Cartagena Arrival

Before describing Cartagena I want to provide insight into one aspect of backpack travel - the hostel. I am always questioned about this from Americans at home. How do I find a place? what are they like? is it expensive? Answers vary, but Colombia has made the process quite easy for travellers. The guide books are outdated so one finds a hostel by word of mouth or by way of information at a hostel in another city. For instance, in Bogota the business cards of hostels in other frequently visited cities were tacked on a bulletin board. Internet is available and so is beer. Overall Colombia has had the most organized hostels of any country I have visited. Honestly, I havent paid close attention to the cost of stay at each hostel, but on average it is about $7 USD per night. They are filled with people from all over the world and it makes for a potential learning experience.

I include this hostel interlude because I had to hustle my way to find one in Cartagena. I followed my instinct to beat the traveller rush to Cartagena as the new year approaches. I arrived at the bus station in Medellin at 4pm hoping to get tickets for a 6pm bus. As I stood in line an employee of one of the bus companies approached me in a sly manner. He offered to get me on the 4;15 bus at a discount. Hesitant, yet excited to cut a deal to make things easier, I followed him directly to the bus, paid the baggage hand, and took my seat. I had no ticket but only the assurance of the conductor everything would be alright. I took their word and they kept it.

Arriving in Cartagena at 5am I had to find a place to live. The hostel at which I wanted to stay was completely full and they had no information on other places that had vacancy. So, I slept on the front couch hoping someone would check out. Not wanting to waste the morning, I eventually left my bags locked up and walked the beaches and the historic center. At 1pm I returned to find, to my relief, that one bad had opened up and I was given the reservation. My instinct to leave early and to throw on the charm with the ladies making the reservations served me well. Such are the difficulties of a backpacker.

I now find myself in Cartagena. A beach bordered city much like Panama City, Panama. The beach is not beautiful, but it is the proximity to colonial Cartagena that gives it an appeal. The new year has attracted tourists from all over the world and from within Colombia as well. There is an excitement in the air and I feel that that tonight will be eventful.

I caught up on sleep last night in preparation for the evening´s festivities. I always found it intriguing when the television coverage of new years in the US would show live feeds of major cities around the world. This will be my first New Year outside of my country.

Meddling in Medellin

If somebody had told me Medellin would be the most tranquil place I would visit on this trip I would have been hesitant to believe. Yet, so far it is true. Over three days here I have seen little that could qualify as a tourist attraction. So with little must-see places I have just been relaxing.

I took a couple walks to downtown to see more Botero sculptures. The bird pictured here is popular because it was blown up by a bomb during the cocaine wars that occurred here during the reign of Pablo Escobar. Speaking of the drug lord, the city gives little attention to his legacy. I didnt see any Pablo T-shirts for sale or posters paying homage. The cocaine is prevalent but the former mastermind behind its use is not.

Medellin is a gorgeous place. The weather and beauty is like that of San Francisco, CA. It is set among rolling hills and views are available in nearly every area. The aesthetics of the terrain match the aesthetics of the Paisas who live on it.

I spent a little time each day using the workout area pictured here. It is a make-shift gym just around the corner from my hostel. As the beach approaches I figured I needed to work off a bit of the food I have been devouring. Which leads me to another point, I am already a over budget. I didnt expect to be participating in this higher class living. Each hostel so far has been located in the more affluent areas, leading me to have to spend more on each meal. I am missing the tacos carts of Mexico.

I spent yesterday in front of the television. During the day I walked over to the Zona Rosa area to an American owned sports bar called Timeout. I witnessed the most violent episode I have ever encountered on a trip - the Eagles pounding the Cowboys out of playoff contention. The loss made me exhausted and figuratively sick so I took it easy for the night. I rewatched the latest Batman movie for the first time since Guatemala. The joker performance was just as good on the flat screen of the hostel as it was on the imax screen of the theater.

