The Funeral - Page 1

    "That was Irma" my wife, Martha, said. "My uncle just passed away, and my dad wants to go to see him."

    Those very words struck a whirlwind of thoughts through my head. You see, Martha's uncle lived in San Quintin, and we live in Los Angeles. Knowing how most Latin American countries work, the funeral would be not be too far behind the death. If we were to go to San Quintin, we'd have to leave soon.  "When do you want to leave?" I asked. "Right now" Martha replied.

    We got ready quickly and left to pick up Martha's dad at his home in East Los Angeles, about 10 minutes from our Huntington Park apartment. Along the way, we picked up Mary, Martha's sister, who wanted to come along with us to Mexico. We arrived at my father-in-laws house to find three more of Martha's siblings there already - her sister Lulu, and two brothers, Martin and Pedro. After a brief breakfast of menudo and a bit of conversation, we were on our way. I tried to reach my boss by phone at his house, but I was not able to get through. I left a message for him at work, letting him know I wouldn't be in on Monday and maybe not Tuesday, either. Knowing how lenient my work is with me, I figured I'd be OK.

    We crossed the border at roughly 10:45 am, after a stop to buy insurance and top off the gas tank. The hour or so drive to Ensenada was as expected. Tolls ran $2.20 each, and the fog had barely lifted along the coast. Still, it was a very beautiful drive.

    Lunch was on our mind as we stopped in town at Bahia Ensenada, a mariscos restaurant just off of Av. Lopez Mateos. The food, as always, was excellent.

    After leaving Ensenada, we drove quickly though the hills to the south, before reaching Santo Tomas. Just as we reached the hills between Santo Tomas and San Vicente, Martha's dad began to cough and wheeze. Then, all of a sudden, his lunch came out of his stomach, and onto his pants and the passenger seat of my truck. I had a bit of luck as I found a small piece of dirt to pull onto, off the road. As he continued to get sick, I searched in our luggage for the two spare towels that Martha brought for the trip. The cleanup went well, and being the strong man that he is, Martha's dad exclaimed that he was fine, and a bit "embarrassed" by what had happened. He claimed the menudo made him sick, but we really believe he was just nervous about what was to come in San Quintin. He won't admit that, though.

    The drive continued, and we reached our first checkpoint just out of the hills south of Santo Tomas. We were waved through without even being approached. The rest of the drive was uneventful. I drastically reduced my speed, realizing that the faster I twisted and turned through the winding roads, the more likely Martha's dad was to have a relapse.

    We reached Col. Vicente Guerrero just before 4 pm. However, I missed our hotel, and continued on the drive until I realized I had gone too far. We turned back, and found Motel Chavez on the west side of Hwy. 1. The lights in the room were dim, the showerhead was missing, and the two beds were a bit lumpy, but hot water, a clean room, and only $24 a night made this a worthwhile stay.

    After checking in and briefly cleaning up, we drove the next 5 miles or so south to Ejido Padre Kino, where Martha's uncle had his farm. Apparently, Sr. Jesus Arevalo was a man of great importance at some time in this area. Martha's dad told us that he was instrumental in building up San Quintin, Col. Guerrero, and even Camalu. He either opened or was involved in the opening of one of the biggest canning facilities in the area, bringing agriculture to the forefront of this region. He also served as 'mayor' of one of the areas. Of course, all of this happened many, many years ago, and because of my poor Spanish and even worse translating, I may have some of the facts mixed up. Either way, he was someone who was adored in this region.