Southbound (Dec. 1)

39 hours on the bus gets you from Albuquerque to Mexico City. Or a little less, if you´re capable of sitting and being enclosed nonstop for such a stretch. I´m not, and had to get off in a couple towns and breathe real air for a bit. But I had promised (Life, myself) that next trip to Mexico, I would honor the Earth by flying less, and take a bus to see how the people travel.  

I did the trip in three stages:  Albuquerque to Chihuahua, Chihuahua to Zacatecas, and from there to Mexico City.  All the busses had seasonal workers returning home to Mexico for the winter, from all points north: Idaho, Chicago, Colorado. One guy had been riding for three days straight. We had to sit for two hours at the border, while the workers got off and negotiated with authorities inside. After they finally boarded again, an official got on and asked a couple of them for money. I don´t know if it was fees or fines or something else.  Wanted to ask but didn´t want to pry. There's really only so far my good intentions can go:  much of the people's trip, I'll never be able to understand.  My point of view is trapped within my privilege to move freely.

All the busses also carried that beautiful kindness to the stranger that´s always met me in Mexico. At one point an official took an extra section of my ticket for some reason. The bus driver called my name to give it back to me, but I didn´t hear him.  Six people around me let me know right away that I needed to go up front. A 20-something worker included me when he passes around a bag of Doritos - "No, take more!". Two women in their 60`s traded friendly conversation, and when we all got off in Zacatecas, their home, one gave me her address and phone number, inviting me to come to their house if I needed to rest a few hours.  Or to come back later if I want to visit their city. At the end of the line, very kind friends had offered to pick me up at the terminal, and take me to their house.  I arrived exhausted and smelly and having barely eaten for two days, realizing belatedly that I should have gotten a cell phone to call them.  I looked around to find there´s not even internet at the bus station. Carrying three packs around a room full of a few hundred people, I can only ask for a small miracle, that we somehow run into each other..and we do.  They wave at me from across the room, and suddenly all's well. I took that as a clear YES, on which to open this journey.