Oh, and in my own defense of this leg of the trip seeming "boring," there was one night of partying until 6am. The sun is alot more beautiful as it rises after a long night out as opposed to an all-nighter to finish an exam paper.

So now I say goodbye to Medellin and head to Cartagena to try and find a place to sleep.

Temporada Taurina

This post is dedicated to my Uncle Roger:

I finally attended a bullfight. For years I have yearned to sit around the wooden walled ring and peer down over at the glory and honor earned and displayed. In high school I accompanied my cousin Tex to bullfighting school in La Gloria, TX. There I was exposed to the intricacies of the sport. As with any art form, having a knowledge base from which to judge allows one to create a more valued if not solely more clear opinion.

That being said, I have not come to a conclusion as to the sport´s relation to civil life. Yet, having watched the fascinating spectacle I do think that it is a glory that might only be understood by the matador who is looking directly into the black eyes of a 500 kilo toro and those who attempt asses the undertaking from that perspective.

I saw 5 toros slain in total. The beauty is derived from the methodical way in which the ends is achieved. What starts as a team task is eventually widdled down to matador v. bull and on this day those of us on the side of opposable thumbs would win out.

Blood? yeah there was blood. Maybe I am a desensitized product of an exposed generation (and hunter culture) but the blood was not bothersome. In fact, amongst the red walls and brown sands it seemed almost natural - just another stroke of the brush on a masterpiece.

Who was I cheering for? the matador of course. Although, it does seem that many people innately feel for the bull as well. Even the older aged woman sitting next to me, who judging by her knowledge of the ongoings must have attended many a bullfight in her day, had sympathy for the bull. I guess the point to be gathered from this is that it really is an adversarial match. As much as it may seem to the naysayer that the bull has no chance, it is simply not the case. The toro is as much a loser to a contest as the matador certainly is if he makes that one small error in precision and grace.

Now can I throw all the politics out? If so, then let me say that bullfighting is damn cool. Through all the tradition I felt as if I was doing something that a 23 year old hundreds of years ago would have been doing across the Atlantic in old Spain. I got chills as the band began playing the traditional anthems and the entire crowd stood up belting out the lyrics in unison. Ole! Ole! was yelled which each pass of the cape.

And lastly, let me add this, just like Golf claims to be a gentleman´s game, so too is bullfighting. If a group of rowdy youths was getting out of hand with the jeers, the crowd would reprimand them. There are both times to cheer and times to be silent while participating. With regard to the actual fighting, there is skill to respect and also careless peformance that does not go unrecognized. In other words, if you are going to take/defend a life then you must do so in a forum that is worthy of respect and in a fashion that demands respect. Sounds a bit like a trial courtroom if you ask me.

It was a magnificent and dignified end to an incredible experience in Cali. There is no question that I will return to this city again and again. Just like is necessary when leaving any love, I tore myself away from the city abruptly. I left the Plaza by taxi, picked up my bags, and headed to straight to the bus station. I am now currently in Medellin after a 9 hour overnight ride.

Medellin posts coming soon.

Cabalgata

The Lonely Planet guidebook could not have been more correct ever in the history of its publishing then when it stated that Cali is the Texas of Colombia. It is very much so in more ways than to which it alluded. Let me count the ways.

First, the city takes great pride in the distinctness of its culture from that of the rest of the country. Some might say that it IS its own country. I do believe that we Texans do the same and wouldnt be crushed if we were to become the Republic of Texas once again.

Second, meat is the only food group. I will likely be fighting at the light-heavyweight class upon returning home. Sausages, steaks, kabobs and arepas con todo are available at all times during the day. I ate at the same restaurant 3 days in a row because I could get soup (possibly the best I have ever had), steak, beans, rice, and a drink for about $3USD. Sorry Texas but I actually like the steaks here a bit more.

Third, the women are stunning. I will not rant about this for more than a paragraph because I dont want to give the wrong impression. However the Caleñas may be deserving of an entire book if not at least an entire blog. They claim they are some of the beautiful in the world and I am beginning to agree. Even without the purchased assets it seems you can not look up without seeing someone that could grace the pages of a magazine. I am not even kidding here - this is a serious subject. Just another reason Cali is much like Texas.

