When writing about siblings last week, I remembered that this week is the twenty-fifth anniversary of my brother’s death from brain cancer. I thought I’d repost a blog I wrote earlier this year and take a week off.
Still miss you every day Michael.
https://theadventuresofdostortas.com/?s=Michael&submit=Search
DOS TORTAS
I am reading the book, Hello Beautiful by Ann Napolitano. It’s the story of four sisters, their individual personalities and how their close and connected lives fall apart due to death and questionable decisions. It has me thinking about my four brothers and where we’ve ended up as adults.
My oldest brother once told me that the worst day of his life was the day I was born. Nine years older than me, he was the fair-haired solo grandson and center of my parents’ universe. As the only girl and eldest of the next four children born in six years, the blame fell to me, oh well. He taught me about sexism, refusing to include me in the rough-housing because I was a “girl.” I hated being left out but I adored him. He came for a visit to Bacalar in December 2023. Since then we talk every few weeks and enjoy long conversations.
My next brother and I were always tight. We had special names for each other when we were little, Boody and Sany, My mother used to say that she held us, one under each arm to go to the bathroom. We were eighteen months apart. Today we talk every weekend like clockwork and he is my best friend and confidant. I’m not sure how he got to be so smart but I greatly appreciate his calm demeanor, insights and advice.
Brother number three and I haven’t spoken in a year. When I had my accident last September (2024), he called both Lisa and me multiple times a week, to check on my condition and progress. I felt cared for. That all changed with a world-exploding US presidential election in November. We were on opposite sides of the aisle which left me in shock. Many families deal with political differences by simply not talking about them. We’ve butt heads too many times and this was the proverbial last straw.
And my youngest brother, who I was very close to, died in 2000 of a brain tumor. His daughter is now in my life and I feel blessed to have her.
I haven’t finished the book but I’m hoping that the sisters work out their differences. For me, three out of four connections aren’t bad. I don’t hold out hope that brother number three and I will work things out. And don’t give me that, “but you’re family”. Some things blood doesn’t seem to be able to heal.
DOS TORTAS
In much of the world, a wedding is quite predictable, the dress, the rings, the cake. When we were invited to the wedding of our Mayan housekeeper Lucero, we jumped at the chance. She is from a postage stamp sized village thirty minutes from Bacalar. It was our fourth wedding in twelve years and they have run the gambit from top shelf to backyard.
This wedding was on a whole different level. Ninety-some percent of Mexico is Christian with most of that Catholic. But not in this area. There are a lot of Mennonites, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Seventh Day Adventists and Pentecostals. We had never been to a Pentecostal wedding.
The wedding started at 6pm on a Thursday. We put on our one “fancy” outfit and prayed that the thunder we heard would not spoil the occasion. The festivities started on time which was no small miracle in Mexico. It was all quite unexpected from there.
The wedding involved standing for most of two plus hours, arms raised, and singing, amen-ing, and hallelujah-ing. Three different preachers tag-teamed to inspire, admonish, and harangue in Spanish. It would have been ok except the volume produced by half a dozen large speakers emitted a sound heard by God themself. I stuffed tissue in my ears but it did not help. We left early.
I hated to leave. It meant so much to Luceto that we would come, and four old white women in a sea of about 200 brown faces did not go unnoticed. The family tried to feed us before we left but our tolerance for bleeding ears was spent.
There are times that I admire the devotion, enthusiasm, and conviction of religion. My personal spiritual beliefs are quieter and more internal. I am grateful that everyone gets to find their own place, even if it’s not quiet or peaceful but right for them.
DOS TORTAS
The archeological site of Palenque is one of the most magnificent in Mexico. The Mayan astronomers built towers to observe and record the night sky in 400 AD or thereabouts. I can’t imagine what the night sky must have been like then.
Lisa and I visited Palenque again in 2015 when we brought her mom to live with us in Bacalar.
This time, we did not climb the pyramids, but stumbled upon one of the highlights of our two-week trip, Aluxes Ecopark.
As always, YouTube shows off the animals way better than all my photographs.
https://youtu.be/GrygNuuPW9U?si=HEcA__dwbv4S_-vh
Maybe it was the day we were there, but this out of the way animal reserve provided us with the relaxing day we were looking for. Shaded walking paths and benches allowed us to commune with nature as best as we could.
DOS TORTAS
The Tortas have taken on the challenge of finding the best chocolate in San Cristobal de las Casas. It’s a tough job but someone has to do it. The mountainous state of Chiapas, Mexico is known for its coffee and chocolate. The weather has turned chilly and rainy for us jungle girls. What better excuse than to drink our weight in chocolate!
While we loved San Cristobal, you can see how the narrow streets clogged with traffic and the stone sidewalks worn smooth from pedestrian’s feet have changed the city. Most visitors were Mexican, but we heard a lot of German spoken.
Mexico has so many beautiful towns, and we are eager to visit them all, at least as many as we can. They are called Magical Cities, and San Cristobal was indeed.
DOS TORTAS
With only a few days notice, Lisa and I packed up her mother and aunt and headed out for the five hour drive to Merida, at the tip of the Yucatán peninsula. We knew that the city put on a IG worthy Day of the Dead celebration and wanted to join in. We were not disappointed.
The following day, we saw the parade of the Catrinas. Catrina goes back to the French colonization of Mexico and a reporter making fun of how skinny the French women were. They were portrayed as skeletons and are now integral to the Day of the Dead celebration.
A good time was had by all. Alice and her sister returned to Bacalar by bus, and Lisa and I continued on to Campeche. It was a bucket list check off for us. A lovely full moon followed us to this colonial Gulf Coast city.
