I woke up today at 11:00am, deeply hungover from the past couple of days. Not a hangover from alcohol like all you smart-asses assume when hearing one of my stories, but emotionally. Travel, even in the best of times is still exhausting, everyday challenges in a new place fatigues you and when you face bigger problems it is as if your whole body tightens and restricts and stress levels surge. As I took a deep breath this morning and looked out the high-rise hotel windows into a misty Monterrey, Mexico, I started to relax.
The entire mess started with an issue over the reservation. We were headed to Real de Catorce, a magical old mining town that seems to whisper of lore and ghosts from worlds away. I booked the reservations after a long search and difficult negotiating for a final total of 3 nights. I will spare you the tedious details of the back and forth, the repeatedly canceled reservations and instead pickup at the part where we are now whittled down to one night in this incredibly difficult to reach, out of the way place. As if the Gods didn't want us to go, we moved into a maps free zone where Siri tried to direct us anywhere but Real. My ever clever husband managed to find the way without modern technology and we patted ourselves on the back. Driving into the town is an adventure from the get go with a long road made of stone that feels like bad washboard, followed by a tunnel through the mountain being the only way in or out. Dumped out at the base of the next mountain, we had to meander stone streets worn slick from many years, with inclines difficult to walk and even more difficult to drive in our poor little VW Jetta. Those of you following this travel saga, will anticipate the fear I have for steep streets and our little car, which still has the tainted smell of burnt clutch. It will be no surprise that Siri couldn't assist while IN the town if she couldn't help get there, but we tried anyway hoping she'd help us find our hotel. No, instead in a town the size of a dime, we managed to get lost. By the time we found the hotel, if you can call it that, I was tasting annoyance in my mouth. Reception was located in a dark, dirty corner of what might have been a restaurant once, but it was at the door to our 2 room suite that things started to go downhill.
Ever feel like a place is out to get you? Like the movie Barten Fink, trapped in a devolving nightmare, we found our trip to Real de Catorce to be the kind of horror that you feel is reserved for some special deeply flawed characters, so surely it was a case of mistaken identity, right?
The door swung open, hardly latched to begin with before using the key, to stumble into a dark room. Before we could ask about lights, safety or anything else, the master of keys had disappeared. The dark dust of the reservation corner was literally the one and only time we saw him and I wonder if he even exists. We followed the light of the adjoining room up dangerously uneven steps and into the 2nd unremarkable, dilapidated, practically empty room. As the outside peeked at us through massive cracks and shoddy building, I quickly reached for the next door I saw, begging for something better on the other side. We all seemed to have the same thought because we collided as we fought to get out, possibly threatening to knock the door down as it clung to its last life as part of the structure. This private balcony we'd just discovered teetered over a vast crevasse into the valley below. We left our bags flung aside and tried to find a non-broken chair on this balcony to sit in and chug wine, a way of self-medicating ourselves out of the current reality.
As always, a great glass of wine transcends even shit hotel rooms and car damage so we reassessed our room, ignored that there were zero lights in the dark, dungeon 1st room, assisted our daughter after a mighty clash with those ridiculous stairs and went out to get dinner. Perhaps it was the wine-googles, but we all perked up and tried to see the town for the charm and romance we had been sold. *our daughter did not have wine-googles, in case any of you started to feel concerned. The tacky holiday decorations on the micro plaza clashed harshly with the elegance and refinement of the previous town, San Miguel's, but instead of dwelling on that, we focused on the menagerie of rock patterns that swirled in the street, then up into the walls and tumbled over into a next pattern on a new building, like a strange hallucinogenic trip making everything become one. *no one was on any drugs, in case anyone was concerned or has been to Real de Catorce where most of the T-shirts sold there are some joke about Peyote. We found a charming restaurant and took a seat near a window, a concession for being inside during covid times. We were feeling optimistic, but now thinking back, I think maybe it was the elevation and sharp winter air.
The waiter seemed devoid of thought and immediately screwed up our order. But it didn't matter, the correct parts tasted like bad cafeteria food and no, wait, I'm gonna stop you there, I always order the specialty of the area and the place, this was simply terrible food. Still hungry, we wandered back to the "hotel" through what we assumed were charming streets, if not in a foul mood. The temperature was currently that of hell freezing over and my fear of driving without Siri's help through the deserted out-lands of Mexico was all that kept me in the teeth-chattering bed. By early morning, I'd packed everyone up and sat bouncing my leg like a crackhead as I waited for my family to wake up. Our daughter opened her eyes and saw me, then asked sarcastically "sooooo...who's up for the horses?" referring to the option to ride into the hills that in a wine haze had seemed like a possibility. The three of us laughed and laughed... then threw our bags in the car and screeched out of there.