Lastly, and most relevant to the event at hand, Cali has a ranch culture. The Cabalgata is a another Feria parade that showcases the prize horses of the region. I am not schooled in the area of stallions and mares and all that, but I could tell that these horses were extremely disciplined. The riders had a graceful control over the particular trot. Also, the crowd and riders were dressed in their cowboy best. Cowboy hats, jeans, and unbuttoned-buttoned downs were the attire of choice. The unbuttoned applied to the females as well it seemed.

I guess I could describe the horses more thoroughly, but I will just let the pictures convey the message. Right after this event I would catch a taxi to the Plaza de Toros for the bullfight.

Desfile de Salsodromo

I think that the best way of showcasing my experiences during the Feria de Cali is to split up the events. This post is all about the salsa parade.

Cali is consumed with salsa. Every club plays the music and every person knows how to dance it. The city takes great pride in its Rumba (party) lifestyle and it lives up to the hype. Although I have only been to a few places so far it is hard not to believe that Cali is truly the heartbeat of Colombia.

Under the hot Cali sun 5 hours of parade and music would ensue. The atmosphere was electric and the word FUN is enough to completely describe the vibe. The parade consisted of dance school after dance school performing a routine to blasting salsa music. The groups were organized in chronological order with the first group costumed as slaves from early Colombia and the last group concluding in modern attire. The dancing is unreal. Caleñas of all ages participated. Both younger (kids that looked as old as 7) and older (couples at least 70 years of age) entertained the crowd.

To just describe the parade would not be enough. The people around me made the event more special. You know when you go to a baseball game in America, and people try clapping in unison, and it seems everyone is off beat? ha, well that doesnt occur here. Spectators sang along with the lyrics of every song and we all would clap in sync. The day was filled with smiles, laughing, singing, dancing and more and more cowbell. If there was a break in the music then crowd would fill the void with their own beats.

Furthermore, I couldnt help but notice one another characterstic that was recognizable in the crowd. The African, European, and Indigenous ethnic backgrounds of the people here are all commingled and represented. It is a beautiful thing when people of all shades come together under a common love - in this instance music. The people of Cali are incredibly mixed and a de facto segregation is not apparent. It is both refreshing and laudable.

I am including this picture of me as proof I was there. It is difficult to be in your own pictures when traveling solo. I like this shot because of the three people looking into the camera with me. The next day I would go to the Cabalgata and a bullfight.

Christmas Eve

On this Christmas Eve I would like to say Merry Christmas to all readers and especially to my family. Although my Christmas tree is palm rather than evergreen, my meal is made up of international dishes rather than honey baked ham, my climate is tropical rather than frigid, and my music is salsa rather than Mariah Carey´s christmas album, I am still with my family in spirit on this special occasion. So what does one do when abroad on a world-wide holiday? answer: the same thing that everyone does.

The day was spent reading, lounging, and eating. Basically, the same way I would have spent the day if I were in the states. A minor interruption included some grocery shopping for the pot-luck style dinner that we had at the hostel. With representation from Germany, Belgium, Canada, France, Australia, and Colombia we had a variety of foods that made for a satisfying feast. My BBQ bacon cheeseburgers were a hit. I used fellow Columbia Alumnus Bob KRAFT´s BBQ sauce to give the meal an extra American ingredient. Some hammock swinging helped to digest all the food, and I called it a night to be ready for a big next day.

Feliz Navidad.

Calm Cali

So I spent the entire first day checking out the city of Cali. It is a noisy bustling place, lush with high sprawling trees and palms. Cars and people move about like army ants and always in the background is some salsa echoing from one of the hundreds of bars. Imagine a college town atmosphere but without the college. It is very apparent that it lives up to its Rumba reputation. I will be able to offer more about that scene following Christmas day - the Feria de Cali is set to begin then.

