El Cerro de Cuarto
February 6, 2017 My friend, Hugo, the French teaching assistant, offered to guide us up the hill. His sister and her boyfriend, who were briefly visiting from Canada, also joined the adventures. As we walked behind the our university buildings, the security guard, Miguel, reminded us to ask for permission before we cross the fence. He also warned us that it will rain and may be As I walked, droplets of began drizzled on the undeveloped pavement. Passing by cattle peacefully grazing carved a distinctive memory as I became hunted by barcodes attached to their neck.
To the south of the metropolitan zone, near the UTJ, the university that I currently teach as a Fulbrighter, stands a high hill with several antennas at the summit, visible throughout the city. It is called El Cerro de Cuarto, an inactive volcano that last erupted thousands of years ago. Allegedly it was named after the Fourth Infantry Battalion of Francisco Villa’s Army which entered Guadalajara during the Mexican Revolution. Other believe it was named after the four visible antennas at the peak.
peligroso to walk up there. After apologizing and assuring him that we will be fine, we walked another street uphill to begin the journey upward. .Humans are indeed, the most insidious creatures.
At the bottom of the hill were construction workers, brown men on trucks and men bending their backs, putting cement on undeveloped buildings. As a person who has an affinity for construction workers (my dad once was), I thought about how my walk here was a choice but their presence was a duty. I thought about how cities are built on the back of poor people; places in the USA, where buildings are built by sweat and tears of immigrants- from Blacks to Chinese to Mexicans. Rain poured as we hiked up the mountain. Hugo, knowing that I was wearing sandals, asked me if I wanted to stay back while others finish the trip. My ambitious self decided that to complete what I started and we continued together. About thirty minutes later, we made it to the top.Soon, rain pounded on us as we headed back. Thunder roared and lightning flashed. Going down was treacherous as the rocks were chunky and difficult for me to place my feet. I bent over my body into a squatting position and used my hands to steady myself. My fingernails dug deep into red muddy Earth. Like a child clinging to it Mama, I felt strangely comforted and connected to
The view was incredible. From high above, I looked out to the city -tiny pigments of red root tops and green vegetations- and took a deep breath of life. Away from the daily buzz, I felt at ease- impenetrable by the daily hustle and grind. Isolation is bliss.
la tierra, hugging wet the rocks and soil.
Half running and half walking through the streets, we finally made it back to the school.I t was a beautiful adventure.The more I traveled the more I crave for adventures like this-the one without the price tag of consumerism. I think about the city and the touristy destinations and its capitalistic shortcut to cultures. But real culture is not something you find on Tripadvisor or Yelp, it is through people and their invitations, through serendipity and strangers.
Privileged to have access to both, I hope that by writing my experiences down, others and I will find bliss and liberation during our travels by critically thinking about our point of access to cultures and take the less road traveled.
Originally published at https://eyego.weebly.com.