🇲🇽 Morelia/Michoacán - 10.28.24

Volaris Airlines has two nonstop flights to Mexico out of Oakland International. One to León/Guanajuato and one to Morelia/Michoacán. I’ve done the León route. I’ve been feeling like I woke up from a dream. A lovely dream. It was like a movie… like I’ve been someone else. And now I’m back in an old reality. A past state of being. As if part of my new spirit left the building without me. It’s certainly my shell… but not what I was… not the character I was in this dream. Maybe it will pass. You see… you can be beat back so often… there’s a distinct moment that you become numb. Numb to it all. And that is a source point. And a simple trigger can return you to that point. That numbness. Thought is in slow motion. Empathy is a white noise that gets stuffed down in the deepest of pockets… and you just go through the motions of caring. I woke up from that dream. So we start over from that source point of origin. All of us. All of the parts within. And we woke up in Morelia. To whisper that dream. And scream the story.

****

I was anxious to remove myself from South Oakland. Senselessness suppresses the fires of the soul. There’s a depressing hot mess of chaos, miles long of desperate human condition, under the train tracks. I drove through it on several occasions… and numbness is all I can convey. It makes me sad and sick and hopeless… and I need to leave and leave quickly.

I did a quick search on Morelia. It’s a UNESCO world heritage site. And that was enough and I looked no more… I then bought a ticket. Packed my bag. Stored my car. Hopped on a plane. And woke up in the small Mexican city, and capital of Michoacán. After a couple of days in Morelia, while searching for a good carnitas joint on the Google (there are many), I stumbled across the U.S. state department warning for Michoacán. “Do not Travel” (widespread violent crime and kidnapping. Take it how you take it. Drug cartels and the such. I generally try to avoid joining drug gangs… and since I’m my own emergency contact for travel, kidnappers had better feed me or kill me because they’re not getting anything past what’s on my person.

Without digging into it too much, I booked an affordable apartment near centro histórico. It’s in a walking alley and that’s what appealed to me. I feel the need to be tender to my numbness, so I wanted a quiet street away from traffic and crowds.

Turns out it’s a tourist highlight called “Callejón del Romance.” There’s cafes and music and it’s a place that local teenagers go to smooch. All that side… it’s easier on the nervous system compared to honking taxis and bus exhaust. My apartment is roomy and gorgeous and I completely fell ass backwards into a beautiful place and location. I sit on the massive balcony each day watching the butterflies and hummingbirds in the buganvilia tree. Seriously dreamy.

The monarch butterfly ends its migration near—and the population will spend the winter in the fir trees of central Mexico before migrating back in the Spring. They are now beginning to arrive… some will come as far as Canada. This land has an ideal in temperature… year round. Not too hot and not too cold. Winter is something that happens elsewhere. Not a bad life to be a butterfly.

A short, hot-minute, observation about Morelia. It’s clean. Clean as any city I’ve been… anywhere… any nation. 200 plus 17th-18th century buildings made from pink volcanic rock. It’s like Europe-with a rich collection of the indigenous faces of the region. The people are kind… and I mean—kind with each other. They are stylish and well dressed and cared for. Even the traffic… civilized. Little horn honking aggression. Peaceful and light in vibration. There’s a very user friendly bus system. Small vans (colectivos) color coded and numbered. Passengers get on and greet all on the bus. I get on and say “buenas tardes,” and hit my gotdamn head on the grab rails each time. Morelia has light tourism and I don’t understand why, other than the reputation of Michoacán being dangerous, because—It’s a shining example of a successful city. And light on tourists is likely a good thing. Is a secret destination? There’s an international film festival here this week. So… a balance… of all that a place needs. It’s a complete gem and I feel quite lucky to have woke up from a dream—to find myself here. In this moment. In this reality. In this story.

Tomorrow I am taking a bus to Pátzcuaro to experience Dia de Muertos. More adventures on planet earth. Whisper the dream. Scream the story.