Until those anticipated posts I must write about some typical events. I ran around the city in my travel style visiting churches, landmarks, and commercial centers. I have covered all main parts of the city by following the rapid river that cuts straight through the center of town.

In the evening I feasted at an Argentinian restaurant again thoroughly enjoying the flavors of South America. Post food-coma I entered the main plaza to view the city-wide christmas lights display. The entirety of the banks of the river are covered in lights and lit scenes depicting cultural aspects of Colombia.

My time here has been mellow and I can only describe it as the calm before the storm that will take place as the Feria begins. My current hostel is pleasant. We are cooking up a christmas eve barbecue with each person cooking their own dish. It seems everyone will be representing their countries with their addition. I will represent my country of Texas with bacon cheeseburgers smothered in BBQ sauce.

Side note: I am currently 2-2 in Texas Holdém while travelling. Took out some gentlemanly Englishmen last night. Cards, drinks, food and Colombia: Merry Christmas.

Cali, Colombia

Today was a long 10 hour relocation. I would usually take a bus ride of this length at nighttime, but due to the caution I am taking in this part of the country I prefer to travel during the day. Day or night no procedure is going to change the reality that I will be twisting and turning around tall mountains. If some people get their kicks from bungee jumping or skydiving then I guess I might counter that I ride buses in latin american countries.

I was lucky to be sitting next to two of the nicest people in Colombia - a fellow 23 year old and her 7 month yr old baby Sofia. Truth is, I prefer puppies to babies but this one was maybe the most beautiful I have ever seen. The big brown eyes could have come right out of the Garcia family. I helped the mother with the motherly tasks throughout the day. It was definitely an usual, for me, but heartwarming experience.

I tried fighting my hunger headache by feasting at a restaurant called Western Texas. I will be returning to the venue as the tray of meat I devoured was some of the best I have ever eaten. Seriously, I would also prefer hanging out with babies more than eating chicken but the tenderness was unreal.

I might also mention that I am in Cali now. It is evidently a plastic surgery paradise and the host city for the Feria de Cali that will begin on Christmas day. On a final and lighthearted note I am compiling a list of unusual experiences. So far: roasted pig vendor, male transvestite breast implants flash, and old woman sneeze complete with flying dentures.

A Day Without a Camera

Today I left my camera in the hostel on purpose. I don´t have any kids, but I think I now know what parents feel when the kids are away at grandma´s. Without the responsibilities that come with carrying around a camera - guarding the bag at all times, making sure noone is overly interested, turning the camera off and on etc. - I was able to enjoy Bogota with more ease. Because of this I am posting a pictures of the city at night instead of ones from today.

I woke up late thanks to a long night of Texas Holdém and bar searching with my new friends from Belgium. The search was successful but only so much as we ended up at a McDonalds at 4am.

Bogota is most fun on Sundays. Vendors are out in full force selling what seems to be any kind of treasure they have found. It is literally a city-wide garage sale. Also on Sundays the city shuts down an entire network of main streets for bikers and runners to enjoy. Imagine New York shutting down all of Broadway and half of Houston St. I can think of no better way to get to know a city then to run it; that is exactly what I did. I ended up way north on 82nd street (from basically 10th street) in what is the more affluent area of town. After some window shopping I took the Bogota equivalent of a subway home - it is actually an above ground bus system with platform stops.

I leave tomorrow on a 9 hr bus ride to Cali. This is a change in plans but I am completely suckered by the reputation that it has some of the most beautiful women in the world and that the festival that will begin on Christmas day is not one to miss.

Pablo´s Jacket

I spent the morning with naked plus size women and then was accompanied by police. As appealing as that first sentence sounds the truth is I was in museums as those events occurred. I wandered the galleries of Colombia´s most well-known artist Fernando Botero after having a cup of coffee at one of the Juan Valdez franchises. Botero´s work typically involves a unique rounded style that stands in stark contrast to the American ideal. My American mind found his work intriguing but difficult to approach. I couldn´t help but feel something was off in every work.

