Real de Catorce

November 20th-22nd, 2015

I'm burning on the blazing sun in mid-November; the temperature here is something that I still have not gotten used  to. Keaton and I are waiting for our taxi ride to meet up with the rest of the rest of the International Student Embassy group for a trip to the Real de Catorce for the weekend. We split the cab drive there and for the first time since I've been here, I bought some groceries for the long six hour ride on the bus. Everyone is excited, the sounds of laughter and a multitude of different languages fill the air. I'm exhausted from the lack of sleep from the previous night and the whole week because I had a 2-hour long presentation in my Art History class. We arrived in the evening, making stops at convenient stores for bathroom breaks and snacks. Finally, we meet up with the rest of the group from the Monterrey at the place, the total comes up to over 50 international people. Once everyone has arrived, we squeezed into the back of pickup trucks that take us through the tunnel. A french song of "The Lion King" is being sung and soon people begin to chant. The energy level is high and already I know that this is going to be a great trip. After getting situated in our hotel rooms (we rented out an entire hotel for everyone) we all meet up downstairs to enjoy dinner together. Consisting of sope, beans, and guacamole, I am satisfied with the meal. The hotel has a strange odor and the drain from the sink releases from the bottom causing the bathroom floor to be wet every time we turn on the sink. I noticed a set of ladders to the roof and before long, a group of us are at the top, watching the bloody sun slowly kiss the horizon. This moment feels too magical to be real, but the beauty of it all is that it was real; every breathtaking moment, every indescribable feeling. We convene together again for an evening of music, bonfires and dancing.

The next morning, I ignored my alarm, sleeping past the chatter outside of my room and missing breakfast with everyone. I quickly drink the cafe de oro (the best I've ever had) and eat breakfast with Florent. We run to join the rest of the group who are preparing to get on jeeps. There were 3 different jeeps, riding the rocky mountains, so close to the edge that it felt like if one person had learned a little bit over, we would all have fallen down the cliff. On the way to the desert, I rode on the inside where I met new people from different parts of the world. A girl from Norway, a girl from Turkey, several people from Sweeden, and another girl from a small village in Germany. I forget their names as soon as I learn them, but I never forget their faces or the smiles that they shared. On the way back, I rode on the top of the jeep and clung onto the handle at the front of the truck. I'm surrounded by beautiful mountains covered in funky looking trees with short stumps. The strong sun is burning against my face and I stupidly choose to disregard the effects of it, later resulting in a peeling nose. Later that evening, we reconvene for another fiesta at the other hotel. The loud sound of drum patterns engulfs every sound and continues late into the night.

The next day, Sunday, we chose our horses to go horseback riding through the mountains. The last time that I went horseback riding, I was 7 or 8 years old. My horse was huge and beautiful, but he didn't want to listen to me, but instead to the horse that it was following. The weather was absolutely perfect with a misty fog covering the clouds and a slightly chilly breeze. I snuggled up in my llama sweater that I bought here and a big scarf that wrapped around my neck and ears. When we arrived up the top, the rest of the way was on foot. We walked up the mountain to a high viewpoint where evidence of rituals had been done. Like the tree trunks in the United States, the soft big cactus leaves had writings of people's names and messages carved on them. At the top is a small lookout where a man sells handmade products and inside was a religious set up for praying. We returned to where our horses awaited for us and rode them back through town. The second time around was different, everyone was more comfortable with their horses and some people were racing. I galloped through the mountains, my hair blowing in the wind, I was so incredibly content in that moment. This time, my horse was more obedient and I was able to gain some speed. We made it all the way down with everyone safe and sound. Every sore muscle was worth the pain. The mist covered the mountains, so perfectly as if whispering a secret that no one else could see or hear. The last dinner was wherever we wanted to go, but coincidentally we still all ended up eating at the same restaurant. It was a huge restaurant. The outside was deceiving because it looked small and quaint, but as soon as you entered, there were multiple rooms, an upstairs, and a piano at the entrance. I played away on the piano and

was in awe (perhaps I shouldn't have been by now given his musical abilities) by Florent's fingers as they moved with ease across the keys. I have dearly missed the touch of a piano, the sensational release of self-expression through music. I honestly never thought that I would miss playing so much, but it's been almost six months since I actually sat down in front of a piano and played what I felt. And now without a phone, listening to music on buses, walking to places, and whenever I'm feeling the need has been nonexistent.  I ordered a large margarita pizza, saving the leftovers for the bus ride home. The crust was deliciously thin and everything felt just right. We returned to Queretaro around midnight and I was forced to stay up for another couple of hours to finish my homework for the next morning.