Reflections: September 2017

September 1 was the day we'd been looking forward to for months. Suddenly, it was here. After a champagne-fueled night with Rebecca's family, our alarms and our excitement woke us at 4:30 in the morning. We threw our meticulously packed bags in the car and grabbed our breakfast and snacks for the road. We were ready to head out, but we needed to find Romper, our cat, our baby. We expected him to be under the bed — his hiding place whenever he sees us getting ready for a trip, because he hates being put in his carrier. But he wasn't hiding this time. He slinked around the kitchen, as if he knew this time he wouldn't be coming with us. We shook out a handful of his favorite treats, stroked his silky fur, and told him we'd be back eventually and to be good for his grandparents. The minutes were ticking, and we had to get going to beat the traffic to the airport. With a final kiss on his forehead and a knot in our throats, we parted with our baby having no idea of when we'd see him again.

Rebecca's mom and brother drove us to the airport and we rehearsed all the ways we'd stay in touch. "Ok, so use this app if you want to call us without Wifi. And this one to video call us. Remember, Jared's phone number won't work anymore, but mine will. Oh, and I sent an email to you and Jared's family with emergency contact numbers, so if something goes wrong, we'll notify you and you'll get a hold of his family." Rebecca's mom reiterated how deadly parasites in lakes are and that Mexican police take peeing in public very seriously. We laughed and promised we wouldn't put unfiltered water up our noses or pee in public, and reminded her that we were way more concerned about mosquito-borne diseases and earthquakes.

As the airport police blew their whistles and yelled for cars to make drop-offs quick, we threw on our backpacks and gave Rebecca's mom and brother a final squeeze. Thankfully, we'd already arranged to meet Rebecca's family in Mexico for Christmas. Knowing that we'd see each other again in less than four months made the goodbyes bearable.

We checked in without a problem (we had no return ticket to the US, which could have prevented us from boarding our flight) and waited to board. Despite flying hundreds of times before, this time felt different. We didn't know when we'd be in the US again. All we knew was that whenever we returned, things would be different.

We arrived in Mexico City with surprising ease. Immigration officials never asked us for proof of when we'd be leaving the country and stamped us on in. We grabbed our bags and asked an airport worker where the metro station was. "Walk straight down this street and make a left at the corner. Keep walking until you get to the station." Easy. Except instead of directing us to the metro station in the airport, we ended up walking through a neighborhood we shouldn't have been in, especially with our backpacks that scream "We just got off a plane and have no idea where we're going." After making a quick dash under a bridge and through an abandoned bus terminal, we found the metro.

We arrived in Escandón, the neighborhood we'd be living in for the month, and found the apartment building. Ernesto's big smile greeted us and we were ushered into an apartment adorned with screen printed posters, plants in empty mezcal bottles, and colorful trinkets from across Mexico and India. On the floor was Güero, a big tabby cat looking curiously at us. It immediately felt like home. We unpacked, grabbed some duck tacos, and settled in for the night. Tomorrow, we'd start exploring.

The first few days in Mexico City, we explored the local markets, indulged in street food, and walked around the Zócalo.

We visited the National Palace and marveled at the Diego Rivera murals that depicted the history of Mexico from pre-Columbian times through the revolution. Could you anything this provocative, this critical, ever exist in the halls of Congress or the White House? we asked each other.

We strolled through the parks scattered around the Condesa neighborhood and marveled at all the people walking ten dogs at a time.

We danced salsa at Pata Negra and sampled Mexican craft beers.

A few days in, we got a call from one of Rebecca's brothers, Peter, saying that he broke his hand and couldn't work for the week, so he bought a ticket to Mexico City and would be down in less than 24 hours. After thinking we wouldn't see family until December, it was a welcome surprise to see him, even if he got violently sick on his third day from food poisoning.

We visited Frida Kahlo's home, Casa Azul, which felt like a pilgrimage to Rebecca.

