Eating Chapulines

The weekend after visiting San Miguel de Allende, I attempted to travel back to Mexico with my younger brother Ed to Bacalar, Quintana Roo. Everything that could have gone wrong that day, went wrong. We flew from Denver to Houston before our connecting flight to Mexico City, only to find out in Houston that Ed didn’t have his passport. My heart sank with the possibility that our long-awaited trip would come to a screeching halt before it even began. This would’ve been Ed’s first time in Mexico.

My brain searched for all possibilities, did we even know anyone in Texas? The lady at the desk told us that the only way to fly internationally would be to re-apply for a passport and hope that they would be able to issue it on that same day. Our flight was rescheduled from 9am to their last flight at 5:50pm. In the past, someone else would’ve taken care of it, either my mom, my older brother or my ex. Two years ago, before the break up, I had never even driven in the city, fearing the one-way streets and the multiple lanes. I felt the impotence of not knowing what to do and realizing how dependent I’ve been on others.

 I saw how upset Ed was and as if reading his train of thought, I knew he was preparing himself mentally to go back home. A surge of adrenaline and stubbornness channeled my inner type A and I made a mental checklist of the things we needed to do. I would find a way to get us to Mexico. It was my first time trying to order an Uber but because my phone wasn’t working Ed took over while I used the bathroom. I assumed it must’ve been the acute stress what must have triggered my period arriving a week early. The crotch of my jeans was stained red and I wasn’t prepared. I rolled up the cheap toilet paper and prayed to God for mercy. When the Uber arrived, we sped down to the Federal Building where we would file for a new passport. We passed through security laying down our backpacks to be scanned. I felt like a traveler and for a moment it all seemed like a minor hiccup.

We ascended into the fourth floor. NO PHONES ALLOWED. I began filling out his paperwork and realized with each passing question that I didn’t know the information, my mom should have been filling this out. I tried to call her. NO PHONES ALLOWED. I tried texting her. NO PHONES ALLOWED. Security asked me to take my things back to the lobby on the first floor and fill out the application there. I scrambled to finish, ascending back to the fourth floor again. Passport pictures needed. Descend. Once again, we went up the now too-familiar-elevator, but the woman behind the glass couldn’t give me a guarantee. She told me there were other people before me as I looked around at the vacant room. “Come back up close to 2pm, hopefully we’ll have your booklet ready then,” she said. Descend.

In the meantime, I called the airline that would be taking us from Mexico City to Chetumal in Quintana Roo. She told me any changes had to be made four hours prior and taking into consideration the time difference I was already two hours late. We had lost the flight and needed to book another one. The last flight from Mexico City would be at 10pm, I booked the flight having no other alternative and tried to feel confident that everything would go to plan. 1:40pm and we were ascending through the floors of the building again, we walked into the waiting room that was now filled from wall to wall with people. Security pointed at a red dispenser and told me to take a number. I felt my blood run cold, we were number 096. We were running the risk of not being issued the booklet before the building closed at 3pm.

We waited at the edge of our seats desperately trying to make eye contact with the women and men behind the glass. With a sigh of relief we soon realized that the numbers were randomized and they were not following numerical order. Nonetheless, the clock kept ticking, it was now closer to 3pm and only a few seats were occupied. I felt my irritation rise to my shoulders when I saw the people behind the glass chatting and lounging. They called off numbers high and low, except for ours, I was in disbelief at our miserable luck. We still needed to call an Uber, go through security in the airport and run to the gate. I ordered an Uber thinking our number had to be called within the next ten minutes. Uber called back and I frantically rushed out of the waiting room into the hall. Security patrolled towards me, NO PHONES ALLOWED, I protested that I was in the hall, NO PHONES ALLOWED. Finally, the last number was called. 096 at 3:20pm.   

I experienced time flow differently, either too fast or not fast enough. The more I tried to control it the more things would go awry. I was merely a puppet being directed by a master whose plans were very different from mine. I was an orange being squeezed too hard, trying to keep my insides from spilling out. I think back and I don’t remember breathing, not until after being held up by security for having a sunscreen bottle over 8 oz. which Denver somehow missed. Can I breathe now? We had the passport, I had a pad, the flight was on time and the new flight had been booked.

