Mas

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Everything was flooded when we arrived to Guadalajara back in 1982 at around 10:30 p.m.   We were tired after a long day's drive from Monterrey, Mexico and were escorted by Tio Salvador Michel to his residence.  

I noticed security gates and walls in every residence along the way and were led into a huge brick house with a lot of rooms and an open patio. 

We stayed up and talked for a while and soon headed to bed.  I finally felt relieved and the heavy stress of driving through the Mexican deserts and mountains all day drained out of my body. 

I could hear the thunder and rain outside but it was soothing like music.  Speaking of music, we were awaken the next day by Mexican music on the radio and the smell of fresh tortillas and hot coffee.

It was exciting meeting my 9 cousins that morning, five primas and four primos.  Primos that I have only heard about through stories my mother used to tell us when she talked about Guadalajara.    

The Michel family was beautiful and a couple of my primas, Martha and Paty had the lightest skin with light to blond hair.  I was told that there were people of all types in Guadalajara depending on their heritage...from the darkest skin to the lightest people.   

It was After breakfast we went outside and saw that the skies were clear and the flood waters had disappeared.  The air was very clean and fresh and the sun shined brightly.  Now I understood why my mother talked about Guadalajara so much.

It was a busy morning with vehicle traffic zipping by and the vehicle horns blasting on occasion.  Tia Concha took me to the store and showed me how she got around in the busy city.  One foot on the brake, one on the accelerator, one hand out the window and the other hand on the horn. 

She must have known a lot of people because whenever someone would honk at her, she would honk back and wave at them with her hand up in the air.  She said it was a way of life and she had to drive like this because of all the traffic.

We only had two days to see the city so we took in as much as we could starting with the beautiful cathedrals in central Guadalajara, the plaza’s centro comerciales and even a tour on the horse drawn carriages. 

We would occasionally run into groups of Mariachi's playing at various locations and we would stop to enjoy the music.   This music stayed with me the rest of my life and there's nothing better than a good Mariachi group entertaining you with all the favorite canciones of their time.

We didn’t want to leave Guadalajara and it was hard saying "adios" but I had my schedule to keep and we soon had to jump in the GMC and start driving north to the good ole U.S. of A. with a load full of memories. 

Driving out was easy, “Just follow the yellow brick road”…..er… I mean…Just follow the signs that read “Nogales”.  For those that don’t know, Nogales is a border town in Mexican side of Arizona.  There is also a Nogales on the Arizona side.  

Back in the 80’s there were no toll roads so we had to take the same route that everyone else took.  Hitting chuck holes on the highway was no big deal and it was just something my GMC got used to.

Driving north on the 2 lane road was an experience and I noticed that the Mexican drivers were very courteous.  This was quite different than the way the drivers drove in the city.   Whenever it was clear to pass, they would move towards the right and wave us around.  If it was not clear, they would drive to the left so we can’t pass them.  Up to this date, the Mexican drivers still drive with courtesy on the highways.

We drove all day through to Matzatlan and decided to spend the night there along the bay.  The hotel was across the street from the beach and the only thing that scared us was a big old spider trying to crawl away and hide after we turned the blankets on the bed.  It was huge, almost the size of a tarantula but slimmer with long legs.  We all ran out of the room and had the hotel attendant get us another room which we searched completely before settling in to sleep.

The next day we got up early and jumped into the clear bay waters.  My son Joey, was 7 years at the time and my daughter, Sandy was 10.  After breakfast, we toured the city as we followed the Nogales signs and drove north through the typical two lane highway that took us north along the coast. 

Along the way, we were stopped on a couple of occasions by the military who were armed with automatic weapons and searching all the vehicles for drugs or anything illegal. 

I remember my mother was found to not have the proper permits that were required and was told she was in Mexico illegal.  You should had seen her tell the soldiers that she was born in Guadalajara and she had all rights to be in Mexico.  Well, they let us go and we continued to drive north.

My GMC was taking it’s toll with the Mexican gasoline.  The big 350 V-8 was not used to running on gasoline mixed with water.  As we drove by Hermosillo, Sonora we could hear what sounded like marbles rattling around inside the engine.  The more I accellerated the louder they got.  We were afraid the GMC was going to give out so I took it slow and easy as we drove up to Nogales, Sonora.  By the time we got to the border, I thought the engine was going to explode. 

 I knew I had to put American gasoline but quick.  Once we got across the border, we drove to the nearest gasoline station and fueled up with Premium gasoline.  The marbles slowly disappeared and the GMC started driving so good we decided to drive home through the night.  

We arrived in Bakersfield at around 5:00 a.m., tired but glad to be home.  After this trip, I swore I would never drive through Mexico like this again.

Well, as the years flew by, we continued our relationship with our primos in Guadalajara.  We were family and became very close and up to this date, we are family through and through.  My primos and primas got married, had sobrinos and throughout the years, I traveled to Guadalajara for weddings, Quinceñeras, Bautismos, and anniversaries. 

My first plane flight was another experience I’ll never forget but that’s another story.  All my primos have passports and visas to travel to the states and have come up on occasion. They love the USA, especially San Francisco and way of life but they are happier in Guadalajara, their roots.

I know that it is very hard to uproot yourself from your "Tierra", where you were raised and have all your family and friends.  Just ask my wife, who was born and raised in Guadalajara, until I crossed her path.  If it is not a necessity to move to a strange land than you don’t leave your roots.

Obviously a lot of people, not only from Mexico, but from other parts of Central and South America and the rest of the world, feel that if they come to USA, they will find a better life. Most are mistaken because they do not find what they are looking for.  

Some of them, like my wife, don’t have a choice and follow their hearts.  From then on it's just getting used to this new way of life.  Some survive here others return.  Those that stay, never forget where they came from.

In my experience, I found that the immigrants who come here looking for a better life for themselves, are in fact looking for a better life for their children and their children's children.  The immigrants work very hard out in the fields day after day in freezing and hot weather. 

Others have some skills and find better paying jobs in construction or other things.  They send their kids to school to get an education so that they may have a better life.  Some kids, through their education, find the life that their father’s wanted for them. 

The grandchildren have it made even better because their parents don’t have to suffer as much as their grandparents did.  This was the case with our family.  

My grandparents never came to the USA.  My father, became a bracero and eventually, with the help of other relatives in the USA, managed to bring us kids.......I was 7 years old….to California.  I will never forget my roots.

I’m a homeboy from Tijuana where we lived in La Colonia Independencia, up in the hills.  My brother and sisters were all born in either T.J., Mexicali or Ensenada.  But our roots go further down to Guadalajara on my mother’s side and even further to either Italy or Spain through our heritage.

Stay tune for Part III