After breakfast Jose Luis dropped me off at the Teatro Principal. I met the rest of the group… minus Jessie. She was ordered to stay in bed. We watched a rehearsal of the Guanajuato Symphony. Brian knows the accurate title of the symphony, but I forget. We sat for an hour listening to sections of Beethoven’s Symphony 7. The tempest is a Rotarian. That’s how we got the hook up.

During their break we got coffee with Raul and met Michael. Originally from western Massachusetts, Michael plays the cello and owns a bar in the center. He described his life… basically he has studied all over the world and ended up in GTO. He invited us to hear him play Bach at an Italian restaurant that night. We went. He invited us to his bar, Zilch, for some VIP treatment. We went, but only for a visit… we were muy tired.

Brian and I went back to my house for lunch. We both agreed that it was the best meal we’ve had thus far. There was an array of fresh food and drinks ready for us: Mexican rice, baked zucchini con queso, gorditas, pina coladas, red wine, guava juice and, of course, tequila. The placemats and napkins were hand-woven from Oaxaca- beautiful bold pink, blue and green. I translated for Brian which we were both getting better at… maybe it was the drinks. We discussed family, jobs and customs. Jose Luis made Brian take a photo of his soldiers. He called the line of empty glasses “an uniformed line of soldiers… you must take a photo.”

Lunch at host house

Later in the afternoon we met up with the girls and went on a private van tour of the city. Jessie had returned. She was feeling a little better but still couldn’t walk.

We visited the Valencia Church, made of gold. I made a friend briefly. She was about 4, I didn’t catch her name but we practiced counting together in both Spanish and English. Then we visited the San Ramon silver mine. Saint Ramon’s mouth was pierced and padlocked shut to prevent him from preaching about Christianity. Therefore, in the entrance of the mine there are keys hanging from the ceiling and a fresco of San Ramon on the wall. The legend is that if you hang a key and pray to Saint Ramon it will lock out negativity or even shut-up your neighbor.

San Ramon silver mine

That evening, after hearing Bach and visiting Zilch, Alejandro, a Rotarian, took us to see the best night views of the city.

Valencia church made of gold

A combination of the giggles, being tired and being completely inspired by my experience, put me in a weird mood. Alejandro started calling me the “loco diabla”- crazy devil. I would start laughing and then everyone else would start laughing because I was laughing but then it would escalate before dying down. We got an ab work out. Alejandro told me “ You have big eyes and laugh like a crazy… you are nice girl.”

Night view and laughing attack

We drove to Guanajuato City in a huge black van driven by Hector’s (the President of León Rotary) private driver. We each had a bench seat to ourselves and Jessie propped up her painful leg, which was now multiple colors.

It took about 45 minutes and we pulled into a hotel parking lot. A group of six men were huddled at the front door. Like all the times before we were greeted with stiff hand shakes and a few smiles. This time though… no English. The men were surprised that there were only three team members and one leader. Usually there is a total of five. We didn’t get into the drama leading up to the trip.

I felt uncomfortable at first. I’ve noticed that I have a bit of separation anxiety when we bounce from club to club. We spend so much time immersing ourselves, then we leave and start over. It’s exhausting.

The group was divided and we went off with our new hosts to lunch. Mine was José Luis. Oddly enough, the same name of the man from León. I figured this had to be a good sign.

Guanajuato City is in the state of Guanajuato. It’s pronounced: Juanawato. The city is situated in a valley with sprawl going up the mountain side. Guanajuato University is a well-known school and the most of the city is based around the University. It’s a UNESCO site so every building is held to strict code of upkeep and looks. Residents can go to city hall and get free paint to keep the city vibrant.

Feet on the ground at Host's house (the shoes are ugly, I know)

José Luis and I drove to our lunch spot where we met Brian who was staying with Jesus, the club’s president. No English. The whole time. I attempted to translate. It went well. I could tell that José Luis understood English but responded with Spanish. He nodded in assurance when I was unsure which words to use.

In front of the Basillica

After lunch I went to my new house. Beautiful, again. Mexican houses are rich in natural light and plants. The air is clean and no energy wasted. José Luis took me to the roof. They have to perfect view. The city to the east and a nature preserve to the west. I met his wife Lupita, the nickname for Guadalupe. She is a Family Psychologist and runs a practice out of their home. She articulated so much when she talked to me. I understood every word.

