MillyEncounter of a magical kind
September 28th 2006 01:04
My mother has always had an insatiable appetite for travel, but for years it lay dormant because of our lack of money. When I was thirteen, she started working again and since then life has been a roller coaster. I’ve touched the feet of Ramses II at Abu Simbel in Egypt, I’ve gazed at the majestic Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe, and I’ve smelt the flowers in Gethsemane in Jerusalem. Every year in July she gets that look in her eyes. It’s a look I’ve come to love because I know a holiday is on the horizon.
It was about June 1999 when that look reappeared on my mother’s face. My two older sisters had been travelling through South America for nine months and were heading to Mexico. Having acquired a mountain of exotic trinkets on their journey, they were keen to offload some luggage before they continued on to Europe. In the first week of June we received an invitation to join them in Mexico, and within a week we were on our way.
When we arrived in Mexico City, we were greeted by two complete strangers. In the nine months that they had been away, my sisters had changed remarkably. The younger of the two, Amanda Jane, had left Australia a pale, quivering wreck but had become a suntanned and confidant goddess. Mum later nicknamed her Indiana Jane, and she has recently written a series of stories on the experiences of Indiana Jane and her conquests in the Amazon Jungle at the hands of Giardia. My oldest sister Sam also looked like she’d been in a desert for a year. After a somewhat tearful reconciliation at the airport, we were introduced to Mexico City.
As a naïve, awkward 14-year-old, I thought that Mexico would be a dull, dusty hole. How I was wrong! As soon as we stepped outside the airport doors, I was intrigued. Quaint Mexican taxi drivers with curious moustaches sucked on cigarettes while hustling tourists. The stench of pollution and the buzz of traffic overpowered my senses. It was like nothing I’d ever seen and I loved it!
We stayed at the Hotel Carlton, a dive of a place that was overrun by two-dollar hookers and American chauvinists. My mum was horrified but the girls convinced her it was clean, even though it only cost five Aussie bucks a night (the girls had long since blown their savings and were on a tight budget). After a few tequilas in our room, mum was right at home, and from that moment on, we fell in love with Mexico.
The following day we hired a typical Mexican hatchback planning to drive across the Yucatan Peninsula. What a mistake! We set off in our little go-go mobile, only to soon discover that the car was void of suspension. We decided not to worry about it as it had taken about an hour for us to find our way out of the pollution-ridden Mexico City and no one was keen to backtrack. We were four girls on an adventure!
Our first port of call was the quaint little town of Puebla. The cobblestone streets, brightly coloured mosaic murals and picturesque architecture instantly enchanted me. We stayed in a pensione (hostel) that had a tree growing through the centre of the room, ate a local chocolate chicken dish (actually I was the chicken and only mum tried it), visited Cathedrals, drank coffee and talked to the locals.
Our journey continued and we trekked around the Mayan ruins at Palenque, shopped in the hand-painted talavera pottery markets in Campeche and headed to Merida. There, we befriended a plump Mayan man named Juan. Juan took a fancy to Sam and spent the entire day giving us a free-guided tour. First he took us to some deserted ruins, which were really quite spectacular and all the more appealing because of the lack of tourists. I recall him giving me a quick lesson in the art of meditation on top of the ruins that day. He then took us to an underground cave, which was in the back of someone’s house but was being turned into a tourist attraction. How typically Mexican! In the afternoon, mum insisted that we take Juan to lunch to thank him for his hospitality. That was where the strange event took place.
At the table, Juan told us that he was a shaman in a local village and that he could perform magic. Being a sceptic, I immediately disregarded his claim as pure nonsense. However, he said that he could prove it and took my hand in his. He told me to close my eyes and tell him what I felt. Feeling uncomfortable, I closed my eyes and waited. Suddenly, I could feel his hand running up and down my arm, like a creeping spider. When I opened my eyes, I said, “What’s so magical about that, anyone can run their hand along someone else’s arm?” Mum and the girls looked pale and told me that Juan had never even touched my skin! He performed the same ritual on mum and the girls and each one of us experienced a different sensation. Mum said it was like a marble ball running smoothly underneath her skin, whereas the girls both felt a rubber band flicking them. Whatever it was, it was strange and slightly unnerving.
