16 hours. Day 1 was largely composed of 16 hours of travel. 22 hours if you count the pseudo slumber party we had at the church the night before we even left. Because we all had to leave at 3:30am in order to get to Chicago, Scott, the youth pastor and team leader, decided it would be best if we all came to the church at 9pm, packed the vans with our luggage and just slept there until we needed to leave.
Only about half of the group actually slept. I was feeling far too wired and ended staying up watching old episodes of "She-Ra: Princess of Power" on You Tube. Five of the other team members (Julie, Samantha, Katie, Kendra and Betsy) stayed up chatting and making some rice they found in the church's kitchen when they got hungry at about 1am.
At about 3:30am five other church members arrived to drive us all to Chicago O'Hare. We stumbled in a sleepy stupor into the vehicles and arrived at the airport around 6am Chicago time. Normally, if it is at all possible, when I travel I like to use only a carry-on and no checked luggage at all. I was reminded of why when it took nearly an hour for our group to get checked in (the fact that we had about 20 bags to check might of had something to do with it, but anyway). The flight from Chicago to Houston was uneventful, as was our 2 hour layover (Houston's Airport is very nice, btw).
When we got on our next plane the flight attendant rattled off the usual safety spiel first in English and then in Spanish so fast it would make Speedy Gonzalez's head spin. The further south we flew the more mountainous the terrain below became. Every now and then I'd see a small town clustered around the foot of a mountain or the thin blue strands of rivers rolling out like veins over the brown and green landscape. When Mexico City came into sight I was amazed. It sprawled on for miles and easily dwarfed any American city I had yet seen.
Upon landing we had to fill out some paperwork (one form we signed declared that we did not currently have the flu) and go through customs. The airport itself was actually smaller than I was expecting and fairly unremarkable. We were met by two of our fellow church members, Alice and Fedencio, who had gone ahead of us (they had lived in Mexico for most of their lives and still have a house and family here). The church's pastor, Hacinto, was also there to meet us, plus two other men, Domingo and Jesus (I told you we met Jesus ^_^). We made our way to the parking garage and piled into two passenger vans and 1 SUV.
And that was when the culture shock began.
I had been told that Mexico City was a rough place, and I have been to some rough, rundown cities in the US (downtown Detroit, for example). But nothing I had been told or experienced before quite prepared me for what I saw.
First of all, everything is made of concrete and metal, and almost every door and window has bars over them. The buildings really are rather unattractive; no one seems concerned with aesthetics in the architecture. Most are just plain squares and have metal garage doors that slide up and down to close or open the shops that hide safely behind them. Most often you can still see the gray bricks that were laid to form the walls of the buildings (meaning they were not covered with a layer of concrete after being laid) and they are not painted. The city is mostly gray with random splashes of bright colors here and there. But that brings me to my second observation.
The splashes of color are usually from graffiti. It's EVERYWHERE. On nearly every vertical surface someone has spray painted something. And because hardly any of it is actually artwork (meaning a mural of some type) it only adds to the dilapidated, dirty and dingy look of things.
Third, the traffic is amazing. Mexican roads are a lot like roads in Japan; incredibly narrow. Take rush hour in Chicago, make all the cars about 6 inches apart and have everyone disregard the stop lights and you've got traffic in Mexico City. Oh, and then there are the peddlers. People selling all kinds of beverages, snacks and even produce walk between the cars and offer their wares. It seems to me that they are risking their lives for a few pesos, but then again I'm an ignorant foreigner. That very well may be all the money they make that day and it's well worth it.
The fourth observation are all the stray dogs. I simply cannot believe how many of them there are. I lost count of how many I saw as we traveled. They are very used to people and do not seem unfriendly at all. Some are fat, some are skinny, but none of them are neutered or spayed (Don't ask me how I know that. No, seriously, don't ask). I am SO thankful for the ASPCA and the Humane Society in America.
Our only adventure in the city was stopping to buy some bottled water and exchange our money. Alex stayed in the van and asked me to pick out a Mexican soda for him. The store was busy (and small) so I grabbed the first can I saw that looked liked soda and got in line. While I was waiting I read the can and saw the words "con Tequila" and realized I was holding a cooler and not a soda. Since it's a church trip I decided liquor most likely was not appropriate. I quickly put it back and grabbed an orange soda instead.
When we finally did get out of the city I had only one clue; the air was fresh. Other wise things looked pretty much the same. The roads became more steep and curvy as we made our way out of the basin that Mexico City sits in and up into the hills of the outlaying urban areas. Aside from the few small farms we saw here and there (mostly growing corn) everything looks the same. All the buildings are still crowded together in a haphazard manner, they are all still made out of concrete and metal, and there is still grafiti and a massive amount of stray dogs everywhere. There were also the topes (pronounced toe-pays), which are speed bumps so big that you would wreck your car if you do not slow down. Apparently they are new additions because there is not the man power to enforce the speed laws.
