The Trip

“This is going to be the trip of our lives,” I told Mike as we sat at Gate
22C in the Houston International airport, waiting for our flight to Morelia,
Mexico, to board.
Without looking up from his magazine he replied, “ Yeah, it’ll be fun. I’m
looking forward to it.” This was not a sufficient answer.
“No no no, Mike. I don’t think that you quite understand. This trip will be
a trip like no other.”
“ Dude, I feel you.”  He still didn’t look up from his magazine.
“Michael McNeil – Martinez,” I said, then paused, trying to build drama for
my coming speech, “let me explain this to you.” I waited for his attention.
Unfortunately Maxim magazine seemed to capture his interest a little more. “
Shit Mike… can you look at me. I’m trying to break this down for you.”
“Alright man, break down for me,” he said sarcastically but finally looked
up at me.
I started the speech. “ We are going to heaven on earth. There are thousands
of beautiful young women waiting for us. These women are very single and are
very ready to mingle. They love Americans. It’s a wrap for them. And the
clubs are about to off the chain. No drinking age, we’ll be partying until
the morning. Now the beaches… oh my goodness.” I threw my hands in the air
as I continued, “White sand, 80 degrees, mild humidity, and of course,
women.” I was unstoppable, continuing on for 10 minutes in a fantasyland. I
went on, saying “I talking gold chains for like $5. You know what, I just
might just get myself a grill…tops and bottoms. Won’t be more than 50 bucks.
”
       Now, I knew that these ideas were probably just a little bit exaggerated,
but I truly was excited about this trip. And as much as I stressed all of
these fantasy ideas, I was actually more looking forward to something else.
This was going to be a trip of bonding between Mike and I. We would brave a
new world, just the two of us and thousands of strangers. I would be his
wingman, he would be mine. We would have to rely on each other to function
in Mexico. We would look back on this trip 50 years later with fond memories
of our expedites in Morelia. As I boarded the plane, I thought about how
these two weeks would bring us closer than ever before. Unfortunately, life
doesn’t always go exactly to plan.
       Our trip started out a little bit on the bumpy side. Upon arriving in
Morrelia, we were shocked to find that our luggage had not made the trip
with us. I however, was not fazed. That’s not to say that I was happy about
not having our luggage, but I saw it as an opportunity for another
adventure. I looked forward to scourging the markets for 75-cent t-shirts
and 3-dollar pairs of pants. Mike, on the other hand, was pissed off and he
couldn’t stop yelling about “Damn Continental Airline… they better find my
suitcase…what am I supposed to do without clean underwear?!!!” These angry
comments continued throughout the 30-minute taxi ride to our host family’s
house. As we approached our stop, I got fed up with it and said, “ Mike,
chill out, everything’s gonna be cool. Just think about all the fine ladies
that we are going to meet.”
       He quickly responded, “Yeah, but if we don’t have any clean underwear, I
don’t think that that’s going to be too successful.” He had me. I had no
response, and decided that I would go buy clean underwear at the first
chance that I got.
       The taxi took the final turn onto the narrow street, Augustine. As the
driver pulled to the curb, I viewed a small but pretty white house crammed
between two larger apartment buildings. This would be our home for the next
two weeks. Mike and I stepped into the street with nothing more than the
clothes that we were wearing and our one backpack that we shared, filled
with electronics, magazines and a half eaten sandwich. As we approached the
door, I had a feeling of nakedness and vulnerability. I tried to put that
feeling to the back of my mind, wanting to continue in my fantasyland of
parties. As Mike pressed the small red doorbell, I took a deep breadth. For
the first time, I thought about how I was going to needed to actually speak
Spanish on this trip. The door opened and Mike and I stepped inside.
       We were greeted by a pretty middle-aged woman. She said in a friendly
voice,  “Hijos, como estan? …Me llamo Fabia.” My brain began to work, trying
to translate her words to English. Boys, how are you. Me llamo…? My name is.
Fabia continued to introduce us to her three kids: Wendy who was our age,
Nadia, a year or two younger, and Fabrizio, their baby brother. I was doing
pretty well, understanding a good 60 % of what they were saying. But then
the hard part came- talking.
They began to ask us questions. How was the trip? Are you hungry? Where are
you from? I stumbled in my responses. Even short phrases and words that I
knew were hard for me to say. I was embarrassed and frustrated. As quickly
as possible, I excused myself to the bathroom (I had trouble saying it). I
looked at myself in the mirror. Come on Gabe, you can do it, I thought.
You’ve taken four years of Spanish, put it to good use.  I washed my face
with cold water and stepped back out to the living room, where Mike was
easily chatting with mom. For the next half hour, we sat in the living room.
While Mike and the family talked, I sat mostly quiet, only occasionally
saying “ Si” and “no”. I was relieved when Mike and I finally retreated to
our room upstairs…our English speaking room. It was a hard start to the
trip, but I still looked forward to our exploration of the city together.
I woke up the next morning groggy, and hoping that my Spanish speaking
ability had improved overnight. After showering and putting back on my dirty
clothes, I went downstairs and found that my language skills were no better
than they had been. After a quiet and slightly awkward breakfast with Fabia,
Wendy, Nadia and Fabrizio, Mike and rushed to our Spanish classes at the
language institute. These Spanish classes were the vegetables that we need
to eat before we could get our dessert, the parties. After the
intellectually tiring though interesting and helpful Spanish classes, I
looked forward to an afternoon of exploring.