The voice coming through the overhead instructed us to begin to board the plane. We ended up in the back of the cabin in the claustrophobic corner next to the bathrooms. I took the middle seat next to Ed and an elderly woman. There was a raspiness in my voice and I began to cough unable to stop. I saw the woman pull away slightly, telepathically, I tried to tell her I wasn’t contagious, it was just a stupid dry cough. We waited there strapped. I kept looking at the clock keeping in mind the time difference. We waited for 20 minutes that turned into 40 then 40 turned into more than an hour. I felt agitated and with each passing minute my throat constricted and the coughing persisted.

A man from the set of seats across the aisle asked me if I spoke Spanish, when I assented he began to give me ancient remedies from his village that would help me with my cough. He asked if I knew what “chapulines” were, I nodded yes, grasshoppers. He told me that when I landed I should go out to el campo and capture some chapulines and fry them. “Be sure to remove the legs though, because they can be hard going down your throat because of los pelitos,” the little hairs, he said. I found it endearing and decided not to tell him I was vegan and even if I wasn’t, there was no way in hell I was going eat chapulines. I let him continue talking mainly because I was trying not to be rude and I was far too tired to try to carry out a conversation. It was best that he did all the talking. He told me about his daughter and how as a child she had frequent nose bleeds until one day he caught a big belly ant and squeezed its poison up one of her nostrils. He told me it was very important to only do one nostril because the poison travels up your nose and it burns, so if you do both you can feel like you’re being asphyxiated. He also warned me that I may shed a tear or two because of the burning but that it was normal and it was sure to fix my problem, which I did not have. Slightly horrified, I simply nodded, smiled and kept looking at my watch.

Before landing, I glanced out the window and I felt panic seep deep into my tissue. An array of lights spread far into the horizon, it was like seeing the night sky laying on the ground. Mexico City was the biggest city I had ever seen.  Because of the of the hour delay, I had contacted a friend in case we needed a place to spend the night. Looking out into the sea of lights, I wondered, “how am I supposed to find him?” We landed and I had to suppress the urge to climb over seats and push the door open.  My foot tapped anxiously with a mind of its own.

The man from across the aisle began to tell me about his late mother. Nobody was moving and the clock kept working against me. He told me about her humble background, an indigenous woman from a small village. All the remedies she knew had been passed down from generation to generation. My inner voice hushed for a moment when I finally caught a glimpse of this man remembering his mother. His words were wrapped in love and I asked the Universe for forgiveness because I was so caught up in my own chaos that I was completely dismissing a blessing and the kindness of a stranger. He reminisced of a time she scolded him for not being honest and not sharing what he had. She said to him, “knowledge is not for you to keep, it is for you to give. Comparte lo que aprendas,” Share what you know. I dry swallowed the pill of emotion that had built up in my throat.

The hope of making it to the gate before the last boarding call drowned when we arrived at the labyrinth that would take us through customs. I was able to pass through quicker, one of those rare instances when being a Mexican citizen is beneficial. Ed had to wait with the foreigners. When he finally passed through we were immobilized by the uncertainty. We had missed another flight. The man from the airplane met up with us again and told me that on second thought, I could probably go to el mercadito and find some dry chapulines there, but to not forget to remove the legs. He said his last goodbye before he was ushered away by his wife who turned out to be the woman who was sitting next to me and had not spoken a word the entire time.

I search for Wi-Fi and a power outlet like a junkie. I had never seen so many people and among them few were willing to help. When I was finally able to call my mom, the sound of her voice made my chest collapse and as if breathing for the first time the entire day, I sobbed. I told her the city was too big and I was too small. I was tired of everything going wrong. My shoulders hurt from carrying the backpack and I just wanted to be home. It had only been the previous weekend that my resilience had been tested. The only thing more frustrating than going through the lesson is not understanding why the lesson is being repeated. I was grateful because this time around I had my brother with me even though we didn’t know how to console each other.

I wouldn’t claim to know why things happened the way they did that day, but I learned a lot about letting go. I have been the type of person that feels comfortable when I can control my surroundings including the people in my life. In order to avoid many of those feelings of helplessness I distract myself by cleaning. I am the opposite of a hoarder. Once my external life begins to reflect my internal turmoil I fool myself in thinking I’m dealing with it by getting rid of the material clutter. Letting go is often the biggest act of love. Through the process, we begin to notice that our jaws unclenched, that our shoulders relax and that our breath fully expands our lungs. We being to notice the blessings in spontaneity and the kindness in strangers trying to heal your cough with chapulines.