TRAVEL

Miracle in Tequisquiapan
By Nancy Seeley

After a recent trip to Tequisquiapan, I believe in Mexican miracles.

Photos by Nick Dubeski
Photo: Subdirector Francisco Centeno, Nancy Seeley, Comandante Javier Guevara Rosales,
Rachel Pavlic and Francisco Centeno.
Drawing by Rachel Pavlic of “Pinky” the taxi driver that helped find the right guy…

“Tequis,” as the 30,000 locals call it, is a scant two-hour drive from the teeming bustle of Mexico City and only an hour southeast of Querétaro. Besides its low-key ambiance, bougainvillea-lined cobblestone streets and cool early morning and evening temps, it’s a great starting point for side trips to nearby opal mines, the artistic enclave of San Miguel de Allende, and the wine caves of Freixenet (www.freixenetmexico.com.mx) – which is where the “pre-miracle” trouble started.

We enjoyed a tour of the winery and capped off our taste-testing by purchasing several bottles of “Petillant Brut,” a very reasonably-priced bubbly at $68 pesos for 750 ml., as well as souvenir champagne flutes. Among our group of four, my Spanish, though far from fabulous, is as good as it gets, so I rode in front with the driver when we hailed a taxi from neighboring Ezequiel Montes for the 30-minute ride back to our rented condo.

Those quaint cobblestone Tequis streets are pretty bumpy, so I decided it was a good idea to carry my new glasses on my lap and put my fanny pack on the floor as we jounced over the road. It wasn’t until after we paid the driver and hauled our purchases through the complex and to our second floor digs that I realized my pack was still on the floor of the cab’s front seat. We all raced back down to the street and waited for half an hour while my heart pounded and I hoped the driver had a Good Samaritan bent. Nada.

Our front desk dialed the taxi stand in Ezequiel Montes with no luck, so my partner Nick Dubeski and I took a bus back to the town (three km. shy of the wine caves) and explained my plight to the taxi dispatcher, a bunch of drivers parked along the main street, and the police. Although everyone we talked to was polite, it didn’t help that I knew neither the name of the driver nor the number of his cab! Two hours later, someone suggested we return early the next morning because Monday between 6 - 11 a.m. is the only time all local drivers must report in to the centrally-located dispatcher.

Feeling quite frustrated by my own carelessness and less than hopeful about retrieving my money (about $1,000 pesos), VISA card, and sentimental treasures, we returned the next day. No info, no returned fanny pack. A police officer suggested we head for Ministerio Publico, where the woman in charge, Lic. Ma. Domitla Acuña Torres, listened intently to our story and called the police chief. Soon afterwards, a patrol car arrived and escorted us to a meeting with Comandante Javier Guevara Rosales and his sub-director, Francisco Centeno. By then I’d written out everything I could recall about the incident, but the most helpful item we had was a sketch of the driver’s face drawn by our artist friend and traveling companion Rachel Pavlic.

Chief Guevara, a tall, imposing-looking man who’d taken classes with the California Highway Patrol, assigned Officers Centeno and José Alberto Talavera to assist us, so with Talavera at the wheel and Centeno jumping out of the truck frequently to display Rachel’s sketch to taxi drivers and explain what was going on, we wheeled around town for quite some time. Nick and I were in the back seat, and soon we heard radio announcements going out over the police frequency describing the driver and asking for help from anyone who might know anything. At one point, it seemed our guy had been found (name of “Bronco”), and off we zoomed to a taqueria where the taxista was eating lunch. He wasn’t the one. Then someone said perhaps it was another fellow nicknamed “Chapulin.” Not him either. Five hours after we arrived in Ezequiel Montes, we met with the chief again. He said not to get discouraged because the force would keep working on our behalf and suggested we go home and relax for awhile.

As we were leaving for dinner that night, the receptionist at our complex breathlessly intercepted us and told me the comandante had called saying they’d found my things! Call him back, she said, so I tried, but I got only busy signals for the next few hours. Finally, I reached him (he’d been in a meeting with the mayor), and he said he thought everything in my black Patagonia pack (a treasured gift from a treasured friend 8 years ago) was intact.

The next morning Nick and I went to the Presidencia Municipal with Rachel and her husband Jerry and got yet another police escort to Comandante Guevara’s office. By this time virtually everyone in uniform knew about the incident, and officers I didn’t know were calling me by name. Sub-director Centeno entered the room proudly carrying my fanny pack, and I immediately got teary-eyed and enveloped him in a trembly hug. Francisco handed over the bag, and even my VISA card was right where I’d left it! Guevara explained that Officer Centeno kept working on my problem throughout the prior afternoon, eventually interviewing more than 30 people, and raced back to the office the minute he’d located the man who had my pack. Rachel’s sketch was a godsend, as only about 3 of Ezequiel Montes’ dozens of drivers had the sharp facial features and distinctive goatee which eventually drew Francisco to “Pinky.”

I asked Comandante Guevera if I couldn’t donate something to a police fund to show my appreciation, but he adamantly refused, saying, “If we can bring a smile to your face by doing our jobs, that’s all the reward we want.”

Weeks later, I’m still completely amazed at the dedication this police department devoted to me – a complete stranger – and my cause. We’ve all heard stories about Mexican cops who are not so squeaky clean. When I finished telling my tale to a Mexican friend as we waited in line at Banamex in Ixtapa the following week, he held up his arm and showed me that all the hair was standing on end. “Mexico’s changing,” he said. “Your story just made my day.” That makes two of us.

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