The police who accompanied me were actually tour guides at the Museo de Policia. A museum dedicated to law enforcement isn´t usually a must-see when travelling but there is a special gallery that caught my attention. The entire bottom floor is dedicated to the 400+ day man-hunt for Pablo Escobar. Some of his personal items along with the jacket he last wore were on display.

In the afternoon I got purposely-lost (not an oxymoron for me) among the Christmas shopping crowds. If you have ever complained about the madness that ensues at local malls then you must reevaluate. People, products, animals, and buses clog the entire length of Carretera Diez here in Bogota. If a local policeman hadn´t told me it was a dangerous area I might have continued among the crowds. Oh, and although I was hungry I didnt partake in the local fare pictured here; whole roasted pig served New York hot dog style on the street corner.

Some reading and a walk through the Christmas lit Plaza de Bolivar finished the evening.

Bogota, Colombia

The Colombia trip has begun. Two days ago I was sitting in a University of Texas classroom trying to answer a constitutional law exam question about whether congress could potentially act on Utah passing a hypothetical plural marriage statute. Having finished the mind bending ordeal that is law school finals. If you want to know what law school finals are like then watch the movie Old School and find the scene in which Will Ferrrel debates the guy from crossfire. If you want to know how I feel right now then watch Braveheart and find the scene in which Mel Gibson yells ¨freeeeedom!¨after being disemboweled.

I am not exactly sure where to start my new blog thread. It seems the blog is just another overlooked item on my list of, well, overlooked items. My pocketknife is sitting sharp somewhere in my room, the lighter I bring on every trip is partying with it, and my lucky vietnam-worn laundry bag that has been washed in many a latin american country is not full of my day´s worth of dirty clothes. This is my most impromptu trip. My mind has barely caught up with me and I am realizing that It would have been nice to have planned more.

Before I write briefly about today´s events I´ll add two other pieces of information that I have learned the hard way. The first is simple: Don´t take a UT fleece with you when you go backpacking. My instinct told me not to bring it, but my longhorns pride got the best of me. I am now a walking orange foreigner. Seriously, I think I am about to trade someone on the street.

Second, knowing your money is really important. This seems obvious, but again I´m pleading law school here. I arrived at the bustling Bogota airport at 8 last night and stood in an hour long line to get through immigration. Shortly thereafter I exchanged to Colombian currency. I half-heartedly counted the amount the teller gave me and basically took her word that she gave me the full 1,060,000 pesos ($500 USD) I was owed. I jumped in a cab. The cab driver and I struck up a good conversation, as I usually do with cab drivers. I handed him the 20,000 pesos for the ride and gave him four bills with ¨50¨printed on them. He looked at the money, asked me if it was a tip, and then gave me back 3 of the 50 bills back. He said it was too much. Intuition told me this was weird, but I figured he felt guilty that he had probably overcharged me for the ride to the hostel anyway. In my cold hostel room I took my money out, spread it on the bed, and counted it - I just didn´t feel right about not doing a proper job at the currency exchange. I was $250 USD short. I was ashamed and angry. I recounted and recounted for about 15 minutes. Finally, exasperated, I thought back to the cab driver and checked the ¨50¨s. Turns out the ¨50¨s are actually worth 50,000 pesos each. Basically I gave a cab driver with integrity a $25 USD tip and he in return taught me a huge travel lesson: Always learn your currency before you use it.

Today was a great start to the vacation. I use the word vacation for the first time in this blog because I hope to relax alot more than I did on the last trip. I woke up at a late 9:30am, drank coffee in a cafe, and did my typical city walk that I do on every first day. My first impression of Bogota is that it gives a feeling of desolation. Buildings are strangely very shuttered and many seem abandoned - abandoned in the sense that they are nice office spaces that seem as if they have never had occupants. Regardless, the people seem friendly and the Candeleria area that I am in is full of culture.