“Mike, where to now?” I excitedly asked.
       “ I mean, I’m kinda trying to go back to the house.”
       “Come on Mike, let’s see what there is to do.”
       “Naw, man, I’m tired.”
“ Alright, if we go back now, can we go out later tonight?”
“Sure”. It was understandable. Our first day and a half had been pretty
long, and I was pretty tired myself. We went back to the house, and spent a
relaxing afternoon and evening playing cards, and chatting Warriors
basketball. I felt like I was energizing my body for an exciting evening.
After dinner, I went to take a shower, planning on going out as soon as I
was done. I jumped out the shower, tossed on some clothes that we had bought
on the way back from school, and excitedly walked into Mike’s room, hoping
to see him dressed and ready to go. Instead, he was under his covers, fast
asleep. Needless to say, I was disappointed. I mulled over whether I should
wake Mike up or not. I choose the latter, thinking that he just must be too
tired to go out. It was. We still had 12 more days of excitement.
However, the next days were no better, and went the same. We woke up, went
to class, and then we went back to the house. Each afternoon, Mike came up
with a different excuse as to why he couldn’t or wouldn’t go out and
explore. He was tired. He had turista (a stomach problem that often hits
tourists). He didn’t have any money. He had to do homework. It was too cold.
I became more and more angry. And the nighttime was not even a topic. Crazy
parties with beautiful women, hah. Our nights consisted of card games,
reading, and lots of boredom. And it’s not like the parties weren’t
happening; we just weren’t at them. I talked to another person at the
language school, and he described his wild excursions to clubs all over the
city. I was extremely frustrated with Mike. I felt like we were wasting a
great opportunity, an opportunity of freedom, and opportunity for bonding.
Not only that, but we were also wasting our money. My parents hadn’t paid
$650 for a plane ticket for me to sit around a cramped room and read. After
six days of boredom, frustration and anger, I had enough.
I told Mike, “ We’re going out! I can’t sit around here, doing nothing for
any longer.”
Mike barely looked up, reminding me of our airport interaction, and slowly
said, “Dude, I’m not trying to.”
I was done with the bullshit, yelling, “What the fuck is up with you, Mike?
All you want to do is sit around here and read your bitch ass Maxim
magazine, and play games on your cell phone. You’ve already beaten the game
five times.”
“Gabe, dude, I have to read the Oddesey for my AP English class next year.”
“ Mike, it’s July 20th, you have more than a month to read your book. You
can do that in Berkeley. We are in Mexico Mike. Mexico!”
Mike replied sarcastically, “If you want to go out so badly, than why don’t
you just go out by yourself.” I couldn’t believe I was hearing this from my
friend since I was four years old. This trip was a trip that we were taking
together. I took his advice, and stormed out of the house. I just needed to
do something, anything. I felt like I was going crazy. I just walked and
walked, my anger pushing me on. I had no idea where I was, as all of the
streets looked the same to me. My walk soon turned to a jog and then to a
run. Running was therapeutic for me. I felt as though my anger towards Mike
was going down my spine, through my legs and out my feet onto the sidewalk.
After who knows how many blocks, I realized I was no longer angry.
Disappointed, yes, but there was no more anger towards Mike.
My run slowed to a walk, and I sat down at a small concrete park bench right
in front of a fountain. As it began to rain, I realized that Mike and I were
no longer the friends that we once were. Our personalities had diverged in
past few years. He, for whatever reason was very conservative in his
actions. We came into this trip with different priorities. I came to have a
crazy, adventurous time. He on the other hand, wanted to focus on learning
Spanish. I had to look at this trip from his point of view. Mike had been in
a car accident just months earlier, and he could have easily died. The three
weeks in the hospital, with his brain bruised and head wrapped may have
given him a stronger sense of safety than I had, and may have contributed to
his overall conservatism. He may have also not felt comfortable exploring
because he was Mexican American, but did not speak fluent Spanish. Mike and
I were different, and I had to respect that. The trip was not turning out as
I had hoped but I couldn’t just be angry with Mike and blame him.
As I sat pondering these thoughts, it began to rain harder, and I went to
find shelter. I had no idea were I was, so I entered what looked to be an
indoor marketplace to stay dry. Though the outside was a dreary, grey, old
building, the inside was full of color. It was a blend of old Mexico and
modern Mexico, with shops that ranged from traditional arts and crafts to
pirated DVDs and fake Nike shoes. I walked up and down row after row,
enamored with the goods and people that I saw. As I prepared to leave, I
realized that I needed a jacket to get back home. I went up to a stall that
sold chaffa or fake clothes.
“Cuanta cuesta esto,” I asked, pointing to a red Adidas jacket.
“ Dos cientos pesos,” the seller replied, as I converted to the pesos to
dollars in my head - 20 bucks. In my broken Spanish, I bargained the price
down to 125 pesos, or $12.50, and feeling proud of myself, I left the
marketplace, and walked home. As approached the house, I felt truly happy,
for the first time on the trip. I realized that I had just had the
exploration that I had been grasping for the whole time. It wasn’t the crazy
party, or the great bonding experience with Mike, but it was something new,
something that I had never done before. I walked into the house, slipped
into my room, past a sleeping Mike, and crawled into my bed content.