Writing in the Dark

A Mexico travel journal - part 1

Author’s note: I will be traveling over the next 10 days or so, attempting to take a vacation from the incessant rhythms and worries of my regular life. This also, perhaps, means a bit less time for posting on Substack. So I dug into my sack of stuff I should polish up sometime and found some travel writing from December, 2022, when I had the chance to go to Mexico with my friends, Danielle & Diego. I did some scrubbing to it, tried to pound out a few dents and add a little paint and wax, but still worry it should just go back in the sack. But away from me, insecurity. It’s what I have right now. The post is long enough it’s worth splitting over multiple mailings. Today, part 1. I hope you enjoy! 

I want to know: can I write in the dark? In the dark, as in, the sun’s down, just the faintest red twilight fading behind the sharp ridge line of mountains, cut as if from night itself. The only light seems to be from the occasional headlights on an oncoming vehicle, or perhaps a couple of stars I can just start to make out if I crane my neck and push my cheek up against the van window glass. 

We’re still 74 kilometers from Tequila, and Diego had wanted to get there before dark. But time always seems to slip, doesn’t it? Having an almost three year old around probably doesn’t help. But also, the waves and wind were so nice, and who’s going to say no to stopping for gelato while walking back from the beach. And sometimes you have to pee even though you just peed. And what’s down that street, and just one more quick shop. 

Anyway, it’s pretty smooth sailing at the moment but Diego doesn’t like driving at night in Mexico. We’re taking a longer, more traveled route to avoid the cartels, but still, in his estimation, it’s not really safe. So we feel a little tension, but at least we’re on the divided highway - safer, in Diego’s estimation. 

Here in the back of the van Katelyn is using the one little reading light we have, and I was thinking I could use the tiny bit of twilight and perhaps residual glow reflected off the pages of her book to try to get my thoughts on paper. But I’m not so sure I can do it. Especially in a bouncing car, which makes my already bad handwriting jiggle into pretty total illegibility. So perhaps I’ll capitulate, acknowledge my need for the assistance of light. But I’d rather not. And not just because leaning over might make my left butt cheek hurt more than it already does from the less than comfortable seat in the rental van. Sharing is difficult, admitting defeat even harder. Shouldn’t I be able to do it: to get my pen to form words, to share what I see in spite of the dark?

But there’s more than just my notebook page that’s dark to me. Can I write in the dark, as in my lack insight into what about travel – people’s time on the road – is worth reading about? What details connect us, reader, on this large rocky ball? Do you want to experience with me a sense of adventure? Like the feeling of the car swaying back and forth as we haul down the mountain, curve after curve after curve, huge rock walls towner on each side. The slight increase in heart rate at the guy in a sombrero with a large gun slung over his back lounging in our lane at the tool booth. What’s going on? Will we make it through?

Would you instead like to live vicariously through my experience? To see the swinging palm trees and crashing ocean waves and rocky round coastline, hazy in the heat, dancing, like a dream. To pick your way through the tightly packed umbrellas, to feel the stony sand between your toes, to watch the kids running, laughing before the waves, to grimace at that girl’s sunburn - ooh, did you remember to reapply? 

And speaking of sunblock, do you want to feel its chill on your skin as you slather it over your shoulder, inhale its fake coconut smell as you try to wait long enough for it to not just rinse away the second you dive into that inviting blue ocean. Ah, who cares, let’s go. Do you hear the suction of the waves pulling back before they again come crashing, a muted boom, and then the crackle of surf, as rice poured out on the ground? Do you feel the little chill on first contact with your legs, but then settle into it - so good. Now feel the pull of those waves, taste the salt as they drink you in deeper, toward the surfers and the larger waves, twice your height or more. If you time it right you can body surf them, leaping and riding what feels a long ways. And – or – a result of slight mistiming – get your nasal cavity cleaned out with a natural accidental neti pot, at once healing skin, nose, and unrested soul. 

Ah, but that’s a dark we can’t speak of yet. The things that keep me in my chair at home, binging travel vlogs like its 2021. Rather, let me tell you about how people travel differently. A little passive aggressive conflict to spice things up, make the travel real. Traveling with friends is great. Really, I highly recommend it. People to laugh with, share with, rely on in the inherent uncertainty of an unfamiliar place. It’s a bonus that Diego grew up near here, which means he’s an expert at negotiating with the car rental company, driving in see a gap and go for it mayhem, or even evaluating where to get tacos. “this place is good - see the locals eating here, you don’t come back if you get sick, and see there, they’re making their own tortillas.”

But when you travel with people you quickly learn your differences. I certainly couldn’t travel with just anyone. Even with these good friends, you feel the friction of close community. Lunch, now? Yeah, uh, sure, sounds like a plan. We’re driving there? Yeah, ok, that works. Oh, we need to stop now, ok. And even more subtile things, which are not bothersome, but stretch you in little ways that slowly add up. Take, for example, our absolutely lovely trip to the beach earlier today. Danielle and Diego got us all a table on the sand with a big shading umbrella, at the cost of a few beers, a piña colada, and an appetizer - some sort of salsa with shrimp? - free bathroom (10 pesos at most places), shade, and a less sandy place to sit. Cheers, salud, this is the life. Of course, it’s harder to see the water back here - I would have just sat in the sand near the waves and skipped the Negro Modelo with a lime stuck on the top, but hey, this works too. 

It’s a good exercise, actually. Amiee, the almost three year old wants things her way. She’s learning to demand, disobey, test her freedom. Sometimes she wins - is it worth the fight? It’s easy to judge her parents as they try to figure out where to draw lines, and where to acquiesce. They have to do a lot of negotiating, explaining, deflecting, distracting. But also, I think: sometimes, girl, you don’t always get what you want. She’ll learn soon enough, unfortunately. Or maybe not. I guess I’m still learning.

To be continued…