Then, on the night of September 6, we were watching a movie in our fifth-floor apartment when everything began to sway. It felt like we'd moved from solid ground to the rocky sea. "Um, do you guys feel that?" Jared asked. We fumbled to unlock the apartment door and as soon as we got to the staircase, the lights flickered and then went dark. Panic set in and we ran down guided by the light of a cellphone. Everyone gathered in the street in their pajamas with nothing but bottles of alcohol and cigarettes. Any chance of sleep evaporated as the adrenaline rushed through us. Six days in and we'd just experienced our first earthquake in Mexico, a mega 8.1 magnitude trembler off the coast of Oaxaca.

The next day, Rebecca's other brother, Richie, arrived. There was no way Peter and Rebecca were going to be in Mexico without their baby brother.

We went to the indigenous arts and culture gathering that featured hundreds of food, medicine, clothing, and craft booths from tribes across Mexico.

We went to a lucha libre spectacular and watched men of all sizes in super hero masks toss and trample each other. Grandmothers and kids alike shouted Mexican profanities and ladies baring almost all shaked and shimmied between fights.

On September 15, we celebrated Mexican Independence Day. We bought a bottle of mezcalito for a dollar and tried to stomach the cheap gold substance to no avail. A million people dressed in red, white, and green were gathered in the Zócalo. Performers dressed as famous Mexican figures paraded on stilts and bands played all night. Families laid out blankets and ate picnic dinners. At 11 pm, the president emerged from the National Palace and delivered the Grito de Dolores, the crowd yelling out the names of Mexican revolutionaries in a call and response. Then the sky lit up in fireworks.

Days later, just minutes after we arrived at the Museum of Dolores Olmedo to see the most important collection of works by Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, we felt the earth shake. We ran outside to the gardens where museum staff made sure everyone was accounted for, and all around us people began checking their phones and crying. A massive 7.1 earthquake had hit Mexico City, bringing down more than 40 buildings and killing 370 people. The city was brought to its knees, and we were left stranded 11 miles from our apartment with no way of getting home since the bridge had collapsed and the metro was down. Upon learning that we were stuck in Xochimilco, a man and a woman who we could only think of as angels offered to drive us as close to our neighborhood as possible. We listened to the radio the entire two hour drive and learned that the area where we lived saw some of the greatest damage. With no way of contacting our families to let them know we were ok, or to get a hold of Ernesto to make sure he and Güero were safe, we felt helpless. When we finally made it to our apartment and saw Ernesto and Güero, we hugged and cried. And then we jumped into action.

Ernesto headed to a collapsed seven-story building to help rescue people trapped in the rubble. People in the US sent us money to purchase medical supplies and food for shelters. The city had miraculously self-organized to rescue people and take care of each other. There were clinics to treat everything from emergency medical care to psychological services and veterinary care. Everyone was checking in on one another. It was something we had never seen before.

In our final days in Mexico City, places that had been shut down began to reopen. We were able to visit the incredible collections of pre-Columbian artifacts from across Mexico at the National Museum of Anthropology. We walked around the enormous campus of the National Autonomous University of Mexico and imagined being a student there. We visited the Monument to the Revolution and the Angel of Independence, where a girl was having her quinceñera photos taken.

Our second-to-last full day there, we ventured out to the pyramids of Teotihuacán. Walking down the Avenue of the Dead, taking in the panorama at the top of the Pyramid of the Moon, and climbing to the top of the Pyramid of the Sun left us in awe. Rebecca, who is of Mexican descent, felt immense pride in her heritage, one that is so often mocked and threatened in the US.

We finished our time in Mexico City with a decadent dinner of chiles en nogada at El Cardenal and drinks at the historic Bar La Ópera, where you can see the bullet hole from the revolutionary Pancho Villa's gun in the ceiling. We toasted to Mexico City, a place that captured us from the beginning and maybe, just maybe, might end up being our home one day. But for the time being, we had to go home and pack our bags. In the morning, we had a bus to Oaxaca to catch.