“I know,” I replied softly, “but why can’t I just be like a normal third grader?” I couldn’t understand why I would have to miss the crazy adventures of Mrs. Martin’s classroom, just to drive alone with my dad an innumerable amount of miles to a place where the people did not speak English, eat t.v. dinners, or even shop in a supermarket. Even though I didn’t mind missing the countless spelling tests, book reports and cursive writing practices, what could Mexico possibly have to offer a third grader?
Living in a small fishing village on the Pacific Coast of southern Mexico helped shape the kind of person I become. While there, I learned to communicate in another language, appreciate unfamiliar foods and experience a culture completely different than that in which I grew up. In the small town of Zihuatanejo (ee-wo-tan-a-ho), I discovered the value of forming relationships with a variety of different people, accomplished daily tasks independently, and found ways to ensure that traveling became an important part of my life. While not always easy, traveling has germinated a quest for knowledge that has flourished in every aspect of my life.
While my dad spent his days fishing and diving, I spent mine with the Mexican women who were selling shells and silver under a palapa on Playa Principal. I learned to speak Spanish as we talked to each villager who passed by on his or her way to and from work during the day. I became an expert at introducing myself: “Hola, mi nombre es Sofia,” as well as saying where I was from, “Soy de los Estados Unidos.” These kind people would smile broadly at my attempts and encouraged me to say more. While I was given every opportunity to practice, no one corrected anything I tried to say or made me feel silly for my efforts. My dad would look on in amazement when we would pass by my new friends on the street and I was able to carry on a conversation (especially after his efforts to teach me the Spanish alphabet failed miserably and disintegrated into huge arguments). Those days at the shell shop allowed me to spend quality time with interesting people who had rich experiences to share.
After seeing my quick progress with learning to speak Spanish from the women at the shell shop, Dad made sure I had plenty of opportunities to practice. Each Friday he would give me the shopping list to take down the hill to el mercado to get all the food we would need that week. The sights, smells and sounds of the Mexican culture captured my full attention. Bright red, orange and purple flores (flowers), carefully stacked bowls of frijoles, enormous bags of dried chilies and heaps of colorful verduras (vegetables) were crowded under tarps in a huge courtyard of a church. Farmers, both men and women, served crowds of people who had come from faraway pueblos to buy and trade their weekly supply of goods.
The vendors seemed to make sure I knew how to choose the choicest papaya and taught me to barter the fairest price for a bunch of flowers. Once I finished shopping, my dad came to help carry the load of goods home, up the steep hill that led to our small casita overlooking the bay. By speaking the local language, walking to and from where I needed to go and buying the locally grown food, I became part of the community. Who would have thought that the challenge of going to the market every Friday would help give me the confidence and motivation I needed to seek out opportunities to travel on my own?
By the time I left Zihautanejo and returned to California, I no longer took for granted the luxuries of having fresh running water, a hot shower or even a washing machine. Although I enjoyed the cockroach-free bathrooms and the ability to communicate without having to think through everything I wanted to say, there was a sense of disappointment when I realized how different life was for me at home. I remember being frustrated that I had to get into a car whenever I needed to go anywhere. Because we drove everywhere, we didn’t have the chance to stop and talk with someone like Francisca about her family, or chat with Juana about how the weather had been or compare with Silvia how many people were in town. I felt like a prisoner of the car; at the mercy of my mom’s schedule.
Fortunately when I was 16 and old enough to travel by myself, my dad arranged for me to study Spanish in Cuernavaca, Mexico. For six weeks I lived with a family who knew very little English but always made sure I felt at home and learned all I could about the City of Eternal Springtime. Cuernavaca’s people lived with a strong sense of culture and community. Most evenings we walked to the zocalo (town square) and saw performances of every variety. While waves of music filled the air, my host family would sit and visit with friends and family. Most conversations that included me began, “Don’t you miss your family and your land?” Most of the people had never traveled more than 20-30 kilometers outside their villages, so the thought of a woman traveling on her own was something unfamiliar to them.
“Yes,” I would reply cautiously,” but I appreciate the chance to step away from my life to experience what you have to share.” While I really did miss my family and friends, I had always felt the need to push beyond my comfort level. During my second year in college, I participated in a Humboldt State University language immersion program in Oaxaca, Mexico. After four months of living with an Oaxacan family and finishing my courses, I completed a field research project on the use of plant dyes in the ancient tradition of weaving rugs in the small village of Teotitlan del Valle. I lived with an indigenous family who taught me about collecting plants, mosses and animals from which to make dyes, as well as the value of learning from your elders. They expressed their commitment to teach their children not only to live from the earth as their ancestors have done since time began, but also to learn from other people so that their own people can survive in an ever-changing world.
After my project was completed, I went traveling alone through Chiapas and into Guatemala. While on my own, I was able to immerse myself in experiences I probably would have never attempted if I had to negotiate the situation with another traveler. Never did I imagine that these indigenous people lived much the same as they had done for thousands of years. As I got to know and spend time with some of the women around Lake Atitlan, I was invited to participate in ceremonies for weddings, funerals, and various other rites of passage. The entire village usually got involved in some way, so I was never made to feel as though I didn’t belong or that I was intruding. I left Guatemala feeling as if I had had some insight into what the world would have been like if I had lived 200-300 years ago in a tribe of people who lived close to the earth and to each other.
When I had completed my undergraduate degree, I wanted some experience teaching in an alternative school setting. Through my first efforts with the Internet, I made contact with the El Centro de Educacion Creativa (The Creative Learning Center--an environmental education school) located in the cloud forest of Monteverde, Costa Rica. While living with a Tico (Costa Rican family), I arranged to volunteer at the school in the morning and work as a tour guide at the local butterfly garden in the afternoons. In addition to learning about the symbiotic relationships of butterflies and the cloud forest, I also experienced living in a community of people who valued educating others in order to preserve their natural surroundings for future generations. Everyone from tropical field biologists to small Tico school children took the time to explain the important relationships of plants and animals of the forest and the responsibility people have to protect them. Even though there is so much to see and do in other parts of Costa Rica, I appreciated the chance to stay in one place, get to know the community and give something back in return for all the rich experiences I gained.
While the opportunity to travel with a good friend or family member is a rewarding experience, my life has flourished from those times when I have had the chance to travel on my own. Taking risks as a traveler has given me the opportunity to experience aspects of different culture that are not always obvious to the average tourist who is looking to check off points of interest in his or her Lonely Planet guidebook. Even though my upbringing contributed to my independent nature, my third grade trip to Zihautanejo helped create a strong foundation of self-confidence. I suppose I was right when I worried about being a “normal third grader,” because living in such a different culture for six months had the impact of forever changing my perception of what was normal.
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