We are actually getting quite good at dropping everything and taking off. It’s a different way of traveling, no plans, just throw everything in a suitcase and go. We’re managing to fit a lot into two weeks. There is definitely more to come.
DOS TORTAS
A few days ago, I shared on FB a video of the Mexican voladores or ceremonial “flyers.” I reminisced of the first time I saw this mesmerizing performance in the mountains of Puebla in central Mexico. It is traditionally performed to bring the rain or ask the gods for anything the village needs. Today, it is tourist entertainment all over Mexico. Pass the hat.
https://share.google/yUG70EmZ9PveNGVHV
Going to Cuetzala, where the tradition originated, was an adventure in itself. Hours on a chicken bus climbing through high, coffee-producing mountains where the locals drank instant Nescafe.
University students were invited by the local priest to teach English to children in exchange for a cot and a hot.
One day our little friend group walked to a nearby waterfall. The instructions were to follow “that” path. 👈
My brother read my FB post after I expressed a long-held desire to return to Cuetzala and commented
“You have the time.
You have the means.
Lisa would be up for it.
Go!”
It is so easy to look at someone else’s life and make assumptions. I admit our life looks pretty sweet. I had to laugh at his cavalier instructions as this week was exceptionally insane.
We got solar hooked up, yeah! (After a week of people tromping about).
A tree fell on electrical wires leaving my MIL without electricity for five days. She hadn’t yet been added to our solar system.
Our son in Austin fell and broke his collarbone.
Stella got into it with a neighbor dog and had to go to the vet.
We were leaving on Thursday to visit Merida for Day of the Dead (DOTD) when our house sitter was picked up by immigration (another story entirely).
Car insurance – we had to renew for one car and discovered we had lapsed for the other. It was a stressful ordeal of multiple phone calls over several days in Spanish even though they say someone speaks English.
It is not easy to pick up and go, something we didn’t foresee when moving here. No complaints, it just is what it is.
We will get away from hearth and home and DOGS and hopefully get some great DOTD photos. Until then.
DOS TORTAS
If we do not see someone or talk to them in thirty years can we still consider them a good friend? Are comments and posts on Facebook enough? Somehow I imagined running into him in a coffee shop and picking up the conversation where we left off. Memories, shared history and familiarity would bring us up to date. Where did the time go?
This week I lost that opportunity. Gareth found out two months ago that he had gallbladder cancer. It’s one of those nasty cancers that by the time you find out, it’s too late. It hit me like a punch in the stomach. I can’t imagine what it did to his wife and son.
I went to Gareth and Wendy’s wedding in 1983. My son was days old when I wrapped us both in a blanket and ventured out. It was April and one of those Texas spring days with the sun out and a blustery wind. It was a beautiful outdoor wedding in the Texas Hill Country
I called a mutual friend this week to make sure she knew of his passing . She reminisced of a road trip they took, camping along the way. “I had such a crush on him.” I think we all did.
A friend wrote on his FB page, “If I was told that as of yesterday there were no more mountains on earth, I think it would feel the way I feel hearing there is no more Gareth. It’s simply impossible. I love that guy. ❤️.” What a lovely sentiment.
His page is filling up with stories, sadness, and shock. He was such a dear person.
One more reason to be grateful for another day on this spinning rock. Farewell and adiós Gareth. To have been so loved is a life well lived. And we did not expect it.
DOS TORTAS
In the 1970s in Mexico, it was quite easy to exist without a car. Buses passed regularly by every corner and first-class buses traveled from one city to the next. And it was cheap! Most people just didn’t have cars.
Even in Austin, I enjoyed using public transportation (PT). I like to people watch, and you really learn a lot about a place by mingling with people shoulder to shoulder. What better way than PT.
This week, I had to drop my car off in Chetumal, 40 minutes away for maintenance. Yes, we could have taken two cars, and Lisa could have followed and brought me home. Or I could take the colectivo. I chose the latter.
Colectivos aka taxis run back and forth between Bacalar and Chetumal. They hold four passengers squeezed together and depart only when full. The cost is about $3. I get a kick out of them. There is always AC and music blasting. They are so Mexican.
This week, I met Maria, sitting next to me in the back seat. She is the head of the hotel and restaurant association of Bacalar. We yacked the whole way, and before I knew it, I was home. I love meeting random, interesting people while traveling. We exchanged numbers and plan to meet for coffee.
In December we will attend our fourth Mexican wedding. They have ranged greatly in economic status. In December we will attend the small village wedding of our housekeeper. I’m really looking forward and honored to have been invited. One more way to celebrate our adopted country.
DOS TORTAS
“Aging is not for the weak. One day you wake up and realize that your youth is gone, but along with it, so go insecurity, haste, and the need to please… You learn to walk more slowly, but with greater certainty. You say goodbye without fear, and you cherish those who stay. Aging means letting go, it means accepting, it means discovering that beauty was never in our skin… but in the story we carry inside us.” Meryl Streep.
Almost thirteen years ago, I began this blog to shine a light for others who might like to follow and to let my family and friends know what we were up to on this adventure of living in Mexico. Little did I know how things would change.
You Tube, Instagram, Ticktock and god knows what else are overflowing with stories of people who have self deported. Much like we did, they sold everything, scooped up their families and relocated to an unfamiliar culture, language and environment.
Many are trying to romanticize it all. While I love Mexico, the struggle is real. At least we left by choice.
Our blog has evolved from the Adventures of Dos Tortas to the Aging of Dos Tortas. We are in as unfamiliar a territory as the deportees.
Some days I wonder why I continue to write. I guess I do it for me. My parents and grandparents certainly didn’t prepare me for my seventies. Our experiences are all different but maybe we can be there for each other just a little, and share the story we carry inside us.
DOS TORTAS
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