La Carrera a la Basilica

 About 3 months ago, Fanny, the youngest of four siblings and probably the most passionate Catholic I have ever met, challenged me to run with her in the Carrera de La Virgin de Guadalupe - a 162 km trec to Mexico City from Izucar de Matamoros. This holiday celebrating the Virgen Mary begins the Mexican Christmas season.

It's a lot like a relay race; the truck drops off team members every 100 meters, and once the torch reaches you, you take it and run as fast as you can to the next person waiting; then a second truck picks you up and you start all over. It takes about 8 hours to reach the Basilica in this manner and you only run about 12 times throughout the night; we do not run the entire distance because once you reach a certain point outside of Mexico City, it is too dangerous for pedestrians. At the Basilica, we will light our torch, and it will guide our way on the run home.

Fanny explains, "it isn't easy - it's un sacrificio." I, of course, respond, "¡Yo puedo!" and promise to make the journey with her.

The week of the "Carrera" arrives and our team is set - Coco and her husband Chucho, Fanny and her father, brother, friend Pati, and me, the gringa loca.

The truck that will carry half of the runners.
Well at least until the other truck breaks down...

Ready to run! Notice everyone wearing sweatshirts and me in a tank;
Fanny and Pati bet I won't run in my tank at 2 in the morning
when temperatures will be around 30 degrees. I won the bet.

The race begins at la Iglesia Santiago, one of Izucar's many gorgeous churches. From here, we run 3 km (2 mi) to the highway leading to Mexico City. When we load all 80 of us into the back of the trailer, Fanny says, “It’s not too late, we can call mom and she’ll come get you.” No way, I’m going.

They tell me this is the only time all of us will be crammed in the truck; as soon as we start the relay, people will be dropped off every 100 meters and there will be much more room. An earthquake of 6.7 actually struck the coast near Acapulco, shaking the states of Puebla and México – although everyone in Izucar trembled for 3 minutes, we didn’t feel a thing!

It’s my turn to bajar la camioneta and I suddenly realize I’m slightly terrified. The truck literally stops only for a second before you jump off, and the steps are tiny. I climb down backwards while the truck is moving about 30 miles a hour and hold tight until it slows. I jump, and I am alone; luckily, the moon is full so it isn’t pitch black, but after I encounter a dead snake, I’m not feeling reassured. About 2 minutes pass and I see Pati’s lamparita (tiny flashlight) in the distance running towards me. She passes the unlit torch and I take off until I reach Coco. I climb on the second truck and we continue on.

We do this about 8 times and the time surprisingly goes by quickly. I find myself looking forward to being dropped off into the darkness and enjoy the cold fresh air on my face.

About 70 km away from Mexico City, the truck stops completely. We pass around tortas and coffee and chat happily. After about 30 minutes, we find out one of our trucks has an engine problem and will not be able to make it to Mexico. It’s 5:00am and the run is over. All 80 of us will have to ride in one truck for 2 hours.

We cram together trying to figure out the best way – we sit legs apart stacking people closely between them – no one seems to mind the lack of personal space– they cuddle up close and comfortably, knowing it’s the only way we are all going to fit. I'm feeling a bit claustrophic so I stand the rest of the way with my hands above my head holding a rope tightly so I don’t step on the child sleeping next to my feet. There are lots of indocumentos jokes, only it is me they are questioning – "Do you have your papers? What? You don’t have papers? We're going to deport you, gringa!” they laugh in good humor.

We finally park at 7:45 am. We grab our blankets and spread them out on the sidewalk – and sleep soundly for 45 minutes.

You might be asking, why would anyone want to put themselves through this crazy pilgrimage.

Here’s the story:

Nearly 500 years ago, shortly after the Spanish conquest, a poor indigenous man had a vision. A dark-skinned Virgin Mary spoke to him and told him to tell the Bishop to build a church on the Hill. Of course, when he told the Bishop and other clergy, no one believed him; they needed proof. So the Virgin told him to climb the to the top of Tepeyac Hill. When Juan Diego arrived, he found it covered in Castillian roses, native to the Bishop's country. In December, roses do not grow because it is actually very cold in Mexico City. This in itself was a small miracle.

The church built on Tepeyac Hill; La Virgen was hung here until the 1970s.

The Ancient and more modern Basilicas de Guadalupe.

