March 1
I have tripped my way through Mexico. Cobblestone streets, unexpected holes, large rocks, banana peels, dog dukey, sleeping dog bodies, uneven pavement and missing chunks of sidewalk have provided me with walking hazards like none other. Since I am by nature a stumbler and spacey pedestrian, always staring off into the distance rather than at the road below, the walkways of Latin America have proven to be quite a challenge. Every ten feet or so, I feel my feet twist, give way and a small squeak, “whoop!” emit from my throat. Thunk-twist-scrape-trip-fall-fly. Yesterday I walked right through a multitude of small ceramic animals displayed for sale by a street kid on the red tile sidewalk in el centro of San Cristobal. Zoom-clackety-tack-roll-roll-thunk! Three of them went flying and clattering down the walkway, making what I felt to be an unreasonable amount of noise for such small creatures. Ah, Lord. I collected the pieces, red faced and giggling and paid the now extremely inflated price to the street kid. As I was gesticulating and explaining to the boy and his mother how I would glue them when I returned to the car, a fat and recently decapitated turtle flew out of my hand and into the air. I grabbed at it, bounced it around a couple times in my attempt to secure it and finally smothered the thing in the palm of hand, almost squashing its ceramic innards with the pressure. The Indians thought this entire episode to be about the funniest thing they had seen all day and the whole row of them began to guffaw at the white girl with butter on her hands and four left feet. I sat on the ground and we all laughed and I apologized and they patted my arm and grinned, happy for the entertainment and high profit. Never miss the chance to laugh at oneself – how many opportunities does one get in life to bring an entire sidewalk of Mayan Indians to a full belly laugh? Today is our last day of Mexico. Tomorrow - border crossing, Guatemala, mountains, Quetzal, something-something-tenango. I pray the vehicle will make it through the mountain roads in this next chapter. We finally took the Dolphin to a mechanic to have the catalytic converter removed, in order to be able to use leaded gas if necessary in Guatemala. The dolphin looks like a beat-up manatee and now has the added benefit of sounding like a hot rod from the 70’s. Can’t miss us – we’re the ones staring out from the dirty, pear-shaped, rolling egg, trailing chairs, barbeques, a skull, and making a loud rrrrrooomm pop, reh, reh, pow, pow, pow, pop, vroooommmmm noise as we amble down the road at 30 miles an hour. The mechanics loved us – I opened the door to six grease-covered, grinning guys waiting excitedly for a chance to tour the strange housemobile. Each mechanic we have asked, whether they be over-priced American crooks or Mexican auto magicians, have told us with certainty that the dolphin will make it. They laugh and laugh when we tell them we are going all the way to Brazil, but they always tell us the car is good, the engine is sound – it will make it with no problem. Go slowly, watch the engine, go slowly, keep the oil full. Yes, it will make it. Upon arrival to the mainland of Mexico, we stopped at the first beach we saw. There, Yoshi found what we believed to be a pelican skull. Jonas Sr stuck it on the back of the truck and we moved on. After later examination, however, we all agreed that the skull was far too large to be from a pelican- it was shaped more like a human skull than a bird’s. This fact and the sharp, significant teeth protruding from the long beak-like piece made us realize that we had found, or had been gifted with, a dolphin skull. The skull has charmed gas station attendants and children all the way down the coastline. We finally decided it was necessary for the dolphin to have a more sacred place inside, and now it hangs its macabre, snaggle-toothed grin over the back seat. The dolphin spirit - the intelligent, curious, friendly nomad - appeared to guide us from the beginning. We also met the doppelganger of Jonathon, the guy who sold us this mobile, in a natural pool in Chiapas. We thought at first we were hallucinating, but finally decided it was just a hologram or ghostly mirage of the fellow, brought to give us luck. One third of the trip, almost halfway down the map, and the 1982 Toyota Dolphin Motorhome has kept on plugging. I now have more faith in this car than I do most people. Yes, she will make it. Shake, rattle and roll. All the way to Brazil.
