Puebla

We are on our way home. After a stunning if not stressful drive over the mountains from Puebla, we miraculously found the Alamo Rental Car lot (after being stopped only once by an officer who falsely claimed I ran a red light and threatened to take my license), and had a smooth transition to our hotel by the airport. Over a late dinner of hot chocolate and salad last night, Jasper said earnestly, “This is like staying at the Ritz.” Our last three days in Mexico have served as an appropriate finale to a most remarkable summer.

We left Oaxaca on Saturday after saying goodbye to this delightful city and promising to return. It was a long drive through cactus forests and over mountains thick with pine, and we arrived in Puebla only at sunset. We were there to visit the family of Joel, the husband of my dear friend Denia. Joel left Puebla when we was 14, and has not returned in these 16 years. Two of his brothers have since come to the US and returned, but we are the first friends to visit. We arrived under strict order to spend at least three days and let his family take care of us.

After getting lost and several confused phone conversations, Joel’s oldest brother, Candido, found us at a Pemex station in downtown Puebla. He would escort us to his taqueria for dinner and this to his house to stay. Joel’s family (all eight brothers and sisters, his parents, and his 27 nieces and nephews) live in Tlaxcala, a suburb of Puebla, which would be difficult to find on our own. So we followed Candido, along with his brother, Carlos, and his son in law, Israel, in their VW Jetta back towards the highway. After some difficulty finding the right road out of town, Candido’s car stopped dead on the highway in the middle of a bridge. Peter jumped out and helped the brother and son-in-law push for the next 30 minutes, in heavy traffic, over the bridge, past the exit, on to the main artery to Mexico City and to the closest gas station. Our adventure in Puebla had begun.

We spent the next two days being completely pampered by Joel’s large family. We ate at Candido’s taqueria, of which he is extensively proud, and his brother’s taqueria, and his parents’ taqueria. They are all called Tacos de Guero (which means White Guy’s Tacos, more or less), because the family has lighter skin and has long been referred to as “gueros” in their neighborhood. The entire family participates in the business, an operation which demands their attention from 8 o’clock in the morning when they go to the market to purchase meat, vegetables, spices, sodas, until 1 am when they close up the shop. We spent many hours hanging out and watching everyone help out, from the ten year old grandchild to the 60 year old grandfather. Jasper was particularly impressed. Josie impressed us all by devouring a tongue taco. We ate so many tacos in those two days that Jasper, who never talks in his sleep, blurted out in the middle of the night, “Tacos.” We all dreamed of tacos.

In addition to eating a lot of tacos, we spent a lot of time hanging out. Candido has built a large and growing modest cinderblock house for his family, which currently houses him and his wife, three of their children, two son-in-laws, two brothers and their wives and children, and his parents. They gave us an entire room with two double beds for our convenience and comfort. It was amazing for me to watch Jasper and Josie immediately relax and make themselves at home. Candido’s thirteen year old daughter, Yessenia, was fast friends with Josie. Jasper immediately fell into playing with Yovani, who is ten years old and whose father spent the first seven years of his life in the States. The kids were happy to watch one of the three TVs that were constantly on, or play with the many toys in the house. They could have spent three happy days in the confines of those cinderblock walls.

But we also saw many of the sights of Puebla and vicinity, of which there are many. Everywhere we went we traveled with an entourage of siblings, nieces and nephews. We piled six people into a car, abandoning seat bets for laps. Candido said Joel told him to take us as close as possible to the volcano, Popo, which has been particularly active recently. After the assurance that it was 40 minutes away, we drove for an hour and a half across the valley and then up and up the flanks of the volcano, finally arriving at a small town that is known most for the delicious trout that are farmed there in the fast, cold waters of the snowmelt from the volcano. We toured the fishery and rode horses and felt humbled by the volcano. We also went to see the cathedral in Puebla, the center of Tlaxcala, and the many churches and ruins of Cholula. I was tickled to see Candido yawning in the car beside me yesterday afternoon. Apparently taking care of a bunch of gueros is more tiring than running a restaurant.

Peter took off on Sunday for his final week of field work up in Chihuahua. On Tuesday we finally bid our goodbyes, after a meal of homemade mole on their roof top, amid many tears of appreciation for the time together, and more promises of return, four hours later than planned, and started our journey to Mexico City and home. We pulled into our hotel late, hungry (for something other than tacos) and exhausted, so glad to have spent time in Puebla, and so happy to be heading home.