How I (Really) Met My Mother
Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona. Photo by Veronica Hernandez via SFMN, the South Florida Media Network
The COVID-19 pandemic pushed an immigrant mother to grab the kids and hit the road to discover their adopted country. Along the way the family rediscovered itself
Editor’s Note: This story was produced for palabra in collaboration with the South Florida Media Network.
Mariela Dacal is 50-years-old, and one of the many Cubans who in the 1980s came to the United States in search of the “American Dream.” She is a courageous, hard-working, single mother who’s dedicated her life to her children.
She is also my mom.
Until COVID-19 struck, my mother had never driven through the backwoods of her adopted country. But between May and August of 2021, she, my 16-year-old brother Daniel and I crammed into a worn, white 2008 Dodge Sprinter van and drove 6,294 miles across 15 states, 10 national parks and seven state parks.
Some people thought we were crazy. My mom’s defiant reply was that such opportunities happen only once in a lifetime.
Indeed, along the way we learned a lot about each other. We also became part of a family legacy of travelers who trace their roots back to a crowded neighborhood in the biggest city on an island 228 miles from our home in Florida.
“I believe everyone should fill their lives with adventures, not material things,” mom said. “I want to have stories to tell my future grandchildren, not stuff to show off.
I harbored some doubts about this journey, but I learned that you don’t need a big house with a white picket fence to be happy. I know now that you can immerse yourself in something larger than yourself, and that sometimes the best way to do that is when you have nothing but a little bit of courage and imagination.
Before I hit the road with my mother, and as her eldest daughter, I believed I knew her better than anyone else. However, I was mistaken. Now I see her in a whole new light. Though we were sometimes worn out – often tired of all the driving – my mother and I emerged much closer from our mobile bubble. It was the trip of a lifetime. It became a voyage of self-discovery.
A woman with a dream
Mariela Dacal in her teen years vacationing in Aruba, off the coast of Venezuela. Photo by Veronica Hernandez via SFMN.
My mom was born on December 27, 1970, in Havana, Cuba to Spanish chemistry professor Rafael Dacal and accountant Zulema Rodriguez. Back then, Cuba was ruled by Fidel Castro and a band of revolutionaries. That left many to believe their only choice to escape persecution and poverty was to leave their homeland. There were waves of emigration in the decade that followed, and Miami was often the destination.
When my mother was only 10, her mother and her three-year-old brother Rafaelito fled on an airplane that Cubans called “el lechero” — the milk truck — because it made many stops. They left behind my grandfather, as the Cuban government did not allow him to leave.
After 18 hours and stops in Costa Rica, Honduras, Panama and Colombia, my mother, grandmother and my uncle made it to Caracas, in Venezuela. They had no money and no one to call, but a kind airport worker saw that my grandmother was lost and offered her $20 to buy food. From the moment my grandmother, my abuela, walked out of the Simon Bolivar International Airport, she was determined to show her children every corner of their new country.
“I always regretted never traveling around (Cuba), and it still haunts me till this day,” abuela once said. “Once my children and I landed in Venezuela, I knew that I had an obligation not only to myself but to my children to see this new country we’d call home.”
Over the next six years abuela took my uncle and mother on weekend visits, each time to new places in the country. There was Merida, in the mountains. The massive Lake Maracaibo, the Amazon rainforest, and almost every beach on the Venezuelan map.
Seeing her mother’s determination made a huge impact on my mom. “It was as if my mother was bitten by a travel bug and it had somehow implanted itself into me from a very early age,” she said.
Adventure is out there
Mariela with her three children on a trip to the San Juan Islands, in Washington state. Photo by Veronica Hernandez via SFMN
In 1986 my mother, grandmother and uncle moved to the United States. It was scary at first, yet my mom’s biggest concern was not knowing enough about her new country to plan weekend getaways.
After graduating from Coral Park Senior High at age 17, my mom and her best friend saved enough for a trip to Argentina and Brazil. They visited Buenos Aires, Mendoza, the Amazon, and the majestic falls known as the Cataratas del Iguazú. It was her keen sense of curiosity and travel lust that made her work hard, save, and seize the opportunities.
My mom worked diligently over the last decade to make sure our family spent every holiday and vacation in a new destination. Even as a single mother of three, she has always been driven to see the world, following my grandmother’s footsteps. We traveled when we could to some U.S. states, but most of our vacations were to Europe.
Begin the climb
Mariela at Red Rock State Park near Sedona, Arizona. Photo by Veronica Hernandez via SFMN
In 2019 and 2020, the coronavirus outbreak confined us to our home. In the early months of 2021, my mother had had enough and decided to buy a van to spend the summer months exploring our home country, as a family. At first, I believed the planning was just for fun, to help her pass the time. But then I saw the van parked in our driveway.
When my grandmother heard the news from my mother, she was also in disbelief. She thought my mother had made a rash decision.
Yet, after much convincing from my mother, abuela was shockingly happy, and jealous for not being extended an invitation. Still, at the end of May, as we packed the van, abuela shouted, “Oye, no se olviden de mí y mandame muchas fotos. Te quiero muchisimo, mis tesoros” - Don’t forget me. Send many photos. I love you very much, my treasures.
