I am holed up in Mérida, Mexico, at the moment.  It's a beautiful colonial city of nearly a million people.  I stay in the historic old center, but the place must be sprawling.  Most buildings are one story tall.  Some are two stories, but anything higher than that is difficult to find.  So, to fit a population anything close to a million people in the area, it has to sprawl.

The old town is mostly colonial architecture, but there is also a mix of Art Nouveau, Art Deco and Classical architecture.  Much has been beautifully restored.  Many buildings are currently under renovation.  But, there is a lot in complete desolation waiting for the right person to come along with some tender loving care and a wad of pesos.  If I had the repairman genes that my two brothers have, I would be tempted to move to Mérida and flip houses.

I decided to come to Mérida to catch up on some sleep that I seriously lost in Brasil.  And if you need siesta time, you could not pick a more beautiful location.  The plaza in the town center is so very colonial and it appears to thrive both day and night.  But, about seven blocks away, where I stay, it's calm and peaceful.  I've slept, blogged and worked on my website.

Of course, every day I wander the city to see what I can find.  I located grocery stores with no fresh fruit or vegetables.  The landlord where I stay suggested I get those items at Walmart.  W A L M A R T  ! ! !  For crying out loud!  That is not where I want to shop in Mexico.  But, on my first outing for food, I only knew one place to go.  It took me a few days to discover the kind of Mexican marketplaces I had in mind.  One is a mere two blocks from where I stay.

If there is much to do in Mérida other than admire old architecture, I have not found it.  If there are many local people who speak English, I have not seen them either.  Usually, that is just fine.  However, I was puzzled when I saw multiple bicycle groups riding the streets of Mérida, all with posters or statues of the Virgin Mary on their backs.  I thought I might be able to research that online and I also came up blank.  It was a Mexican mystery.

Mérida is not so far from the ancient Maya city of Chichén Itzá.  I have been there before.  On a previous trip to the Yucatán, I stayed at a bed and breakfast in Cancún.  When I asked my host about getting to Chichén Itzá, she said she would take me.  Now I know she couldn't do that for every guest. But, she was so impressed with my murals that she wanted to do something for me.  We happened to visit on my birthday.  It's one of my nicer birthdays in recent memory.  But, it was a long haul.  The drive was around four or five hours one way.

The bus drive from Mérida was under two hours.  It made the whole experience so much less exhausting.   And, I arrived before the hordes of tour buses from Cancún.  Even without the hordes, it was still difficult to get photos without people taking endless selfies.  I managed.  And, while waiting, I listened to some guides with different groups.  One man said that most of the souvenirs available were made in China. 

Fortunately, I know that not all items were imported.  I talked to a few artists as they carved wooden masks.  If you look at the faces, you'll notice two different halves sometimes.  Without talking to the artist I was clueless.  But, I learned the mask represented life and death.  Some masks were predominately blue.  I asked about that.  Blue is a traditional Maya color.  Dark blue represented power and sky blue represented the soul.

The pyramids, sports court and other structures of Chichén Itzá were impressive.  They were also under blistering Mexican heat.  Most people quickly retreated to the shade and that's where the vast numbers of souvenir vendors were hawking those goods from China.  There were so many sellers.  It kind of felt like the ancient ruins were a beautiful backdrop for a giant souvenir flea market.

Chichén Itzá is much more of a tourist destination than any other place I have visited this trip.  And, that means there were people who spoke English, Mexican people who spoke English.  So, I asked about the mysterious bicyclers in Mérida.  Shame on me for not knowing, but December 12 is the Day of the Virgin of Guadalupe, Mexico’s patron saint, and celebrated across the country.  It commemorates the visitation of Mary to Mexico City twice in 1531.  It rivals Christmas as a Catholic celebration in December.  I was told in many parts of Mexico that people bicycled or ran with signs and statues on their back.  They were on their way to a special mass.  Of course, the biggest celebration is at the Basilica of Guadalupe in Mexico City.

Naturally, I wanted photos.  The bicyclists always seemed to pass by me before I could get my camera out and ready.  Eventually, it dawned on me that the riders were preceded by a police siren, their escort.  Once that registered, I got the photos I wanted.

With my Mexican mystery solved and my fill of Maya photos, it was time to fill my stomach. I wandered away from the architectural site and located a little diner with a daily special called “Pollo a la Yuca Teca”.  It was time for a cultural treat.  I didn't know exactly what I was getting, but it was chicken, so it couldn't be too daring.

Chicken a la Yuca Teca was served with pickled red onions, black refried beans and rice.  Of course, there were tortillas and hot sauce.  I have had lots of “hot” sauce in Mexico.  Usually, it's a pleasant little addition of herbs and spices but there is no fire.  This sauce was made from habanero peppers and it was flaming.  I loved it.

The actual chicken was fried and then cooked in a red achiote sauce.  Another Mexican mystery.  I asked to see the achiote since I didn't know what it was.  I looked kind of like a red paste made from paprika.  Actually, the spice dates back to Maya times where it was also used as a red dye and for currency.  My waiter said the achiote was mixed up with orange juice and a little water to prepare the marinade.  It gave the dish a red color and the taste is described as nutty or peppery.  I can vouch that it was delicious.  It was, after all, fried chicken.