Juan Diego collected the flowers in his cloak and took them down to the bishop. When he opened the cloth, the flowers fell to the floor and on the cloak appeared a perfect image of the Virgin Mary. This cloak now hangs in the Basicila at the base of the hill.

I am told there have been many scientific tests on this special yate (cloak) – it is nearly 500 years old, yet age has not touched it. Scientists have used acid and bleach on the cloths fibers but nothing affects it. They can not determine how it was painted, and when they tried to replicate it, their cloth lasts no longer than 10-15 years. 

This miracle brings over 10 million faithful Mexican Catholics to the Basilica the week before Dec. 12th each year. Some by trailers like us, some by bicycle, some purely on foot. Many will begin the journey months before, walking hundreds of kilometros and finish the journey on their knees as they enter the Basilica courtyard.

We walk about 10 blocks towards the Basilica. As we get closer, the waves of people become thicker; I   grab on to Coco's jacket as to not get carried away in the strong current. The entrance carries a large banner welcoming los peregrinos (pilgrims). 

The Basilica will welcome over 1million Mexicans (and a few gringos)
the day before El Día de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe.

We enter the Basilica with amazing ease and speed. I'm shocked at how organized and efficient the tour is and begin to wonder if I'm still in Mexico. A lady, dressed in her best Sunday clothes, shouts loudly "This is the Virgen" "Be respectful!" "Take of your hats!" 

Then, we are ushered onto one of four conveyor belts. Chuchu tells me to get my camera ready, and we pass by Her in less than twenty seconds. 

La Virgen de Guadalupe 

The whole visit lasted no more than 30 minutes, with about 25 of those in the gift shop. Afterwards, we  tour the market places and fuel up on lots of coffee. We find a public bathroom that charges 3 pesos for its use. There is no soap, and as I leave, I notice a people counter at the entrance. Over 900,000 people have used this bath this weekend - I suddenly panic, needing to get to a farmacia fast to buy some Purell.

With my new handsanitizer, I'm ready to eat - there are church groups on every corner, preparing pollo, tortillas, mole, atole, and nopales for any faithful peregino. Absolutely free.

At 6:00 pm, those who want to sleep or simply sit for a while, pile into a new truck, and the rest of us, into the trailer to get ready to run again.

Mercado filled with statues, jewelry,
and other beautiful gifts to offer La Virgen

We run with our now brightly lit torch. I have a sudden burst of energy as I grab the torch from Pati.  I'm not sure if it was the faith that moved me, or the thought of a bus smacking me, but I run faster than ever at 1:00 am -- 40 hours without sleep. At about 3:00 am, the jefes say we are behind schedule and we need to get back for our welcome party. Our run has ended. We sit and giggle incoherently - no one wanting to be the first to sleep. Fanny tells me I've impressed her. Never had she imagined a gringa wanting to participate in such a crazy, yet important tradition. Aguantaste, Gringa, her brother says to me with a huge smile. You did it.

We arrive on the outskirts of Izucar and visit our first altar for La Virgen. Jorge, Fanny's father, lights its candles with our torch, and Coco leads us in the rosary. We sing "Guadalupe" and then make our way to the next altar. 

At 6:00 am, we are welcomed by members of the church. They greet us with atole and hot chocolate, and lots of tamales. We light their candles displayed amongst statues of Mary, Christmas lights and Poinsettas (La Flor de Navidad). We say another Hail Mary, sing another song, and finally, walk home while the sun rises to greet us. I have never been so tired, yet so happy.

For the less faithful and slightly more cynical, the story of Juan Diego is like many Catholic traditions here. Most likely, it was created to convert the indigeous culture to Catholicism--a Jesuit-style mezcla of cultures used instead of the more vicious tactics of the Spanish Inquisition. The Mexican Virgen is said to be darker-skinned like the indigneous Juan Diego. She is more commonly called La Virgen de Guadalupe, which sounds a lot like the Nahautl name "Coatlaxopeuh" (pronounced quatlashupe) meaning "the one who crushes the serpent" (referring to the serpent, Quetzacoatl, another legendary figure of Aztec mythology).

When my faithful friends interjected and interrupted each other to tell me their own version of the story, I did not share my knowledge and perspective of the legend. I simply listened in awe. A miracle does exist in México, and you can literally feel its power in the streets of Mexico City and in a trailer carrying 80 faithful peregrinos. The spirit of millions of Mexicans flowing together towards the Basilica like rivers joining in an ocean. It truly was a most miraculous adventure.