You can call me "Tia"

Up and at 'em at 7:15 am - starting a mountain loop before our trip to Atlixco.

The view is lovely...

But what happened to the road?

The arches - an entrance to Izucar de Matamoros.

Memo and Sixta waiting for the bus to Atlixco to visit his brother, Julio.

For all of you that are worried about my safety in Mexico, fear not. These muchachos are "on it".

A microbus in Atlixco.

In the front of Julio's pickup truck, sandwiched between Julio and Sixta.

(Memo was in the bed)

Please note the team name of Julio's 50+ soccer league.

Looking through old photo albums together.

Six of 8 siblings are in this photo: From the top L working clockwise-Ricardo, Refugio Armando, Manuel, Norberto, Guillermo, & Cristina.
(I think I am finally starting to recognize them all.)

Looking out onto Atlixco from the first lookout of San Miguel Iglesia.

Julio is pointing to two government settlements, where government workers live in heavily subsidized residences.

The Zaragoza brothers made it up the hill to Iglesia de San Miguel.

A view of the active volcano, Popocateptl.

La iglesia San Miguel from Julio's house.

Take note all you recyclers - this broom was made out of 5 1-L Coke bottles.

Memo was helping Team Zaragoza warm up.

Monika and I checked out the giant clock before the soccer game started.

A photo of Memo and I at half-time of Julio's soccer game in Atlixco, taken by Monika Zaragoza.

Izucar de Matamoros has not seen rain in over a month, while Atlixco got enough rain in 30 minutes to cover at least a month.

Memo's mom captured on camera after venturing out in the deluge to use the W.C. That smile takes about 20 years off her age.

Monika & Giovanni Zaragoza Morelos. A.k.a. "Tia"'s Spanish teachers for most of the afternoon.

Today's creatures: love birds.

What I like about traveling to foreign places, is that every small activity becomes a grand adventure. We had several adventures today, starting with an attempted jog up the small hill that starts two blocks away from Memo’s mom’s house. Knowing that we were going to Atlixco to visit Memo’s brother, Julio, and his family, we started our jog from her house and had brought our toiletries and a change of clothes so that we didn’t have to go back to the hotel. I carry my phone with me everywhere, because it is useful not only as a telephone, Spanish/English dictionary, peso/dollar currency converter, and camera, but also as a GPS device. And my GPS told me that if we ran up Morelos, we would find a road that ran long the top of the hill that we could take to make a two mile loop. Apparently, my GPS has a broad definition of what constitutes a “road”. As you can see from the photos above, we ended up “jogging” though thorny scrub and piles of burned household garbage, but we still enjoyed the view of the city. I want to come back for sunset before we leave. We decided to give up and ran back through the city, dodging parents bringing their track-suit clad and I.D.-wearing children to school. It’s interesting to see the city at different times of the day, because storefronts that are closed at dinner time are wide-open and busting in the mornings, and vice versa. I am starting to recognize the same street vendors that operate up and down Morelos, and feel less awkward in the city.

Today was “Spanish Day,” which meant as soon as Memo opened his eyes, it was Spanish all day all the time. Thus, our jogging conversation was in Spanish, and I was well prepared for the rest of the day, which truly lived up to its name. After my standard breakfast of scrambled eggs, a pastry from a panaderia, and bananas with granola, Memo and Sixta and I went to catch the bus. At least in Matamoros, the concept of a bus stop, even for the professional bus tour operators, has a very loose definition. It appears to be wherever the bus driver can pick up another passenger, which worked to our benefit when we were running late, and Sixta decided that she didn’t want to walk to the bus station. So we just stood on the corner and flagged down all the passing 45-passenger buses to find the one going to Atlixco. As we headed out of town, we passed a truck-full of Mexican soldiers. Both the military and the police have a obvious presence in town. I have seen them mostly at night, and often in trucks similar to the one in the photo above. I don’t feel threaten by them at all, but I do have to wonder why their guns are so big. Memo explained to me that there is not much crime in Matamoros (the worst thing I have heard is that someone stole the flowers that Sixta brought to her husband’s grave while she had turned around to go get water for the vases). But there is drug trafficking throughout the country, and the military is ready to track down any criminals that may be passing through the area from Vera Cruz on the coast or from Mexico City

