One of the passions I have is travel. I feel that it's a pretty common passion among people to see the world. Most of the time when people are in their 20's, it's one of their future ambitions that they haven't achieved yet. In my case I was handed a chance to see a new country during the summer of 1997. I was going into the seventh grade, and my grandma was planning a mission trip to Tula, Mexico. (one of them) It was my dad's idea for me to gain a cultural experience and go with her. So, he wrote out the permission slip, and I was off to Mexico with my 80-something year old great grandma, my great uncle, and my slightly-younger-than-me, uncle whom I'm very close to.
He and I have been friends since we were very little. Luckily I spoke a little bit of Spanish, as it was a requirement in my elementary school and my mid-high. We were loaded up in a white dodge van, with a trailer full of clothes to hand out to the needy, and food as well. All the way down to the south of Texas we listened to "Master P", "Bone Thugs -n- Harmony", and "Snoop Doggy Dogg". We were a little bit in to hip-hop at the time. Which was ironic to listen to going on a church mission because of the abundance of explicit lyrics.
We arrived at a church camp just north of the border, stayed for a few days, then got to the border just after our stay. There, we were inspected. I will never forget when the roads turned dusty and stop signs started reading "ALTO". I knew I was in a new world. It was several long hours over mountains that I had slept through with my headphones on. I remember waking to see my Uncle Chris always looking out the window and observing what he saw. I never could get used to the pressure changes that the mountains provided. Sleeping was the best way to just get through it. I could recall opening my eyes and looking at my boombox that was plugged into the power converter, and staring at a picture of my girlfriend's picture stuck to the front while my ears where being filled with "Puff Daddy".
Finally, we arrived at our place of stay. It was just how you would think of old Mexico. The streets where cobble stone, skinny dogs traipsed across the streets, and many trucks drove by with the beds full of locals going into town. Of the memories I have, there was a few convenient stores that we would enter and get bottled Coka-Cola and Pepsi. I remember at one point I had shaken up a bottle and sprayed it everywhere like they do with Champagne in rap videos. I remember the local boys looking at me like I was crazy for wasting money and precious sugary coke. Eventually, we met up with the family that my grandma knew. The father of the group was the preacher who would later be spreading the good word at many small towns. It was there that we met Marcos. Marcos was their 16 year old son. It didn't take me long to realize that everyone there looked significantly younger than their actual age. Marcos had a car that we got to get chauffeured around in. He introduced us to the town. I remember a market where I bought a chain dog collar for a wallet chain, and a brand new imprinted leather Mexican wallet. There I was, with my hat on backwards, my Jnco Jeans, Vans, and a HUGE wallet chain. We got to see the town square and eat a frozen treat. While eating,I put my feet up on the metal bench while we were checking out the local chicas. I was told by Marcos that I could end up in jail for defiling property, just for having my feet on it. 
When we awoke, we stopped into a town and had to listen to someone preach in spanish for a few hours. We watched them go nuts when we gave a way clothes. I have never seen so many clothes and food disappear. On hour way back to town there was an old man on a donkey and wearing a sombrero. I remember wanting to take a picture of him. He was staring at me as he trotted by. I felt strange about taking a picture of him, so I waited until he passed by and took the picture of him out of the back of the van.
The next day was going to be the most memorable yet. Not just on the trip, but for the rest of my life. We went to a place in the mountains that night for yet another sermon. We ate there and after we played baseball with a stick and a ball in the street with the boys that live in town. After the sermon was over we had to stop and bring this couple into town with us. The wife was pregnant, so she had to be close to a hospital. The space in our van was limited and Chris and I were forced to ride in the utility section of the van. We were riding on top of the tool box in the already uncomfortable journey through the mountains for 45 minutes. Chris and I got situated in the back, and already I could tell it was going to be an unpleasant ride back to the town. One of out new visitors started vocalizing her pain every-time there was a bump. Chris and I were terrified. There are quite a few bumps in my memory, and it was a Mexican road in the mountains. I suppose it added to the misery of being pregnant, but she was being overly vocal. My grandmother assured me that a baby was not going to be delivered in the van, however. It seemed to not comfort Chris and I as she was laying down in the appropriate position for giving birth. Eventually, we were handing my grandmother my rubber gloves. It seems like within moments we were witnessing live birth for the first time in our lives. The van was filled with screams from a newborn baby that was delivered by my inexperienced 80-something year old grandmother. We got into town and to the hospital. Everything was fine and they had a new baby boy. Meanwhile, my uncle was cleaning the blood and afterbirth from the seats with bleach. It was right there I said it, "I need to travel more".