The event of the day was taking the ¨telefonica¨cable trolley to a gorgeous church and park on top of one of the moutains that surrounds the valley in which Bogota sits. I spent a good amount of time reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez´s ¨love in the time of cholera¨while up there. I am trying to read it in Spanish so I completed a solid 3 pages. I´m thinking tomorrow will be the museums but, as you can probably tell from this first post, improvisation will be the name of the game.

¨Freeeeeeeedom!!!¨

Incomplete

I am 2 finals and 8 days away from this trip yet my mind is not ready to give it the attention and respect it deserves.  Likewise, I can't give this blog the breath that would give it life. It is just not time, nor is there time to be spared.  Crim and Con finals await, so Colombia will have to wait.  However, I have at least planned a tentative itinerary.  The map here posted shows the incomplete route. I have a roundtrip flight out of Bogota.  Do I head to Venezuela? Will I have time? Is it worth the rush? (or in my famous words) Why not? If this post seems a bit disoriented then I am succeeding in conveying how my thoughts are right now - like this route, a bit incomplete. Crim on Friday, Con 4 days later, 2 nights of liberation, and then I'm out. 

I may just post again this weekend while saturated with caffeine and adrenaline so time to bookmark.  Oh, and  UT 45 - OU 35.

Colombian Library

Acclaimed Colombian Institution has 4,800 Books and 10 Legs - NY Times Article Link

Venezuelan Elections

Venezuelan Opposition Gains in Crucial Elections - NY Times Article Link

Lingering Question

Barack Obama Speech on Race - Click Here

On a boat headed from Panama to Costa Rica I was asked by an Australian and two English women whether, in my opinion, Americans were ready for a black president.  The question insinuated their skepticism of our progression as a society. In response, I replied confidently that we are.

Guerilla Action

October 29 - From the NYTimes - "Colombia Killings Cast Doubt on War Against Insurgents"

Resolved: Know Colombia to Debate Colombia

Excerpt from the final presidential debate...

Senator McCain: But let me give you another example of a free trade agreement that Senator Obama opposes. Right now, because of previous agreements, some made by President Clinton, the goods and products that we send to Colombia, which is our largest agricultural importer of our products, is -- there's a billion dollars that we -- our businesses have paid so far in order to get our goods in there.

Because of previous agreements, their goods and products come into our country for free. So Senator Obama, who has never traveled south of our border, opposes the Colombia Free Trade Agreement. The same country that's helping us try to stop the flow of drugs into our country that's killing young Americans...

...Free trade with Colombia is something that's a no-brainer. But maybe you ought to travel down there and visit them and maybe you could understand it a lot better.

Senator Obama: Let me respond. Actually, I understand it pretty well. The history in Colombia right now is that labor leaders have been targeted for assassination on a fairly consistent basis and there have not been prosecutions.

And what I have said, because the free trade -- the trade agreement itself does have labor and environmental protections, but we have to stand for human rights and we have to make sure that violence isn't being perpetrated against workers who are just trying to organize for their rights, which is why, for example, I supported the Peruvian Free Trade Agreement which was a well-structured agreementBut I think that the important point is we've got to have a president who understands the benefits of free trade but also is going to enforce unfair trade agreements and is going to stand up to other countries.

1L Garcia: It would have been more powerful if Senator Obama could have answered "I have been there, actually.  Backpacked the country for 30 days back in law school."

Winter Break 2009

Sometimes you must obey your instinct.  Surely, welcome the advice, do the research, weigh the costs and benefits, and put it all in perspective.  Yet, even with an economic approach toward making a decision one's conclusions may not always feel justified. So, simply and elusively enough, be yourself. 

With that consideration, after 2 months of law school, and with finals approaching ominously, I have decided on my next travel destinations.  Just a few minutes ago I pressed "enter" on the keyboard to confirm my ticket purchase and thrust myself into undertaking a new escapade.