All in all, it was a very good day.  One archeological UNESCO World Heritage Site visited and two Mexican mysteries solved.  Who could ask for anything more?

Time for a siesta.

I seriously didn’t want to leave Brasil.  There were more schools in Barbaso Ferraz that wanted murals, and I wanted to paint them.  Unfortunately, it was close to the Christmas travel season.  To change my flight out of Brazil, or buy a new one-way ticket, would have cost more than the original ticket.  It just was not an option I could afford.

So, all too soon, I packed up and headed to the airport.  The people who graciously welcomed me three very short weeks ago, escorted back me to the airport.  Three of the guys, the men in black, all dressed appropriately to show their mourning.  (And, interestingly enough, they all live in a town without any kind of golden arches.  At lunch, they all had the same golden logo with their meals.  Perhaps in preparation for their own funerals?  I had pasta without a hint of arches.)

Just prior to going to the departure area, I told them that I arrived in Brasil to a banner and eight welcoming strangers.  Now, I left with no banner, but with a Brasilian family.

When Geremias stopped crying, he translated for the rest.

Everyone hugged one more time.  Then, to end the lingering suffering, I headed through the doors to the departure area.  My flight was already boarding.

In a time before selfies (and, yes, there was a time before selfies) my record for actual real photographs on paper with strangers was in Borbador, Java, Indonesia.  It seems that Indonesians like to take photos of themselves with foreigners.  After the first person was brave enough to ask for a picture, the ice was broken.  Over 40 people asked to pose with me among the temples in the Buddhist complex.  I had one-on-one candid photos, group shots with a dozen people, small group, large group and very, very close ups.  I didn’t think that record would ever be broken.

I never planned on Brasil.

Over the course of three weeks, I was treated like a celebrity.  There were too many photos to count.  Hundreds of them.  Really.  Most were with people who spoke no English.  Some I never saw again after the photo.  But, there were many who became a part of a large Brasilian family that I hope to see over and over for the rest of my life.
So, I’m going to end my travels to Brasil – this time – with a few more quotations (thanks to Google Translator) that have come my way from my new family as well as a smattering of selfies.  Hopefully, you’ll understand why I must return again and again and again.

Kalleu – I will miss you.  You are the best American.

Ivan – I already miss you, so come back soon, for us to paint together.

Viviane - We are already missing you ... we look forward to your return. See you soon!!!

Alisson - Come back soon Phillip, we are waiting for you, arms wide open.

Thais – Phillip, I hope to see you again soon.  It was a wonderful experience to spend some days with you.  Thank you from my heart.  Your work is magnificent.  There are no words to say thank you.  This is a friendship that will always be remembered.  Come back more often to Brasil.

Felipe – It was great to have your presence during this time here in Brasil, Phillip.  I’m sure the doors will always be open to you when you want to come back.  Always come back!

Mari – And once again the tears stream from my eyes.  It is so sad to have to say goodbye to a great friend.  We will keep these memories as special moments.  Come and visit us.  Thank you for everything!

Luiz Fernando – You’re one of the best people that I had the pleasure to meet in my life.  I am extremely emotional, but this isn’t a goodbye, because I know we are still going to meet again.

Alessa and Jeferson – I hope we have made this journey marked in your heart and that you will never forget us.  We’ll miss you! A big hug. 

Vini-Amor – Thank you again for giving us these beautiful moments in our lives.  Thank you for being the wonderful, caring and friendly person that you are.  I wish the best.  Remember: I will learn English to talk to people in Ohio.  Thank you for entering our stories (in your blog).  We love you, my great friend.

And, perhaps, the last quote sums it all up.

Dalillah – You should move to Brasil.

It wasn’t till I was actually being exported out of Brasil that I asked how I was initially imported into the country in the first place.  It is quite an amazing story.  I can’t believe I almost forgot to collect it.  But, I had all of my best English speakers together in the same car for about three hours on the way to the airport.  Time was long overdue for details.

Geremias, my host and “celebrity” promoter in southern Brasil, contacted me about a year ago to see if I was interested in possibly coming to Brasil to paint murals.  Anyone who really knows me would already know the answer before the email was finished.  I replied, “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”  If I had had any clue as to the kind of welcome I’d get in Brasil, I would have doubled the number of times I said "Yes!"

The JAA A Gincana jamboree, that I wrote about earlier, is celebrated every six months.  During the last occasion, in June, Geremias began the talk that brought me to South America.  And, several unique plans, marketed in many ways, worked together to bring this unknown gringo artist into their midst.          

