December 21st, 2003 - January 3rd, 2004

I didn’t really know what to expect from Torreon. Laura had already told me so much about it that in a way I felt like I had already been there. But I also know from experience that no matter how good the description words can never prepare you for a foreign place. I remember how I spent my entire 18th year reading books about Nepal and the Himalayas. I think that, at the time, I read every single book about Nepal that was written. But nothing could have prepared me for flying into the green pastures of Kathmandu Valley framed, not by the mighty Himalayas, but the dark rain clouds of the summer monsoon.

And the same was true of Torreon. Like Laura had said, Torreon is in the desert, it is neither small nor large, it’s largely influenced by it’s proximity to Monterey and the border. I expected all that. I did not expect such a large middle class and surburban rows of houses surrounding the centro historico. I did not expect the Buzz Cafe - a Starbucks look alike - complete with four dollar blended mochas and free wireless internet access.

Nor did I expect the two brand new malls with $6 ticket movie theaters. (VIP section, with more comfortable chairs I presume, is $8) Nor did I expect seeing horse drawn carts delivering make shift home supplies to houses that would easily fit into La Jolla or Laguna Beach.

What I’m trying to say is I’ve realized that no matter how much I write about the countries I’ve visited here and no matter how many photos and video clips I put up, they will serve as nothing more than abstractions. If they serve any purpose, it’s to show how easy it is to travel the world somewhat comfortably on a tight budget.

I also didn’t know exactly what to expect of Laura’s family. We had been going out for six months at the time and living together for three. My family is the exaggeration of American independence. As a child we ate together sitting around a table occasionally, but we did so to eat. And when we were done eating, we were off to our respective projects, sports, tv shows. I knew Laura’s family would be different and I was a little bit anxious about it.

Sure enough, as soon as Laura and I arrived from Monterey we were offered a seat on the couch and all of the family closed in on us like interrogators of the Inquisition. There was Laura’s father, sternfaced Fernando the first, who later I learned was more nervous than I was. Her mother, Maria Elena, a devout Catholic. Her soft-voiced little sister, Sofia aka “Chancla” who often helped put me at ease. Her older brother, Fernando II, an engineer with Coca-Cola and his wife Lorena and their son, Fernando Tres. They were all there … looking at me … waiting … wondering what the gringo would say.

I kept shifting around on the couch, feeling too rigid so putting my foot up, then feeling rude and putting it back down and feeling too damn rigid again. Laura had her hand on my shoulder … my moral support. My spanish felt like it was clumsily stumbling out of my mouth. I wasn’t used to speaking in usted - it was like a whole new language for me.

But everyone in Laura’s family is kind, patient, and welcoming. After a while I was put at ease and we talked freely and comfortably while eating dinner. I felt relaxed and happy to be in Mexico. The first few days went by quickly as Laura introduced me to her friends and family members and showed me her favorite places. Torreon seems like an unusual spot for so many coffee shops, but there are four or five that easily compete with my favorites in San Diego, San Francicso and Seattle. If you get a chance, check out Cafe Arjuna, Casa Frida, and Tumbao, a second story loft with live music and a bunch of converse wearing hipsters sitting on the ground. (there are plenty of pillows but no chairs or tables)

Before I knew it, Christmas had arrived. Again, I didn’t know what to expect, but I was sure all of the family would be there. And they were … but not until past midnight. We didn’t start eating Christmas dinner until 1:30 a.m. We prayed, we served, we ate. It was three a.m. and half the table still had food on their plates. I just didn’t have enough energy to concentrate. If the conversation had been in English I could have pretended to be paying attention. But in Spanish it was hopeless … I just dazed off at the ceiling and smiled politely when someone remarked that I looked tired. I was using all my strength just to keep my eyes open.