Woke up this ordinary Sunday of 2025 with one of those light headaches I experience maybe once a month, nothing too severe I even cared to combat with any artifice. Strange, though, as I was well rested, plentifully hydrated and sufficiently caffeinated where I otherwise might have attributed the issue to withdrawal symptoms as happens on a rare occasion. But there wasn’t anything remarkable I could ascribe to that morning or the day before, no more remarkable than most other days in these high altitudes of Puebla of the last few weeks.
But then my friend here suggested to drive to the national park environing the Popocatepetl active volcano visible from this very junction yet demanding a two-hour journey to reach, something you might deem excessive considering the mere 35-40km distance, but not once you’ve experienced the quality of roads leading to the site, the same quality characteristic of much of Mexico where you’ve not opted for the luxuries of the paid expressways likewise available as alternate thoroughfare throughout much of the country, albeit often demanding longer distances, though far smoother and likely the more fuel efficient and tire friendly.
Now on the way there we drove not by ways of these smoother roundabouts, but directly through the grunge rock motley of speed bumps and potholes for what felt like every damn ten meters and extending towards eternity.
Now remember the light and unremarkable headache I mentioned not long back? Well, on smooth and even ground the headache might have phased out in the train of its own nonchalance. But matters as they presented, the headache amplified and degenerated into a severe case of nausea, one of those that might follow a night of heavy drinking, no thank you.
And every speed bump, every bump in general, the frequency and severity of which only increased as we continued to scale the altitudes and approach what seemed the never approaching, my head and body jerked with such madness that I thought my guts would spill. The nausea felt unbearable.
Despite the increasingly colder clime, as it was supposed to approach zero by the time of reaching the destination, I needed the window wide open in attempt to alleviate the torture by some moderate fraction. So I was simultaneously shivering cold and yet gasping for piercing wind, inhaling and exhaling more enthusiastically than a woman in labor.
That was more or less the affair for the entire two hours. Meanwhile, I’d swallowed Ibuprofen, chugged a shipload of electrolytes which I hadn’t otherwise touched in ten years, but the torture wouldn’t ultimately subside save during the occasional stops on my account and the final destination, when I’d step out of the car and charter the cold, arid, somewhat dusty and notably deforested landscape of those volcanic heights.
I’ve not the tenderest spot for cars, and I’ve less of a tender spot for car trips, especially when sufficient local trails are to be found in the walking vicinity, however languid the more adventurous bunch of you might view the position. Now with a case of nausea, there’s nothing remotely tender.
Questions, comments? Connect.