Julio picked us up from the bus station in Atlixco in his old pickup truck. I sat in the front squeezed between his mother and Julio, listening to rapid fire Spanish and every once in a while responding “Si” or “No” to a question thrown my way. Memo got to recline in the covered bed of the truck as we wound our way through the streets to Julio’s home. Atlixco is definitely a much bigger and wealthier city than Matamoros. Located at the base of Popocateptl, it is hilly and shady with trees lining many of the streets. As we could see later when we climbed up to the top of a nearby peak to the Iglesia San Miguel, the surrounding area is very green with farms growing flowers, corn, greens, and raising cows for milk. I also immediately noticed the change in socio-economic status between Julio and his mother.

The house owned by Julio and his wife, Navidad, (yes, her name really is Nativity), is three stories with indoor plumbing, overhead lights, and carpeted floors. Neither of them work, but rather own and rent property in the area and live off that income. Julio lived in NYC for 9 years in the 90s, and won an injury lawsuit against his apartment building. Apparently, he won enough to return to Mexico to start his real estate empire. We sat on the couch in the living room, and I felt myself nodding off to sleep as they chittered together in rapid fire Spanish. About 80% of the time, I at least know the subject of the conversation even if I don’t really know what is being said. Not today. With four of them, my head was spinning and I sort of checked out for a while. Things got better when Memo and Julio left to go run an errand after Julio showed us the uniforms of his 50+ soccer league. I pulled out my phone and sat in between Sixta and Navidad going through the photos on my phone of the boys at our house this summer. While I still don’t know how to say “white-water rafting”, it was good practice to talk to them and to get more comfortable answering questions.

We ate lunch around their dining room table, and after lunch I noticed both Navidad make the sign of the cross and then kiss their closed fist as a sign of thanks. Navidad disappeared, and the next thing I knew, there was a hyperactive and very talkative nine-year-old bouncing around the house. It was the start of a grand friendship. Finally, someone both wanted to learn some basic English words (we sang our ABCs many times), and truly understood what was meant by “slowly” and “clearly” when speaking to me. Of course! She is in elementary school and is used to language instruction for children. Her 13-year-old brother came home shortly thereafter, right as Julio was taking Memo and SIxta and I up to the Iglesia San Miguel (see photos above). When we came back, it was decided that we would all accompany Julio to his soccer match that afternoon to watch him play. This was the start of the next adventure. By this time, my name was not Chris(tina) anymore, but rather “Tia” which means “Aunt” in Spanish.

After a 25 ride out of the city to a small village called Metepec, we arrived at the well-kept soccer fields and everyone (except Navidad, who stayed home to teach knitting) piled out of the car. Monika, the 9-year-old, became my shadow for the rest of the afternoon, teaching me new words and explaining to me the history of the area as she knew it. When I got weary of constant conversation and trying to look up words, it was “Talking Tom” to the rescue. Both Monika and Giovanni enjoyed playing on the phone and I got a breather to talk to Memo and to watch the game. About 20 minutes into the game, it started raining. About 30 minutes into the game, the heavens opened up and the seats under the corrugated metal room starting getting wet. They kept playing until half-time, though Julio was not playing at all. Since he arrived late, he had to sit out until the second half. Even during half-time, the deluge did not let up, and I can say that I was not sad when the game was suspended until next week and we could finally retreat back to the truck which was dry and warm. The climate of Atlixco and surrounding regions is very different from Matamoros, which did not experience even one small drop.

Julio ended up driving us all the way home, and then we had a prolonged good-bye with the kids, promising that we were coming back to Atlixco the following day. Memo and I had our first restaurant meal of the trip and then passed out early. Running out of battery again. Later, my peeps.