I was struck by how this way of living is completely normal, just business as usual, for the millions of people that call this place home. I know that I could get used to it, or if I grew up in it it would be normal for me too, but I will admit to wondering how people can live this way. I had to do an attitude check and remind myself that if someone from Mexico came to America, they might wonder at how we can live the way we do, too.
At about 7pm we finally arrived at Pastor Hacinto's house. He has a small yard where cars are parked and a swing set that visiting children use (his daughter is grown, but I get the impression their house is quite busy). Outside there is a set of narrow metal stairs that lead up to the apartment above (rented by someone else who is away) and a large open area. Several of our group climbed up there and took in the view. It was beautiful; green hills dotted with clusters of buildings and houses as far as the eye can see against a back drop of blue sky and white, cotton candy clouds. From there you can actually look down into Mexico City and, unfortunately, see the thick cloud of smog that constantly enshrouds it.
Inside the pastor's house we were served a meal of spaghetti with meat sauce and steamed veggies. Eating and drinking in Mexico can be tricky. You can't drink the water from the tap (which means you can't brush your teeth with it either and you have to keep your mouth closed in the shower), you can't use the ice, and you can't eat fresh fruit or veggies unless they've been washed with purified water or peeled. Thankfully our hosts families were all informed of that before we arrived.
We met our host family shortly after dinner. An older woman named Margarita, who doesn't speak any English, greeted us and walked us over to an awaiting white chevy. In the driver's seat was Margarita's son, Lucio, who is also the music minister at the church. We drove about five minutes to their home (I was very impressed with Lucio's ability to drive backwards down a narrow hill that had one hairpin turn).
The house was quite unlike anything I had yet seen. The front is nothing more than a flat yellow wall with a black metal door. Directly above there is a red, metal awning that is partially covered with a yellow, slightly mold-speckled tarp. Above this, on the perpendicular, is a large window and another black metal door. Underneath a stretch of ceiling another window can been seen further back from the front door. Up above you can see strings of clothes lines and a large black tub (too big to get your arms around and probably about as tall as me) of reserve water. When you step inside the home you realize the tarp is there to keep the rain out because the entrance has been left open on purpose. It's very much like a small courtyard. It is small, perhaps only 7'x6'. It's floor is covered with a lovely, carefully laid ivory and tan tile. Directly behind the door is a stairway with a wood paneling banister that turns at a 90-degree angle halfway up and ends at the second metal door that can be seen from outside.
Upstairs there is a small landing area and 4 bedrooms. Each bedroom has a black metal door with a window in it. Each window is covered with some faded squares of fabric to offer the occupants privacy. The bedroom directly to the left of the stairs was given to Alex and me. The floor is covered with tile, the walls are a cheerful yellow, and there are two twin beds (one wood and one metal) shoved up against the walls. The room is small and so there isn't space for anything else except a very narrow, built in desk and wall shelves which hold many books and a few cds and dvds. These sit directly to the right of the room's door, along the same wall. The opposite wall and the perpendicular wall are made up almost entirely of large windows that are covered with lightweight drapes to offer privacy from the street below. In our room there is a small door that leads to a small storage area and a small, full bathroom. It is narrow, only 3' or so wide, and painted a medium shade of blue. The shower is a walk-in and has a sliding black door filled with clouded, yellow plexiglass. It looks like any American bathroom save for one small detail.
Most people know that you can't drink the water here in Mexico, but what many don't know is that you can't put toilet paper in the toilet. The sewage lines simply cannot handle it. So instead there is a small waste basket that you drop your used paper into. They empty the cans everyday, but I will admit it will take some getting used to. My new mantra while we are here is "In the can, not the toilet. In the can, not the toilet!"
Alex and I were exhausted from our day of travel and our hosts seemed eager to get us settled so we could rest. But before we hit the hay they introduced us to the rest of the family. And, wow, do we have a big host family! Margarita introduced us to her husband, Andres. Lucio's two sisters are also in the house, Mary and Lupita. Mary and Lupita's children are in the house as well: Samantha, Michelle, David, Cesar and Debbie (who looks to be about 4 or 5 and is SO stinkin' cute I can hardly STAND it). I'm not quite sure yet who belongs to who exactly or where Mary and Lupita's husbands are, but I'm sure I'll figure it out later this week.
Tomorrow is a sight seeing day for our group. We are going to check out some pyramids!
