I was driving a 4x4, 1976 Van Ford. My group had just climbed one of the largest 'cerros' in a remote part of the Sierra Norte of Puebla, and I was driving the support vehicle. When I got to the top, I saw a few local men chatting outside what appeared to be some kind of a store. They all had an expression of fun in their eyes, laughing among themselves every time they even looked at us. I knew what this kind of look ment, because it happens every time and everywhere in Mexico. To their eyes, we were a group of crazy nothing-else-to-do masochists who liked to suffer in the hills, fall down ostentatiously in the downhills, waste time and get dirty on mountain bikes for no good reason at all.
Every time someone from a small town sees us, has always the amazed, the "you-are-crazy" or the "you-are-stupid" kind of comment. I am still trying to understand why. Why is it so difficult for them to see our reasons to come to their places, take pictures like mads and just relax, in our very particular ways? One of my answers is that they simply don't belong to our culture. They have no reason to understand why we do things and how we do them. To feel what they probably feel towards us, I try to imagine I am one of them. I try to imagine I live with them and I try to think what I think they are supposed to think. I repeat that I only try, because so far I haven't been able to do much more... I realized that, even tough we live in the same country, we are thousands of miles apart. The difference between us is that, at least historically, we have never shown respect to them, and they have never treated us rudely.
A few moments later, one of them approached the van and asked me where we came from. He was carrying a wooden 'huacal' loaded with avocados that hanged with an ixtle 'mecate' from his head, a pepsi bottle filled with 'pulque' in one hand and a machete in the other one. He was really a tiny man, I guess no more than 1.40m. tall. The smile on his face was so clear and his eyes showed so much warmth I could tell he wasn't like the others. This man was a true indigena.
- We come from The City of Mexico" I said.
- Aaah........ and what you do?
- We just like to travel on our bikes and get to know different places, like this" I told him, ...you have no idea of how much we like this place of yours. In the big cities, we live in such a rush that we must give time to ourselves doing things like this, or go nuts.
- Aaah........ He stood there, under his straw hat, as if meditating what I had just told him. Then, looking at the swarm of bikes lying in the middle of the road, he wanted to know what was our destiny.
- Zacapoaxtla, and then Cuetzalan.
- I'm going to Ometepec. Can you take me in the car, from here, 2 hours.
This man's attitude somewhat surprised me. He simply had nothing to say about us, non of the comments I'm so used to. Thinking about it, he just accepted us, no judgment, no "you are crazy and I know the true", no "right or wrong". He just took us as we were.
He got into the Van. He put his huacal in the back part of the van and kept his pulque with him. He sat on the co-pilot's seat, with his hat on and his feet hanging.
- My name is Don Miguel Vázquez Lucas, at your service.
- Mine is Lizette Rolland, a pleasure to meet you. Where are you coming from?
- I come from that hill" he said, pointing at a very steep hill to our left, "that I go there every day 'a patita' to pick up wood and look after my corn field... I go there everyday, doesn't matter the day, and I work all day eating my tortillas with avocado and drinking my pulque. I need no more than my tacos and pulque.
- For a change, would you like to try this granola bar (ironic, isn't it)? This is what we eat when we travel on our bikes. It is suppossed do be special for exercise... do you know what kind of trees are these?
He started telling me what kind of fruit, vegetable or use there was for every single bush we could see... huge nut trees, pears, peaches, apples, tejocotes, chayotes, squash, chiles and, of course, corn; medicine teas and herbs for all kinds of aches. Suddenly, a big question popped into my mind. I wanted to know if he or someone he knew grew marihuana. I was almost certain that in such a remote place there would be fields. I didn't know if I should ask him or not, maybe he would feel indignated or uncomfortable. After a while of struggle with my thoughts, I finally asked him, as subtly as I could:
- Don Miguel, and do you grow any green herb? (how subtle!)
- Ah, no, señorita... here we only grow our corn and fruits. We don't like to grow that here.
- So no one from your family grows it... do you know anybody who does?
- No. Not from where I live. Where I come from, we are honest, we like to work hard and we don't worry about those things. We are honest and we work hard, we walk all over the sierra every day looking after our plants and animals. The chayotes are about to be ready. I have a field of great ones... you and your friends are invited to have some chayotes in your house in November.
When he said "in your house", he meant in his house. In Mexico, this is a very usual way of talking about someones' house, but with Don Miguel I really felt he meant it; as if giving him a lift on a dirt road for 2 hours opened his hart for us forever. I have only felt like this with indigenas. When anyone else says it, it is just an act of politeness.
- I am very grateful for your invitation. I'll do my best to come back in time for the chayote dinner with one or two of my friends. Thank you. How can I find your house?
- When you come, go to the Plaza of Ometepec and tell them to call me on the loudspeacker. Tell them to call Don Miguel Vazquez Lucas. I'll be in my house and I'll come for you.
We were half our way by now. The sight was simply beautiful, the ecosystems changed from one face of the canyon to the other, from the deepest part of the canyon to the top of the steep and faraway hills around. Along the road, there were people in white cotton clothes doing all kinds of things: walking with donkeys loaded with wood, working their fields or simply looking at the clouds and resting for a while. All the cyclists were far ahead of us, they were suppossed to wait for me in Ometepec to have a snack and a rest.
Contact the author in Mexico City via email: advent@ienlaces.com.mx
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