To this day, I don’t know whether the experience was actual magic or if it was some cheap trick that Juan learned in a pub somewhere. Nevertheless, when we parted with him he said in Mayan “Don’t forget me”, and that I never have.
It was about June 1999 when that look reappeared on my mother’s face. My two older sisters had been travelling through South America for nine months and were heading to Mexico. Having acquired a mountain of exotic trinkets on their journey, they were keen to offload some luggage before they continued on to Europe. In the first week of June we received an invitation to join them in Mexico, and within a week we were on our way.
When we arrived in Mexico City, we were greeted by two complete strangers. In the nine months that they had been away, my sisters had changed remarkably. The younger of the two, Amanda Jane, had left Australia a pale, quivering wreck but had become a suntanned and confidant goddess. Mum later nicknamed her Indiana Jane, and she has recently written a series of stories on the experiences of Indiana Jane and her conquests in the Amazon Jungle at the hands of Giardia. My oldest sister Sam also looked like she’d been in a desert for a year. After a somewhat tearful reconciliation at the airport, we were introduced to Mexico City.
As a naïve, awkward 14-year-old, I thought that Mexico would be a dull, dusty hole. How I was wrong! As soon as we stepped outside the airport doors, I was intrigued. Quaint Mexican taxi drivers with curious moustaches sucked on cigarettes while hustling tourists. The stench of pollution and the buzz of traffic overpowered my senses. It was like nothing I’d ever seen and I loved it!
We stayed at the Hotel Carlton, a dive of a place that was overrun by two-dollar hookers and American chauvinists. My mum was horrified but the girls convinced her it was clean, even though it only cost five Aussie bucks a night (the girls had long since blown their savings and were on a tight budget). After a few tequilas in our room, mum was right at home, and from that moment on, we fell in love with Mexico.
The following day we hired a typical Mexican hatchback planning to drive across the Yucatan Peninsula. What a mistake! We set off in our little go-go mobile, only to soon discover that the car was void of suspension. We decided not to worry about it as it had taken about an hour for us to find our way out of the pollution-ridden Mexico City and no one was keen to backtrack. We were four girls on an adventure!
Our first port of call was the quaint little town of Puebla. The cobblestone streets, brightly coloured mosaic murals and picturesque architecture instantly enchanted me. We stayed in a pensione (hostel) that had a tree growing through the centre of the room, ate a local chocolate chicken dish (actually I was the chicken and only mum tried it), visited Cathedrals, drank coffee and talked to the locals.
Our journey continued and we trekked around the Mayan ruins at Palenque, shopped in the hand-painted talavera pottery markets in Campeche and headed to Merida. There, we befriended a plump Mayan man named Juan. Juan took a fancy to Sam and spent the entire day giving us a free-guided tour. First he took us to some deserted ruins, which were really quite spectacular and all the more appealing because of the lack of tourists. I recall him giving me a quick lesson in the art of meditation on top of the ruins that day. He then took us to an underground cave, which was in the back of someone’s house but was being turned into a tourist attraction. How typically Mexican! In the afternoon, mum insisted that we take Juan to lunch to thank him for his hospitality. That was where the strange event took place.
At the table, Juan told us that he was a shaman in a local village and that he could perform magic. Being a sceptic, I immediately disregarded his claim as pure nonsense. However, he said that he could prove it and took my hand in his. He told me to close my eyes and tell him what I felt. Feeling uncomfortable, I closed my eyes and waited. Suddenly, I could feel his hand running up and down my arm, like a creeping spider. When I opened my eyes, I said, “What’s so magical about that, anyone can run their hand along someone else’s arm?” Mum and the girls looked pale and told me that Juan had never even touched my skin! He performed the same ritual on mum and the girls and each one of us experienced a different sensation. Mum said it was like a marble ball running smoothly underneath her skin, whereas the girls both felt a rubber band flicking them. Whatever it was, it was strange and slightly unnerving.
To this day, I don’t know whether the experience was actual magic or if it was some cheap trick that Juan learned in a pub somewhere. Nevertheless, when we parted with him he said in Mayan “Don’t forget me”, and that I never have.
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