Later that day we aimlessly walked around the city center. It’s very colonial and reminds me of Cinque Terre in Italy, but bigger and more modern. It’s a vivacious and friendly city. We stopped and had coffee in a café. We still had a Rotary meeting to go to that night and the whole team had hit the five-day tired. There were modern dance photographs on the walls, near the ceiling. Random.

My annual dramatic pose

The main streets run underground. Considering that there are really no rules for driving in Mexico and a stop sign means “yield,” driving through tunnels is quite nerve-racking.

We returned to our separate houses to get ready for the meeting. When I got to the meeting Jessie wasn’t there. A doctor went to see her at her house. The bite got worse and she needed many shots and pain killers. That was one mean, very tiny, unknown insect.

Jessie and I had an amazing breakfast… again. We asked for chilaquiles. It’s a mixture of scrambled eggs and crunchy tortillas. Fresh tortilla chips, not like the kind in the states, eggs, milk, queso and chilies. All mixed together. The result is a gooey mess of goodness. It was served with beans. We also had fresh orange juice and coffee sweetened with natural brown sugar.

We went to Lagos, a small town outside of Leon for the afternoon. Eduardo showed us the churches told us stories and took us to a market where we bought candies and mangos. Then, we took a chance and went to the house of Carlos Terres. He is a famous modern artist. He is also a Rotarian. Luckily he had just gotten back from Los Angeles. We met him and his wife, walked around his sculpture garden, restaurant and house. Eduardo said that he rarely shows his house to anyone. We were honored. He gave us a signed copy of a book of his work. We will donate it to the Fort Wayne Museum of Art.

Carlos Terres' sculpture garden

Jessie got bit by something. Not an ant, not a scorpion. Something very small with wings and venom. Her leg is swollen, infected and very painful. If it’s not better by tomorrow, I think she needs a doctor.

Leon is almost the complete opposite of Encarnación. But the warmth and generosity is the same. Luck was on our side during out Leon visit, except for Jessie‘s leg.

Men sitting across from us at lunch

We toured the center of Leon. It’s very colonial and reminded me of Europe. Kids were running through the fountains, teenagers were walking in their school uniforms and vendors were selling unnecessary items that you must have. Our host for this city was Eduardo, 35, owns his own construction business. He builds houses ranging from USD 500,000 to USD 1 million. We toured some of his houses and they are beautiful. His philosophy is minimalism, environmentally smart construction and designs that will still seem modern in 20 years.

Walking the center

Jessie and I stayed with his mom, Arminda. Her house is gorgeous. She showed us little plastic baggies full of jewelry, and when she gave me something to try on I realized it was Bulgari. All of it. Piles of Bulgari jewelry as if it was candy. She has two maids. They make about USD 120 a week. They work everyday except Sunday. They live in the house until Saturday night when they can go home and be back by Monday morning. She washed our clothes, folded our underwear and wrapped my computer cords in a perfect figure-eight.

Eduardo's house

We didn’t do a formal presentation at the Rotary club. The team split up to sit at separate tables and Brian had the honor of sitting at the head table. A man approached us and introduced himself, Jose Luis, he said something in Spanish and spoke English. He took my arm and said, “You will sit with me, I will take care of you.”

I sat at a table in between my new friend Jose Luis and Joaquine, one of the oldest members of the club. They asked my opinion on Centro Fox. The day before we visited Centro Fox about 30 minutes outside Leon. We were lucky to meet ex-president Fox at the center. I had no idea who he was till well after I shook his hand. It’s a non-profit center for education founded by former president Vincente Fox. We toured the center with an English speaking guide, Karla. She is the director of funding and is very passionate about the center. They try to make learning resources accessible to all and especially children. In my opinion though, the center is basically in the middle of no where so in order for anyone to get there they must have a car or be bussed by their school. I asked Karla if there are plans for more transportation services and she said “hopefully.”

Centro Fox is a controversial place. Vincente Fox was a semi-popular president but just like anywhere else people didn’t agree with the way he handled some issues, including poverty. The feeling I got from the other Rotarians was sour.

At the meeting, Joaquin and I “bonded.” We drank tequilla together, arm in arm, and talked about dancing. Jose Luis was translating for me and asking about my life in the states. He made me interview him to “practice” my “journalism studies.” When it was my turn to speak, my table chanted my name and the newspaper photographers started taking my picture. I felt a little famous.

After the meeting Jose Luis took my arm and introduced me to the other members. When I started to say, adios, nice to meet and my thank yous he stopped me and said “My wife died, 7 months ago. You remind me of the daughter we never had.” I about lost it. I wish him all the best.