I will spend 31 days in Colombia and Venezuela over my winter break.  This blog has been rekindled (updated weekly) and the preparations will now begin (as school allows).

Austin, Texas

In a few words I bring my first blog to a close.  Our experiences over the 45 day trip are deserving of a book rather than a blog post.  However, a point of completion is always necessary to any task. I encountered dynamic people, beautiful terrain, and new emotions in Central America.  By backpacking a portion of the western hemisphere I have been better able to understand myself and the world around me.  I really do not know the exact reason I undertook this trip.  It appeared challenging and somewhat unprecedented.  It seemed to offer freedom that can only be found outside the comforts of a familiar environment.  It was a way to grow closer to my beloved cousin. Most importantly, I believe, it would allow me to get closer to finding my purpose.  I am forever indebted to the people of Central America for allowing me to enter their lands as a visitor and letting me leave a better person.

On that final crossing into the United States of America Max and I stopped just before the official line marking the border.  We looked at each other, with bags on our backs, and held hands.  Together, and in unison, we stepped over the line into the United States bringing finality to the 45 days and 7 countries that were our Central America trip.

McAllen, Texas - United States of America

We have returned to the United States of America.  

After our one night in Saltillo, among the echos of our family's past, we departed and arrived at the Reynosa -Hidalgo border crossing.  On that hot day we carried the weight of the gift bags we had filled over time along with the weight of the memories earned over the duration of the trip.  We scaled the white spiraling stairs that led to the elevated bridge which hovers over the Rio Grande.  It felt like we were ascending into the heavens.  It was the feeling a mountain climber must feel upon reaching the summit. From the bridge three beautiful images lay just over the river in clear view: The Texas flag, The American flag, and Whataburger sign.

A short and to the point stint at the border patrol office was our only stop before heading straight to eat.  The border patrol agent had a son who attended the University of Texas and our ability to make a close connection certainly helped ease our entrance.  Sweaty, hungry, and mentally drained we walked two blocks to the best cuisine that Texas has to offer - Whataburger.

For the out-of-staters, please cope with the next few sentences as they directly relate to Texans.  Max and I spoke about getting to the Mecca of all fast-food joints during our entire trip.  When food was difficult to swallow and we had thoughts of the comforts of the states Max and I would simply discuss out loud what we would order upon arriving at Whataburger.  Like the volleyball Wilson that Tom Hanks grew to love in the movie "castaway" so too did we create mental distractions in order to keep our sanity.  We have a new and solidified appreciation for American cheeseburgers and fries.

My mother picked us up from the restaurant and we headed to the hotel which we would call home for one night.  We consider it "our" hotel, as we stay in that same location upon every visit to see family in the Rio Grande Valley.

We spent the evening visiting with my grandmother who continues to live in the house where our fathers grew up.  With my new confidence with Spanish I was able to have the most 

complete conversation I have ever had with my grandmother.  One day we were in the town of my grandfather, the next day the town of my father, and in the following day we would be in my own town of Houston.

We were back, not completely acclimated, but we were back none-the-less.  I am proud to declare that we were never victims of crime.  We arrived home with what we had taken originally - a goal that I set out to attain.  I never got sick (knock on wood for future trips) reaffirming that my illogical approach toward eating while traveling is successful.  Entering the United States safe and sound with all items in tow makes a traveller want to scream in exhilaration.

Following the one night in the Valley I drove the 6 hours back home to Houston.  It was the most peaceful 6 hour trip I have ever taken.  

This post is the last pertaining to the events of the trip.  One last summary will follow.

Saltillo, Mexico

The Garcia sons returned to their place of origin.  Our grandfather departed the town of Saltillo back in the early 20th century as part of the Bracero Worker Program with the U.S. To my knowledge we are the first of our family since that time to step foot back on the soil containing our deep roots.  We were all proud to be in a place that at one time in our family's history we called home.

Saltillo itself is quaint and the people are incredibly friendly.  It is not grand like the colonial tourist towns, but not ragged or culturally devoid like some of the smaller towns in Central America.  