After months of van renovations and ordering supplies, we finally got on the road. My mother took the wheel like she was a natural, but my younger brother Daniel and I sat in the back seat, holding on for dear life.
Over the first four days, we made a long, slow trek north and west through the Florida panhandle, along the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. There were countless stops along the way, leaving us driving well into the night, before we finally made it to our first destination: New Orleans.
Taking in the alluring smells of spicy cajun cuisine and delectable beignets were on my mother’s must-do list. We roamed Bourbon Street and the French Quarter, feasting on what seemed like pounds of crawfish and shrimp po’boys.
It was an incredible experience, but it was time to move on.
Later, as we drove 14 days through Texas and New Mexico, I could feel my mother questioning herself: Was all this driving worth it?
“It felt like hours of driving past nothing but scorching deserts,” she said. “Yet, all of a sudden the most beautiful sites just appeared out of nowhere once we arrived in Sedona, Arizona.”
On June 19 at 6 a.m., after more than two weeks on the road, we found ourselves hiking up a strenuous trail to Devil’s Bridge. As the sun hit its peak, the heat beat down on our necks. Our feet grew heavier with each step. The trail became endless stairs, carved into red stone along the hilltops. It took all our energy and strength to climb up the massive rocks without falling.
I can still remember my brother screaming, “It’s about goddamn time. We’re burning daylight over here,” as I stopped every minute to catch my breath.
“I am so out of shape,” I yelled. “I think I’m having heart palpitations…kidney failure.”
Little did we know that at the trail’s end there was still a two-hour wait to take a picture. The line went on for what felt like miles as people inched slowly, but patiently, before they could take a photo on the famous Devil’s Bridge, a natural arch above a tree-studded valley. Well into the afternoon, it was finally our turn. My mother and I raced onto the bridge like children in a candy store. As we smiled at the camera, I could see the tears of joy in her eyes.
Devil’s Bridge in Sedona, Arizona. Photo by Veronica Hernandez via SFMN
My mother’s patience was constantly put to the test by my brother’s and my constant whining. Take, for instance, my brother shouting during another hike, a six-hour trek on Bright Angel Trail in the Grand Canyon, “This is child abuse! I cannot believe you forced me to come on this trip. All these red rocks look exactly the same.”
My mom kept her composure, replying, “Be one with nature, darling, and smile for the camera. You’ll thank me when you’re older.”
Mariela and her son Daniel on the Tokopah Falls trail at Sequoia National Park in California. Photo by Veronica Hernandez via SFMN)
By late June, we made our way through the endless forests that surrounded Sequoia & Kings Canyon National Park in California, where we came across a female black bear and her two cubs on our hike to Tokopah Falls. “It was a thrilling yet life-altering experience to see these creatures in their natural element,” my mom said. “I wish I could’ve caught it on camera.”
So much country
Jumping in excitement during the most memorable summer. Photo by Veronica Hernandez via SFMN
The changing terrain across the thousands of miles of our journey looked absolutely nothing like the fast-paced metropolis where I live in South Florida.
During the three-month trip, we traveled the bayous in New Orleans, canyons throughout Arizona, the dazzling lights of the strip in Las Vegas, pristine forests in California, and the mesmerizing grasslands in Wyoming.
Then we came home to the flatness of South Florida, where the only hills are landfills. My grandmother was relieved that we arrived in one piece and was excited to hear all about the places we had visited. Thanks to our flexible schedules, my mother and I were able to continue our work remotely during the trip, sometimes making stops at local coffee shops or hotels for some free wifi.
Today, my mother reflects on the highlights of the journey as if they were a distant friend, someone she will forever hold dear to her heart. As if to underscore the intimacy, she would take every possible opportunity to veer off the interstate and actually see America and its people along the sideroads. This brought us closer than I could have imagined to individuals from all walks of life – and to different perspectives on the country my family and I know and love.
And, no surprise, the memories have just fueled my mother’s plans for an East Coast road trip next summer.
“I will look back on this trip filled with excitement and laughter as another experience I was able to share with my children,” she said. “It was these shared moments and uncharted roads that made me understand a poem I once read by Robert Frost, ‘I took the road less traveled by and that made all the difference.' ”
For me, looking back on this trip, I saw a different side to my mother that I hadn’t noticed before. I knew she was a good driver, but her ability to take on such a challenge on her own in a spontaneous way was truly inspiring. Her continuous motivation and positive outlook over weeks and weeks of roadway allowed me to enjoy breathtaking vistas in a way I hadn’t believed was possible. I will cherish the beautiful memories of this trip forever.
The journey also allowed me to see the world through my mother’s eyes, just as she had done with her mother years before. I hope to one day take my children on a similar adventure.
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Veronica Hernandez is a senior at Florida International University pursuing a bachelor's degree in Digital Journalism. She obtained an associate degree in Mass Communication & Journalism at Miami-Dade College. Upon graduation, Veronica hopes to become a TV anchor or reporter. She is devoted to her community; her goal is providing a voice to the voiceless.