Within three hours of arriving, we went to their Rotary Club and had a traditional Mexican meal. We met  the men of the Rotary, talking, laughing and basically getting to know each other. We were smiling and saying “Gracias” and “Muchas gustas,” a bunch. We had tacos. Small soft tortillas with onions, cilantro, cactus and beef or chorizo. Yes, I ate a little meat. When in Mexico, do as the Mexicans. We had grilled onions and chilies. Brian made fast friends with the men when he attempted to eat the Serrano pepper. We were introduced to Tequilla with fresca. They drink tequilla like we drink vodka or rum. Except, they don’t take shots. That’s considered rude.

Lunch at the Rotary Club

At the meal we met our translator, Yakuri. I’m not sure how to spell her name. She said it was Japanese for “making connections.” She’s 24 and works for Bosch. She is a customer service representative and our life-saver. She spoke English very well and translated everything.

We started eating at 3 p.m. and were finished around 5:30 p.m., and tiredness ensued. Quickly. It was time for a siesta. We drove back to the ranch and rested.

The milk house

At 8:30 p.m. we were picked-up by Romanijo (not sure) and his van full of kids. But when the time came to go, they were very respectful. We took a night tour of the city. The main church was lit up beautifully, with blue florescent light outlining the crosses that perched on the highest towers of the church. There were people out everywhere: Sitting down and observing, walking, driving with windows down and music blasting, kids huddled in the back of a pick-up, families playing in the square, and food vendors on every corner. We asked, and apparently a huge pass time activity is literally driving through the streets. Just cruising. Not really a place to go or a thing to do… just chillin’ in the car and navigating the streets.

The next day we were “scheduled” to have breakfast between 8 a.m. and 9 a.m., well it was closer to 9 a.m., and we were reminded of the lax environment. This is totally my style.

Fernando, our host, went out for fresh carrot juice at 8:45 a.m. and we ate soon after he returned. But it didn’t matter. We weren’t rushed. We had a full breakfast of the best mango I’ve ever had, yogurt, organic coffee, pastries, homemade quisidillias, pinto beans, panella cheese and carrot juice. Full. So full. But not a heavy full. A completely satisfying full. Oh, the meat eaters had ham and eggs.

Our first stop of the day was an outdoor, mausoleum style, cemetery. Kinda of hard to explain, refer to photos. We had the city’s historian tells us all about its history. Yakuri was there so we actually learned as much as we could. Then we went to the one of only two mummy museums in Mexico. All of the mummy’s were from the cemetery. Including a 5-month fetus. Enough said. Next we went to a stained glass factory. We saw huge pieces that take five months with 18 workers working everyday. We also saw conventional pieces that would go into family houses.

The Cemetary (Yukari is in the center, Jen with scarf, Brian looking at camera)

Then, we met the artist Francisco Hernandez. Whoa. He took us to the city’s auditorium where he is doing a series of copulas. The ceiling is divided into domes separated by molding. His theme is “The Rise of Feminine Power.” Which at first, doesn’t seem very progressive. I mean, the feminist revolution has been going on forever in different manifestations, someone supporting women’s rights is not so far-fetched. BUT. He has a different take. Picture the Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo’s God creating Adam, arms reaching towards each other, fingers stretching to touch, floating in the clouds, now switch that to a Woman God creating Eve. That’s the first mural. Then it flows into the next dome which incorporates a fetus against a red background with weapons on the opposite side of the fetus. The meaning is pretty much “in your face.” Francisco said it was about how the “machismo” society breeds violence and blood because that is the “highest form of power.” The blood symbolizes the violence and also the “birth and life through femininity.” The next copula, was the “power of the penis.” Bold colors and folic images demonstrating the “destruction of the power of the penis.”

Artist Francisco Hernandez - Feminist Take Over

So, we’re listening to Francisco, he speaks English with a decent accent and he kept saying  “the penities are showing….” “these penities…” and I thought he was saying “paintings.” So I repeated clearly, “paintings?” He looked at me, walked a little closer, smiled and said, very clearly “penis.” I felt like a little girl when I heard the word “pianist.” I giggled and said, “Oh! I get it.”

Artist Francisco Hernandez

We discussed how Francisco would never get the OK to do his work in the United States, especially in a city building. I’m positive that there would be numerous protests and the Catholic Church would be furious, among other religions. I didn’t love it and I didn’t not like it. I certainly appreciated it and was happy and surprised at the progressiveness of Mexico and the small town of Encarnación. I’m not a huge fan of “in your face” symbolism. His work doesn’t allow you to think of anything else but the what he wants. The actual technique and ingenuity of how he ties everything together was beautiful.