I seriously wish I would have known about the people in Mambore before leaving the country.  This was the location of the radio station where I had my very long – and oh, so fun -- live interview.  I should have given the JAA kids a shout-out.  I am now.  These kids had the very clever idea to rent out the local cinema one night a week.  They showed a film and sold soft drinks.   And, they did this every week for six months to help raise money for my murals.  The team even had T-shirts with # Phillip Martin on the back.  Certainly, that is a first for me.  I’m so glad that at least one member of that group participated in the first mural.  Mari, Emelin, Dionei and the rest of your crew, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

The Midnight Partiers in Marumbi, where I sprained my ankle playing Twister for the last time ever, sold cheese bread to raise money.  And, my friends, I wish I had known before or after the sprain to thank you.  You know I really want to repay you on my next visit with a mural.  Just no Twister, please.
              
My interpreter, Alisson, and his girlfriend, Viviane, worked equally hard to raise money.  They sold drinking cups and key chains with the A Gincana logo.  In addition to that, Viviane made desserts that looked like they came from a chocolate boutique.  The one I had was a waffle cone stuffed full of Nutella and then dipped in chocolate.  Can you ever seriously have too much chocolate?  If there is any doubt in your mind, let me assure you now that the answer is no.  And, there is no doubt that my experience in your country would not have been the same without your support, friendship and English.  Obrigado.

A large portion of funds came from the really nice sweatshirts with the A Gincana logo that Geremias and Dalillah sold.  If I had known about that, I would have bought one to help towards the next project.  However, there honestly wasn’t room in my suitcase for it.  But, next time I’ll have room.   And, there really needs to be a next time, sooner rather than later.  If I tried to tell you how much I appreciate all you did for me, there would be three people crying.  You know what you mean to me.

I’ve always said that the best thing about my murals is the community spirit that is a major part of the project.  I truly believe it.  However, this is the first time that I remember when such a community spirit kicked into gear before I set foot on the mural location.  I cannot stress enough the family feeling that is ever present with this JAA community.  And now, gratefully, I am part of the family.

The day was a little stressful.  For starters, my ankle was swollen and I could barely walk.  It appears I’ve played my last game of Twister - ever.  I played it twice at a party in Marumbi.  In the first game, I shamelessly cheated.  When you are a visiting “celebrity”, you can bump, push, smack and slap anyone in Twister and nobody cares when you win.  That kind of behavior only lasts one game.  I tried to behave myself in the second game, but I somehow sprained my ankle.  Alisson, otherwise known as Deus, said it was karma.  I guess he should know about that.  Anyway, I didn’t move around well all day.

It was my final day to paint on the mural, and we didn’t arrive on site until after lunch.  That gave me about five hours to work.  That should have been plenty of time, but there were distractions. 

I’d gotten into the habit of painting little hearts on anyone at the center, young or not so young, who wanted a heart on their cheeks, nose or arms.  I always called them my “corazon” when the painting was completed.  It appears they loved the attention.  I painted a lot of hearts.

As the hands on the clock ticked by, I grew a little more stressed.  And then, one of the teachers asked me to come to her room.  I had no idea why, but I didn’t have the time to go there.

Of course, I did.

It would have been such an incredible loss for me personally if I had not visited.  She wanted me to see Claudinei, one of her students, a man with what I think was cerebral palsy.  He loved – absolutely adored – painting, but he did not have the motor skills with his hands to use the brush.  Instead, he had a special hat with an arm in front of his face.  A brush was taped to that arm, and Claudinie painted with his head.  I’d never seen anything like it before in my life.  He was skilled enough to dip his brush in the cup for more paint and then create his own design.  During my visit, he painted a Christmas tree.

His art teacher said that he was not at APAE on the day the students painted on the mural.  Otherwise, he surely would have had his chance to be a part of the project.  Well, forget about my stress.  Forget about my deadline.  Forget about the pain in my foot.  Nothing in my life compared to what this man faced on a daily basis.  He was going to paint on my mural.  End of discussion.

When his wheelchair was eventually rolled out to the mural location, Claudinei’s teacher shook her head.  She said there just wasn’t any way to position his chair so he could paint.  Well, that was simply unacceptable.  I hobbled over to his chair and rearranged things until Claudinei was finally able to paint on the wall.  He applied purple paint to the final letter E.  He was not going to be denied.

And, he was simply delighted.

Claudinei didn’t talk, and I couldn’t speak Portuguese anyway.  But, I figured that physical contact would work in this situation.  I held his hand.  I patted his chest.  I cupped his face in my hands.  He knew he was welcomed and appreciated.  And, Claudinei knew how to show his joy.  His face beamed and his legs flew about his wheelchair as if he were jumping for joy.

I was so moved that I could barely hold it together.  I could not possibly imagine this man’s challenges, but we connected over a mural.  And, I was able to bring a little joy to his life.  My two JAA boys who helped me throughout the project were equally moved.  They both embraced me in a group hug.

And, I cried.

I’m not sure who else cried.  I’m fairly sure there were not many dry eyes in the place.  When the boys finally let go of me, Geremias moved in for a bear hug.  He said, “I might have been born in the United States, but I had the heart of a Brasilian.” 

I continued crying. 

Eventually, the tears dried, work continued and the mural was completed on time.  But, before going home, Claudinei was wheeled out one more time to the mural to give me the painting he had completed.

I cried again.