Momias v Mama

The trip to Guanajuato was arduous - 5 days of delays, 15 hours of travel, three planes, a Suburban and a cab. But finally we landed in our gorgeous home with the view of the bluffs, sick with exhaustion but ultimately happy to finally be here. Shawn Joaquin wanted to go to the mummy museum immediately, after having all of three hours sleep. Madelena wisely chose to nap and then was ready to rumble. Instead we all rambled, learning the way to the not-so-close funicular and how to dodge cars on the main boulevard, feeling like captives in a Frogger game. We had Michoacán ice cream — the best ice cream in the world — in El Jardin, surrounded by swarms of Mexican tourists and vendors. We found the Museo de Diego Rivera, where Madelena raced from floor to floor, shouting in Spanish "come on, guys, we've got an appointment upstairs!"

Finally, day two, we made our way to the Museo de Mómias, the kids unable to contain their excitement. It was long cab ride and line for the tickets, but $20 and 30 minutes from departure, we found ourselves in the anteroom of the museum. As the film about the museum started, so did the shrieks. 

"This is not a good idea! I don't want to see people die!" wailed Shawn Joaquin and "I don't like skeletons - they are mean persons with no bodies!" from Madelena and, from both, "I wanna go hooooooooome!" I tried to calm them both, as a black and white film with Dia de Los Muertos played on the wall, complete with haunted house music. I assured them if they didn't like the mummies themselves, we'd leave. Just one room of mummies. The mummies they had been begging to see since touch down.


And then we entered the first room. Holy. Crap.

In the realm of "things to do to permanently damage your children" I had hit paydirt - an event so horrific that my contributions to the "Future Therapy Fund" would have to be doubled. These were not mummies. There was no wrap, no neatly packaged corpse that appeared to be as inanimate as a shoe and just as threatening. No, these were dessicated bodies that appeared to have died in the throes of agony. 

Both kids were immediately inconsolable, and as they screamed I promised to get them out STAT. Mexican tourists looked on with interest, apparently unfazed by the horror before them but slightly annoyed with the interruption my children provided. I swept them both up and looked for the exit. 

Holy. Crap. Again. 

There was no way to go but forward....through five more rooms of mummies. 

 

As I attempted to race through the maze-like museum, the wailing continued and all I could do was push Shawn Joaquin's face into the folds of my dress and Madelena's into my shoulder. Finally we hit the bright sunlight and both were able to breathe again. As was I. 

Later that night we called home to tell Gregg about our adventures. Madelena claimed she had laughed at the mummies and Shawn Joaquin said they weren't scary at all, but really he wasn't "really a fan of mummies" anymore.  And we are left with a haunting memory and a lingering fear that forces Madelena to ask every ticket taker at every museum, "There aren't any mummies here, right? My mama doesn't like mummies."