After, we went back to the house and changed in to our “presenting attire.” I was so happy that we decided on seersucker suits. It’s hot here. There is no way I’d want to where a dark blue traditional blazer. Plus, we’re artists, we can get away with it.

At the formal Rotary meeting we were introduced and presented. We exchanged gifts and they asked us questions about our communities. We discussed the importance of family and how that is changing in our society. I’m glad we can have in-depth discussions and not skimming the top of “Hi, my name is…”

Now, we are in León. I kind of made the decision not to study the itinerary. I want to be surprised. And as we sit waiting on our next families…. a red Hummer pulled up. I think this is our ride!

In my can’t stop mode until I’m on that plane.

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I was leading a lodging trip cross-country east to west. Inherently lodging trips cater to more high-maintenance passengers, who have a good amount of money. If they can afford to stay in hotels for three weeks than they can afford to do any activity I offer. Which means that I make bank because of  commission and tips.

We started in Secaucus, NJ and drove near York, PA. I wanted to take my new group to “the Shoe,” a house in the shape of a shoe. Simple. We’d have lunch, hang around, get acquainted and then head to or sleeping spot in D.C.. In reality, it did not go that smoothly.

As we were leaving I noticed that the horse-shoe driveway was blocked on one-side. At first I figured it would be easy to maneuver my 22’ rig in one side out the other. Wrong. The “other” was not there. There was a sheer 3’ drop just big enough for a tire to get stuck. Great. Well, a three-point turn with the trailer would work, and maybe go in the grass a little. Nope. The lady managing the Shoe  did not like that idea.

“This yard has very important piping. You’re too heavy. You’ll bust the pipes.”
“It’s only a little, like one tire, I’m sure it’ll be OK. Aren’t the pipes buried deep?”
“No, absolutely not. You’ll have to think of another way.”
“There is no other way. This is it… I have to go into the yard or I have to run into your car.”
“Well that just won’t do.”

At this point I caved and decided I’d have to detach the trailer, move the van so it’s facing the correct direction and then manually move the trailer to attach it to the van. OK, there’s the plan. Now, I had to get 13 lodging passengers motivated to “help” me move the trailer.

“Hey guys, enjoy your lunch? Well, here’s the plan. I need you to help me move the trailer so we can get out of here and head to D.C.!”
“Um, Morgan, how do we move the trailer?” said in a mixture of English, Australian and Scottish accents.
“Oh it’s easy, I just can’t do it by myself. OK, so, on the count of three lift and rotate…. Lift with your legs! I don’t want to have to make a trip to the ER.”
“But Morgan, what do we hold on too?….Ew, this is dirty.”
“Aw, it’s all good…you’re in America! It’s all an adventure. OK ready?”

One-two-three… it worked. The trailer was rotated and aligned to hook-up with the van. I felt bad for making my passengers participate so I told them to load-up and I’d take care of the rest.

At closer detection I noticed that the hitch was too high and the jack wasn’t able to line up, it had to be raised… by hand. So I got the two guys who didn’t care about getting dirty to lift up the trailer tongue and I pulled it to the latch. At the exact moment when the guys let go of the trailer and before I slid the key to secure the jack arm, the jack gave way and SPLAT. The trailer fell on my foot as I fell to the ground. I pulled my leg out from underneath the trailer tongue, gave a deep scream and stood up. My passengers ran out of the van.

“Morgan? What has happened?”
“Oh, it’s fine. Alright let’s get this thing hooked-up and get out of here.”
“Wait, I’ll check to see if your foot is broken,” said the Australian who was studying to be a doctor. He poked and examined. “Does this hurt? How bout this? I don’t think it’s broken.”

It was my right foot. My driving foot. I couldn’t feel any pain or really anything at all. There was obvious bruising, swelling and a little bleeding but nothing goulash. We got trekkin’.

About 45 minutes later I called my manager and my dad at a rest stop. I jumped out of the van and was reminded of my right foot. Excruciating pain shot through my ankle and shin. I couldn’t walk on a full foot.

My manager thought I had severed off my foot at the ankle and was ready to pull me off the trip, get an ambulance and brace for a full amputation. I calmed her down. She told me to get to a hospital and call her immediately with any updates. I drove three hours, checked-in my group at the Hostel, and then went to the ER.

