Guestpost by Luca | Hostelbookers.com
Translated by Dario Sorgato
Mexico, a country that to the ears of the Italians sounds like a legendary goal, a dream to make the journey of life in two simple words: the journey.
Thinking about it years later, with a little ill-concealed nostalgia, I understand why, when, in my early twenties, for the first time I felt the urge to travel and the thought automatically went to Mexico.
Abatantuono and friends improvised as narco-traffickers in Acapulco and Real de Catorce or simply Vasco that, driving with ingenuity a Y10 and a lit cigarette with the windows down, screaming out loud“Vado al massimo vado in Messico”! (I am at the top, i am goint to Mexico)
Then there’s Cacucci books so real to feel the dust on the fingertips of every page turn, this and many other pieces of that puzzle, that trip, that dream and the feeling of immensity that is Mexico.
And then you work in summer in Milan with the city deserted and a sultriness you see even mosquitoes are sweating, but that’s okay every day are 80 000 lire to climb to the price of the ticket and then another 80 that will be transformed into tequila or mezcal and Terzera tickets for a bus that will eat the way during billion stars nights.
The dream has already started, Mexico is already there, the Navigli in August are swollen rivers, you’re a raging river, at the mercy of those feelings triggered by the expectation of the first big trip of a lifetime.
You are there only physically, feel the magnitude of the event, you know that once again nothing will ever be the same you’ll be the first to be another person.
It is a unique opportunity for those “once in a lifetime” and there’s really no time to lose.
You knew that the journey has already started and spent nights studying the maps, guidebooks, and talking just about the trip.
Sometimes I come across someone that was already in Mexico and already had his initiation as an indelible tattoo.
You become a sponge absorbing all the information possible, take note of everything and the route changes every 2 days, photographs of places and faces of people, which dreams you encounter, every night leave the place to new faces and places.
The next morning at 8 am there is an alarm but no matter, the sound is sweet , the hours of no sleep causes a mild relaxation, you’re comfortable, you are traveling.
Time passes and the days get shorter in ending summer of Milan.
The city is filled and you laugh in the face of all these poor people who returned from their sad holiday, you are light years away, you’re 1000 kilometers per hour faster than them.
Now the dream has to deal with small moments when you need to get back to reality: the backpack to prepare the traveler’s checks and change a few hundred lire in the bank, a greeting to a few friends with a grin on face.
There you did it, the summer’s work and the hot weather are a memory, the excitement of sleepless nights is turning into adrenaline.
You are there and in front of the window there is a KLM Boeing and when it wil land the curtains open, and you’re ready, you studied the script for days, weeks, months.
You fly, sleeping to regain strength, or perhaps because now waiting is a matter of nbearable hours, not weeks.
You are arrived. It’s 7 am in Mexico City and 20 million people are going to wake up to start their day.
You are awake but unlike their dream, you have just begun to really dream !