Mexico 2002 AD

Journal of a bus trip through NE Mexico.

Sixto had three weeks in December for his vacation. I can get off my part time when I ask. It was a hastily planed trip on my part, but I did not want to miss the opportunity. Sixto, my artist friend, has family down there, and I have a friend who owns a tangerine orchard. It would be a cheep trip, the kind I do. My knowledge of Spanish is limited. I have been trying to learn that tongue all my life it seems. I do not have much ability at foreign tongues. Speaking more French, because I have concentrated more on that language, I get the two confused. I find myself speaking French in Mexico, and Spanish in France. Duh.

Leaving on the fifteenth, I have to attend the opera in Dallas, that afternoon. Hansel und Gretel. (German, another language I have studied and do not speak.) Humperdink. Engelbert. Not the modern singer, but the Wagner disciple. Music beautiful and familiar. Angels and a nibble witch. Alcoholic father, and stressed out mother. Sound familiar? I leave at the first intermission, for fear of being left behind. My bags packed with me. I am taking tent, sleeping bag, air mattress, consider taking backpack stove. Everything is in a big duffel I bought. I have loaned Sixto my back-pack. This turns out to be a mistake, and I end up borrowing Six's brother's pack for the rest of the trip. Leaving my Honda at another brother's place in Ft Worth, we go in a borrowed church van to pick up Sixto and head for the Mexican bus station on Hemphill Street. The bus, or rather a van takes us to the real bus in Dallas. A nice family affair, the shuttle with little kids of the driver in the back. It is crowded with about 10 or so Mexicans. I am the sole Gringo. The bus turns out to have little leg room. I am so tired it does not matter. These busses are cheeper to use than Greyhound, but sometimes have function less restrooms, and seats that won't recline or return upright. The air, sometimes, too hot or cold. All seem to have TV screens and sometimes movies are played.

The ride through the night to and across the border in the cramped position, was bearable because I was so tired. We stopped somewhere, and I though it was San Antonio! It turned out to be Austin. Strange stop in a residential neighborhood.

On through the night, we stopped again somewhere even more south. There were these palm trees. Then after a short ride, Laredo appeared. It's narrow well laid out streets and squares, ended my nap, we stopped at the border, and I had to show my bags, send them through the danger detector, take the sweat test, by placing a hand on a weird looking piece of abstract sculpture with a stop light at the top. If the light came on green, you could go to the next station. If it turned red, an ugly buzz erupted, and you had to have a complete shake-down. Only one guy on our bus had to have that happen. I passed that one, and then had to go fill a form and get my tourist card. Well, not a card, but a receipt for 21 bucks I had to give the "banc", a place outside the inspection shed. The teller was very short with me, since I saw a sign saying $ 9.9. I though that was the fee, but no, that was the peso exchange rate per dollar! Most other places, the rate was a bit higher, 10.2, 3, or even 4, to the buck. I put up a 10 bill American, and he said that was not enough, and demanded a full 21 bucks! That over, we reloaded bags and headed across the International Bridge and through Nuevo Laredo into deep Mexico.

More napping, and into Monterey. The most impressive thing about the town from the bus, are the high mountains surrounding it. One has this famous saddle shape at the top. I was aware of its importance, showing up in a huge beer bill-board, with a come-on like "Sabor del Norte". I had just dreamed a scary dream that Six was driving a bus over some very bad roads. I seemed to be the only passenger. He was not paying attention and swerved dangerously off the road. We almost went down a steep bank.

When we got to Monterey, we were dropped at a remote bus station, and had to be transported in an extended cab pick-up with several other passengers tightly fitting, to the down-town bus terminal.

We went by some street corners piled high with corn ears. The farmers must have brought them in, and for early morning wholesale trading and selling. This was just before daylight. The driver of the pickup was a little erratic. I smelled the distinct odor of marijuana about him. He almost hit another car changing lanes. My dream, I thought of. At the main station, on a busy thoroughfare, we were a little confused, and could not find a place to buy some pesos. Outside, we were told. But not open yet. It was only 6:30 AM. The city was just coming to life. But at the counter to buy a ticket to Saltillo, we had no trouble with almighty dollars. The bus was about to leave, so we made haste. It was an older bus. Out in the country, the views were dramatic. The high mountains had all the geological markings of anticlines, monocline, faults, dikes, etc. textbook samples! At one point, I got up to go to the bano at the back of the bus. It would not open. The driver saw me and stopped the bus and opened the door for me to go in a field! All of a sudden I did not have to go! I told him I was OK.... we went on through some morning villages. Finally to Saltillo Bus Terminal. It was smaller and cleaner than Monterey, but the bath rooms cost 2 pesos! There is a turnstile and coin drop. The HOMBRES to the left, the MUJERES to the right usually. There is also an attendant to see that you do not just jump the stile!!! We were a bit shocked. I do remember the quarter to get into a US shitter, but here, the restrooms cost you just to pee. And there is no paper in the stalls, but near the door, for male/female access!!! But the places were clean. And the 2 pesos ensures a better attempt at sanitation, and another Mexican has a job!

Sixto called his brother, Jose. He was there in no time, living close to the station. Jose is the tallest of his siblings, and the oldest. . The only one I did not know. He had been married a year or more. I had been invited to his wedding in Mexico City. He exhibited the same friendly exuberance and intelligence the rest of the family has. An artist like Sixto, he is doing free lance work now. I have seen many of his beautiful paintings and drawings back in Fort Worth.

He finds a cab, one big enough for the three of us and our luggage. I think it cost about 35 pesos, $3.50 US. (The cambio is easy. 10 pesos to the buck.)
He exhibited the same friendly exuberance and intelligence the rest of the family has

We went a few miles on a road that seemed to hug the outskirts of town to the area where he lived.   He pointed out the sites as we went.  There were several streets and many small houses in the area that Jose and Bere live. One house on his street was outstandingly decorated for Christmas!

    Fearless color values. I want to see that bougainvillea up against the hot pink  and sandalwood wall.

    Jose was upset because of some trash that was blowing about the streets.   "These people just don't seem to notice!!"  I had not noticed until he mentioned it really....  Inside, the house was very simply furnished.  Tile floors and a couple of chairs and a small table were all to be seen in the long living room.  A kitchen through an arch, and back door that led to some utility open space behind.  The walls were a bright yellow. He plans to change that color.  Mexican color is a  lot more direct  and brighter than most Gringos are  used to.  The predominance of greens and yellows is universal.  And the red-white-green colors of the National flag. Berenice, his wife, met us.  Pretty and charming, she is an ideal mate.  Jose and Bere belong to a small, active, evangelical church that demands a lot  of dedication and time from its members.  In fact, I met this family through contacts with the church.  Sixto, Fernando, Rita, and Maria, their mom became members in Fort Worth.  I met them through a friend of mine who had joined the church at that time, some 7 or 8 years back.  Rita and Jose are the only still active members, and take the work of the church very seriously.
Bere in a downtown tocqueria.....  nice lunch!

    Still early in the day, we all set out for  a bus ride down town to see the sites.  Six and I still had not  converted any money to Pesos.

    In the cafe.  Downtown we checked out the architecture, exchanged money, and just enjoyed being out with the noon time crowd.
 
 

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