We screeched down the street trying to get away from Hotel California, then screeched down one horrifically steep, ever narrowing, stone road careening toward a lineup of precariously parked jeeps. Then we screeched down a road that stopped being a road and forced us to try to backtrack which resulted in my eyes closed, gripping the sides of the car and feeling the worst claustrophobia one can imagine while being in a car trapped in a town you want nothing more to do with. Jesse, being the clever husband yet again, was reversing and dodging obstacles and transforming into our very own 007 until the only option was to try to scale an impossible hill, our tires burning with the lack of grip and our new clutch starting to release a familiar stench. The car spun this way and that and I'm pretty sure all 3 of us had a heart attack right then and there. By the time we got to the tunnel to exit the nightmare, we were using a long list of expletives.
We drove faster than we should have back down the washboard of stone rocks to the highway happy about our daring escape. Miraculously Siri rejoined us as we emerged from the area, evidently when she thought is was safe. 4+ hours later we entered the smog of Monterrey. The striking mountains shot up from the giant city and reminded me of the city of Medellin, Colombia, only that there is no comparison to the glory and beauty of Colombia, one of my favorite places on earth. Anyway, it gave me a twinge of hope and the modern structures were teasing at a world yet to be explored.
The police signaled us to park off to the side of the road. It was not the first time we'd been stopped because we did not have a front license plate. FYI, get a front license plate if you are driving in Mexico!!! Usually this is simply a friendly chat as to us being from the USA and where we were going ... OK there was that weird stop early on where they asked Jess to get out of the car and searched the trunk and then had him get on the ground at the back of the car... that did give me a panic attack, but ended up fine. Anyway, in light of previous experiences, this stop I assumed would be fine, after all we had cleared the bad luck of Real, hadn't we???
NO, the answer is no. As Jesse, fluent in Spanish debated politely with the police about how it is legal to have only rear license plates and that the non-factory tint on the windows should not result in fines, it became increasingly clear that the two police at our window were very serious about not letting us go. A hand resting on the large sidearms in their belts and sneaking looks at my daughter and I secured the intimidation. This was not going to end well unless we played along. Jesse stalled on the idea that we needed to 'go to pay the $800+USD fine' and suggested that perhaps there was another way to pay, since it was the weekend and all. The cops agree, being so helpful and all, and asked how much Jesse had on him. Luckily it was only the equivalent of $75USD and the transaction, in full movie fashion of cash hidden under papers to pass back and forth concluded our stop... and for some reason we had to thank the police A LOT for this experience. We decided it was a win, while weird and seriously scary, and headed to what we hoped would be a great hotel, a reprieve, and an oasis.
For no reason, all of downtown has been closed off. Police (now the image that causes us massive fear) are on every street keeping us from our sanctuary. A bunch of ridiculous other details of possible lost reservations (again!!!!) and an ordeal to get to the hotel, we got there. I check us in while Jesse goes to park the car and the end seems in sight. The hotel is gorgeous and luxurious and at the corner of an immense outdoor shopping area.
The check-in took a long time, and still Jesse wasn't back. I stood at the doorway waiting for him and still no sign of him. I left our daughter in the lobby and walked to where I saw him last, hoping he'd had a hard time parking and was now circling... he was not. As I started to fear the worst, glimpse around and decide there could be thugs or more corrupt police at any corner, I worried that he'd been held up. Of course you all remember that part of the fun on this trip has been that Jess lost his phone and is now trying to navigate a new city without assistance, or he was being robbed without a way to call for help...I would say I have a vivid imagination, but really this seemed so real I started to sweat. The wonderful staff of the hotel joined me across the square, to stand on the street, equally worried that my husband was missing. Armed with walkie-talkies, they set out looking for my description of him and our car... a VW Jetta without a front license plate. Then suddenly, I saw his outline a couple blocks away moving toward me down the street, I'd know that walk anywhere. His confidant stride and strong body moves in a way that instantly makes me feel safe and seeing it in my current alarmed state sent deep shivers through every bone in my body. We climbed into big fluffy beds in a warm, safe room and let relief wash over us.
And so, I take you back to this morning where I awoke, hungover. Deeply exhausted from the last couple days. Breathing in relaxation and needing to have a giant glass of wine.
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