Hello again from beautiful Mexico:
I love that sounds, smells and tastes in every country hold meanings that we each interpret differently. Last week I ate chapulines (grasshoppers), a delicacy to some in Mexico. But I am willing to bet that my sister and several other friends are reading this thinking, "OH MY GOODNESS ... GROSS!" (Actually, they weren´t bad. I don´t, however, have any deep inclinations towards making them a regular part of my diet.)
Sounds too mean different things to each of us. On Sunday morning in Querétero I woke up to the sound of fireworks (minus the fire part) being set off in celebration of San Antonio´s day. In between the loud bangs, the bells of about three or four different churches in the area seemed to quarrel with one another over which melody to play. I swear I thought that the city had suddenly come under attack and that the churches were ringing out for the men of the town to gather up their pitchforks and take to the streets in defense of their women and children.
Other than minor heart attacks I have suffered from fiesta celebrations of the past couple of weeks, I have been enjoying myself thoroughly. Rainy-season has begun so the days are considerably cooler and we often get tremendous thunder and lightening storms in the late afternoon/early evening. I have continued my adventures around Mexico with my host family.
Two weekends ago we spent Saturday at their alternative house and I thoroughly roasted myself in the sun (ouch!!) because I was an idiot and didn´t put on sun-screen. On Sunday, we went to Xochicalco, one of the most important archeological sites in Mexico. Just over ten years ago, all that was known of the grand city that prospered between the years of 700-900 A.D. was one pyramid. As archaeologists began searching the surrounding area they discovered that a huge city of pyramids, houses and temples lay hidden beneath what had appeared to be a mountain top. Today, you can walk around these beautiful and utterly impressive ruins. It makes you look at mountains in a different way, wondering all the time what secrets lay hidden beneath their surface.
Carved into the side of a mountain in Xochicalco is a man-made cave. Deep inside there is a hole in the ´ceiling´. One time each year, on summer solstice, the sun is in exactly the right place to shine through that hole, forming a perfect hexagon on the floor of the cave. The people that lived during the time of Xochicalco had a religious calendar of 52 years. Incredibly, 52 days before and 52 days after the hexagon, part of the sun shines through the hole. As luck would have it, we were there during one of those days. We were told that if you put water under the light you can see the stars and the moon reflected. Also, if you put your arm under the light at just the right distance from the ground, the light acts like an X-ray and you can see your bones. How it is that over one thousand years ago they created this in a whole without light is beyond me.
This past weekend, we drove about three or four hours north to see two lovely colonial towns particularly important for their roles in the Mexican independence movement, Querétero and San Miguel de Allende. The final soccer match was on Sunday as well as the festival for San Antonio so San Miguel de Allende was in a total uproar. We had loads of fun pottering around old Mexican streets and markets, watching an utterly ridiculous parade go through town and sipping cold cervezas in beautiful plazas.
Soon, these adventures will end however as this is my final week here in Mexico. The time has flown by and I am already beginning to feel the pangs of saying goodbye to another country that is becoming dear to me. I think about Cairo a lot here. I suppose it is because last summer was a time of reconning with the various, and occasionally conflicting, paths of my life. I find myself missing DC and Peace Fellowship, knowing with certainty that that is the place to which I am called for this time in my life. At the same time, however, another part of my heart whispers to me what I know to be true: that everything about me is made for different cultures and countries. So the challenge becomes how to be at home in a place without being so comfortable there that I am not willing to move nor too impatient for another place that I cannot make roots.
I am beginning to feel that in the duality of not being able to call just one place home and at the same time being able to make a home almost anywhere, my strange upbringing has gifted me. I can imagine myself here in Mexico, or in Cairo, or in Sudan, or Afghanistan, or Washington, DC ... if that is where God has sent me. Slowly I am beginning to understand what the Bible means when it says that I am a pilgrim, a stranger and an alien, in this world. I am beginning to find hope in the reality that my belonging and my home, something that has been allusive for much of my life, is rooted not in a country or passport, but in the home that waits for me in heaven. So here in Mexico I am "Güerita" (i.e. blondie) and much as I may hope I cannot fade into the Mexican background. But maybe that can serve to remind me of another reality that is always present.
Next weekend I will go up to Mexico City for Saturday and Sunday and I fly home to Boston on Monday. Tuesday, Mom and I will fly to Spain where I will continue my Spanish-learning, only this time with a listhp. I will meet up with Annina later in the summer in Scotland and she will join us for one week in Finland (I am so excited!). Dad left last Thursday for Scotland and England where he is visiting family and taking a few days of vacation time before he flies to Afghanistan. From what I hear he is doing well and I am really looking forward to hearing his reports from Afghanistan. I would appreciate your prayers as he travels and we all get used to the change.
I feel so fortunate to have this opportunity to travel and relax. I miss you all very much and love getting emails from you. I will likely have less access to the Internet for the next few weeks but I will see what I can do to keep up with emails. Please do keep them coming.
Love and blessings to you all,
Katrina
PS - One more funny from Mexico: When visiting the United States several years ago, the father of one of my mexican friends went to a Catholic Church. Throughout the service the priest and several others kept speaking about a Mr. Cabody. Assuming that this man was very important, he asked someone after the service who Mr. Cabody was. The man responded, "No, no. Not Mr. Cabody ... Mystical Body". Today, that is his nickname. Also amusing from his trip were his attempts to translate his Spanish directly into english. When asking people to enter a room he said, "Between, between" (a translation of entre, entre in Spanish). When asking someone to take a seat he said, "Drink a seat" (a translation of the verb tomar which both means to take and to drink). Hope you all enjoy!
