire meal was served "family style" and every moment I ate a bite she was poised ready with more goodness to fill the space left by my last bite. I was spoiled in a way I haven't experienced since my own mother passed away a few years back. Even in the moment, thousands of miles away from home, with a family I had just met, this woman reminded me of my own mother in a way that was uncanny.
After dinner, I gathered my things to get back on the road heading south. I only had about an hour and a half left of sunlight, and the second detour of the day had put me well shy of Veracruz, my destination for the evening. Anrejo and the family's hospitality was incredible- and they nearly begged for me to stay the night at their home. And while I really wished that I could, felt like I needed to push on. In compromise, they would escort me the 30 minutes back to the coastal road where I had met them. I smiled, and nodded my acceptance. This was the first time I'd had people to ride with since I left home.
And it was a beautiful ride- sweeping turns, smooth pavement (an unusual treat for Central America) and beautiful views. There was a comfort in my new found companionship. It felt familiar-almost like riding with my brother back home. (minus the military checkpoints!) As we reached the coast, we pulled off to say our final goodbyes. Hands were waved. hugs and spanglish were exchanged. But as I donned my helmet, Anrejo senior told me in broken English that I would always have a home in Mexico.
I don't know If ever I'll ever return to this small town in southern Mexico, but if I do I know what will be waiting: A beautiful family. Incredible hospitality. And an openness and acceptance that I hope to learn from. As I donned my helmet and prepared to let out the clutch, my host reached to shake my gloved hand one final time. And while I wouldn't have thought his broken English could carry the weight of what he was trying to communicate, his meaning came through loud and clear-hurdling over the supposed language barrier as easily and gracefully as a trained pole vaulter- "Mexico is your friend" he said. Knowing that he meant it with a sincerity that his words shouldn't have been able to carry, I grasped his hand tightly before clicking the bike into gear and rolling the throttle gently backwards. As I pulled away his words echoed in my mind and I knew that it was true. Mexico is my friend.
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3 comments:
so what bike are you riding if yours is in pieces? did you just get another one?
Dude, amazing pictures! Also, great story of the people you met. Mexicans really are hospitable and many Americans have a skewed view of Mexicans. Mexico is your amigo! Glad you were able to meet some people along the way. I hope and pray your bike gets fixed. What's wrong with it?
Hey, Andy! I'm one of Rachel's friends you met at the wine bar last weekend. :) (Hope we didn't scare you away - it was brave of you to come!) This blog is AWESOME and I can't wait to follow your journey. Hope everything works out with your bike so you can return soon. It was great to meet you!
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