The whole event finally sank in when I was sitting on the bed, waiting for the attendee. My whole future went through my head and how this would mess-up everything: I’d be pulled off the trip, make no money, have to quit my job, never dance again, never get into grad school, be miserable because I busted my foot at the age of 24, never fully regain mobility, be inactive and unable to hike and climb… I think I made it all the way to retirement at an old miserable age. Then I got x-rays…

“So it looks like the diagnosis is severe contusion of the right ankle. Nothing is broken,” said the doctor.
“Wait. What? I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you. A fully loaded 8’ trailer fell on my foot and it‘s not broken? It has to be broken. I don’t understand. Really? Are you sure? Can you check again? Are you a Radiologist?”
“I know Ms. it seems odd but nothing is broken. I assure you. And I’ll even have my colleagues check the x-rays tomorrow morning. We’ll let you know if there are any problems.”

I called my dad, with relief he said, “You’re one lucky kid.”

Well, let me first say that I have not been to every National Park, State Park, Recreational Area, National Monument- or how about this- I have not been to every piece of land that is controlled, sponsored or funded by the State or Federal Government in the country. Plus, there’s no way for me to have a favorite.

But, as of this writing, my answer is Arches National Park in Moab, UT.

Then the common response is: “What about the Grand Canyon?!”

And. Here is my rebuttal…

First, the Grand Canyon is always packed. The amount of visitors per year is around 4.7 million, as of the last time I asked a ranger. Secondly, in my mind I understand how it was formed. To me, it actually makes sense: billions of years of the Colorado River, cutting and the land uplifting. I get it. But, at the same time it is basically impossible to truly wrap my mind around how HUGE the canyon is. At the widest point it’s 18 miles, 277 miles long and about one-ish mile deep. All of the viewpoints, hikes, and helicopter rides would not be able to give me a true understanding of the vastness of the canyon.

Every time I see it I have a self-proclaimed “Matrix Moment”- when the view is so surreal that I have to think twice, or if I reach my finger out and the scene doesn’t melt away then… it’s a Matrix Moment.

If anything, and I mean anything: natural, man-made, crazy people in the street… gives me a “Matrix Moment” it makes my list.

Arches National Park is paradise. It boggles my mind. Water, wind and time made the arches, pinnacles, spires, balanced rocks (depending on what you’re looking at) appear and stay- fighting gravity. And I guess that’s it… the arches fight gravity and at the same time look humble. Ok, so maybe rock can’t look “humble” but that’s what word comes to mind. They stand there, solid, strong, smooth and delicate… just chillin’ waiting for you to stop by and gaze at it for a time. And if you happen to gaze at it for a billion years or so you might see it succumb to gravity.  And maybe the Navajo and Entrada Sandstone will be embarrassed that you saw it give in and blush while it crumbles. But, the arch isn’t banking on that. It wants you to be awed by it’s modest ability to be absolutely stunning.

So, that’s my answer… for now.

T-dog and I met Steve’s parents, sister, brother-in-law, nieces, nephews and dog. We ate dinner and then chatted on the dock. I took a shower and by 8 o’clock I was passed out in a big comfy bed, in my own room, with no noise and no boys.

Steve and I were like zombies. We brought our sleeping bags inside, curled up on their living room floor, and went to sleep. Approximately 20 minutes later I was awake playing Kings with T-dog and the apartment boys. They made fun of my lack of self-control even though I was, “Sooo tired, and just want to go to bed,” one of the boys mocked me.

That day we all had a little nap until noon-ish. We had lunch at a Fat Sandwich place and of course I told them that Rutgers is actually the birthplace of Fat Sandwiches. The campus was empty- it was the middle of the summer. T-dog’s friend gave us a penny-tour and then I wanted to sleep again, but of course there would be none of that.

We got back to the apartment and Steve wanted to perfect our Log Books. The Log is what we document our on-duty and off-duty drive time for our job. It’s a DOT mandate. Being a former lawyer Steve made sure we “CYOA.” It took about four hours. Again, three tour leaders is equal to too many cooks in the kitchen. And this time, I backed down and let the boys duke it out.

That night was déjà vu. A typical college night. Where you decide to go out at 10 p.m. You get ready, figure out what everyone else is doing and wait till everyone else is ready. You get to the bar around 12- 12:30 a.m. and you’re there an hour before last call. Meanwhile, you watch tipsy girls and guys make moves and maybe, if you’re lucky, have a dance-off with a random person and kick their butt with your incredible dance moves and in the end the crowd that has circled applauds. It happened, I got moves and I totally won.