After a 600-mile day driving from Santa Barbara to the quaint town of Ajo Arizona, Andrew and I were shot to say the least. The trip was mostly seamless until we were delayed on a small rural highway in southern Arizona after two trucks had flipped over due to a hailstorm. This picture was taken as we prepared a roadside dinner of Spaghetti and red sauce waiting for the highway to reopen. As night settled in we were able to continue on into the desolate cactus laden landscape of southern Arizona.
With The Doors blasting on the stereo we continued through the night with the windows down as the radiant glow of the approaching full moon highlighted the tumbleweeds violently racing across the highway in the high wind. The experience was surreal, at times generating that inexplicable whole body tingling sensation you get when you know that what you are experiencing will likely never occur again; a once in a lifetime experience so to speak.
As we pulled into Ajo around midnight we were greeted by the local sheriff who pulled us over to tell us our license plate light was out. He suspiciously gave or windowless cargo van the once over, and rightfully so as this area is notorious for human and drug trafficking for which our vehicle would be a prime candidate. He asked us about our intentions and our destination, and when we told him his eyes briefly lit up as if he was internally thinking “ man that sounds like fun.” Being no more than a few years older than us it was understandable considering we were embarking on an epic journey searching for uncharted Mexican surf breaks while he was stuck in Ajo looking for undocumented Mexicans. Before we left I asked him if he thought the Mexican authorities would use the license plate light as fodder for exacting a bribe. He said, “ No, they’re probably more concerned about having their heads cut off by the cartels.” And with that he wished us luck and sent us on our way without a ticket for the minor infraction.
We woke before the sun rose and drove the remaining few miles to Lukeville Arizona, home of the Sonoita border crossing station and not much else. The U.S. customs officials asked us about our intentions and then decided to search us as we departed from our country, probably because they were bored and there was no one else at the borer that morning. He asked us “ Why does your van look like a transport vehicle.” I had to work hard to suppress the myriad of smart-ass responses stirring in my head to the blatantly oxymoronic question I had just been asked by a guy who looked like he still would pick on nerdy kids if given the chance. “ A transport vehicle, sir, I’m not sure what you mean?” I replied. Sensing my cool and collected demeanor which was an obvious front for the smug responses I felt like giving he quickly replied, “ You know, the metal partition, the window cages and external door locks.” I replied, “ Oh, those are all just extra measures to ensure our security en Mexico sir, we just don’t want to get ripped off.” Given that his job was fundamentally based on security of sorts he backed off with the questions and sent us on our way.
The officials on the Mexican side of the border weren’t interested in our intentions at all and sent us through after informing us that we would need to stop in 25 kilometers at the next stop to get our Visas and register the vehicle. Before we made it there we were flagged down by a group of men who had constructed a roadblock. Their lack of official markings or badges made them look more like a local vigilante group than anything else. As they approached the car we looked at each other and simultaneously wondered what the heck we were doing in this godforsaken Mexican desert. The man who approached asked some questions while the others looked on. Then an old man with impeccably white dentures approached and began to ask us in English some generic questions as though he had just been listening to the exact phrases on English lesson tapes. “ How old are you,” he said. We replied in Spanish as to prove our legitimacy in their county. He continued, “ My boss doesn’t believe that I speak English, tell him that I do speak English.” We smiled and nodded and did as we were told quickly telling the boss that the old man who was a member of whatever agency all these possible banditos worked for spoke perfect English. They all laughed and set us on our way without a bribe or any other type of consideration.
We made it to the second border stop just as the desert air was starting to swell with unbearable heat, the type of mirage generating heat that you can see radiating up from the poorly paved black highway. As we entered the Visa office we found the middle aged Immigration official sitting at his desk in the air conditioning along with half a dozen or so other fellows who we concluded must have been his buddies. It took them all a second or two to acknowledge our presence and divert their eyes from the Mexican game show they were glued to. He greeted us quite informally with a “ que paso guerros?” which translated literally means “what’s up white boys.” We responded and began to fill out the necessary paper work. While doing so we chatted about our trip as he inquired. He told us, in Spanish, to be careful of the homosexuals and transvestites in some cities. In all actuality he was quite a bit more graphic and found our dumbfounded blank stares to be a source of hysterical amusement, as did all his buddies hanging out in the office. As they laughed like hyenas he stamped our visas without checking to verify the information on our passports. I stupidly asked if we needed anything else to be on our way, he replied “ Si,un propina por cervesas” We left him a five spot and got on with our long day of driving.
We drove another 600 miles that day and found a reasonable hotel in the town of Los Mochis just as the sun set. Our first day on the road in Mexico had proven to be eventful to say the least. Passing through a landscape that begins as a parched barren desert in the north and gradually warms with hints of the tropical interior to come made us content on our decision to brave this violence ridden country in search of warm, uncrowned waves further to the south. Hopefully the events come will still justify the trip, only time will tell.
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