Emotionally we were all in period of "calm before the storm" - well, especially Max and I.  We were one night away from home and all the luxuries that come with it.  As a result of that mindset we spent the day aimlessly wandering the markets and sitting in the plazas.  We even spent a good amount of time in the hotel.  At this point in a long trip, you almost want to go into hiding so as to not have any bad experiences that might taint the trip and be qualified as bad luck.  One night until home - only one night.

Even with a mixture of calmness and anxiousness we decided to go out

 on the town for our final evening.  We drank some beers and danced with some new friends at the very American Carlos and Charlies Bar.  

The next day we would cross the border into home.  The final post to this blog will follow.

San Luis Potosi, Mexico

On this trip I have encountered the most beautiful rainbow, volcano, waterfall, pyramid, and sunset I have ever seen.  All those natural occurrences became temporarily forgotten when I entered the city of San Luis Potosi.  It is there that Max, Tex, and I would find the most beautiful women of the entire 45 day excursion.

I wish at this point there was more to offer in the way of personal experience, but

 there is not.

The town itself was surprisingly beautiful.  It was unexpected only because I have met many immigrants in the U.S. who have roots in this particular town.  I figured it must have been, well, a place that one would actually want to leave.  This was not the case.  There were beautiful plazas, churches, shopping avenues, and parks.  There was a slow pace of life, but nothing implicating the place as a monster scaring away its citizens.

Two days from home, we passed the day away eating, drinking, and window shopping.  Having already spent my money in San Miguel de Allende, it was definitely a good decision.  

During the only evening in San Luis Potosi I found myself engaged in a religious conversation in one of the

 town plazas.  A young man sat down next to me on a park bench to discuss Jesus and all the other tangents that naturally accompany a discussion of him.  Slowly but directly, the rest of his group gathered around me as well to take part in the debate.  

All in Spanish, I proceeded to defend my opinions/theories/philosophies with regard to religion and Christianity.  It was as if God sent me a final oral Spanish test to take at the end of my trip.  It was a good opportunity to practice Spanish and also pass on my logical conclusions.  Imagine 8 people huddled around me, listening, objecting, and eventually shaking their heads in understanding. It should not be an illusory image, because the event actually occurred.   On the stoned plaza, beneath the stone masoned cathedrals, I felt like a philosopher of old teaching in the School of Athens.  It was an incredible hour and a half experience that will not be forgotten.

Knowing that only one town, one blog, and 6 hours lay between me and the U.S. kept me constantly thinking of home.  At the end of a long trip you spend then last few days willing yourself to get back.  I apologize to San Luis Potosi (and even the women) for not being wholly present in mind and heart. I do promise to return to San Luis Potosi (and the women).

San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

I returned to the movie set Mexico likes to call San Miguel de Allende. Last summer I lived for a week in this colonial town learning and practicing Spanish. Clean and vibrant, San Miguel is still the place that I am most certain I will return many times into my future. The actual filiming location for "Once Upon a Time in Mexico" really looks as it does on the big screen. Because of its appeal, the emphasis of this blog is on location and not so much on us.

We stayed at my hotel - the place I called home for a week in the summer passed. After a brief contemplation the owner of the hotel remembered who I was and quickly moved to replace her current reservation in order to accomodate us. The family bond that had existed from the previous year was still intact. It is a warming feeling to make true lasting friends in a foreign country.

Most of our days in San Miguel were spent filling the empty suitcases Tex brought with gifts for loved ones back home. The artesanias, jewelery, and pottery handcrafted in the town are the best in the area. Shopping is exhausting but we managed to survive the arduous task. We filled our bags with blue-rimmed glasses, beaded masks, decorative silver, and ornamented crosses. As all of us Garcias had recently moved to Austin, we found plenty of Mexican pieces to fill our new apartments.

San Miguel was the first of our final 3 quick stops. Leaving the town was not sad or difficult because I will be returning frequently.