"O Ye of Little Faith"

It was time to start making some decisions.  I’d planned to go deep into Mexico and maybe even as far as Costa Rica.  Now here I was retracing a trip I’d already had in Texas, just because I was afraid.  What was I afraid of?  Did I think they’d shoot me at the border?  Was I afraid of losing my possessions during searches?  Did I think I couldn’t drive through the heavy traffic in the border towns?  Was I reluctant to buy the expensive Mexican auto insurance?  Didn’t I think God would take care of me in Mexico just as He did in the United States?  I was disgusted with my lack of faith.  Of course God was with me.  I’d felt His leading throughout all my preparations.  For months I’d stockpiled lots of little gifts and ordered gospel handouts in Spanish.  They were stored in a box under my cot.  Surely I was to carry on with my plans.

Decision made, I enjoyed the huge, free breakfast buffet at the hotel.  Then I visited the nearby Sanborn’s and bought their six-month auto insurance ($50,000-$50,000-$10,000), including a legal aid bond and roadside assistance, with no deductible.  It was nearly $150, including membership in their Sombrero Club, which entitled me to three of their route books, a road atlas, and a map.  Their graphics man had been to El Cielo Biosphere (a good birding site) and showed me an article he’d written about it.  A group of Texas park volunteers, all birders, had recently returned from a trip to El Cielo and had loved it.  Maybe I would stop there first.

Back in the hotel I got my things together.  There was a shop to change dollars to pesos in front of the hotel, so I took care of that. Then I went to Wal-Mart to stock up on some food items.  After lunch I drove down to the Pharr library.  It was air conditioned and had comfortable chairs.  I poured over the Sanborn’s route books and emailed my family.  Then I left to fill up with gas.  After dinner at Wendy’s I drove to Wal-Mart where I intended to spend my last night before crossing the border.  The weather had turned cooler—a high of 77 rather than 100.  It seemed like a good sign.  I was no longer anxious.

Up at 6am I was at the Pharr border before 7:30am.  I got a red light at customs, but they didn’t search the van.  Then I paid a $2.25 toll to cross the bridge.  On the Mexico side of the bridge I parked the van and entered the buildings to get the necessary documents.  I filled out a form and was asked some questions to get a six-month tourist card.  That only took about ten minutes, but then I had to pay for it at the bank (Banjercito), which wasn’t open.  By the time the bank employee arrived, a rather long line had formed.  The tourist card cost 263 pesos (about 13 pesos to a dollar, so about $20).  Then I returned to the first window with my receipt and picked up the tourist card.  Then I needed to go to another window for the vehicle permit.  This took more time.  I’d been warned to check the information carefully, and I found they had misspelled my last name on the permit.  The man tried to tell me that one wrong letter wasn’t important, but I insisted he correct it.  He wasn’t happy and kept sighing throughout the process.  I told him “Paciencia es una buena cosa” (Patience is a good thing).  It didn’t seem to help.  The vehicle permit for six months cost 414p (about $32).  I’d heard that credit cards were not accepted, but the man in front of me used one, so I thought I’d do the same—just to see if it worked.  It did.  I had problems applying the sticker (I’d heard they did that for you), but a passerby helped.  I thought about taking a photo of the area, but armed guards were everywhere and I didn’t know if taking photos was illegal.

Now I needed directions onto Rt. 97, the highway south I’d decided to take.  Upon looking through the route books the day before, I’d realized that the directions given were for McAllen to Reynosa and onto Rt. 180—not Pharr to Reynosa and onto Rt. 97.  I tried to ask directions before leaving the parking lot, but no one spoke English.  My Spanish vocabulary didn’t include words relating to cars and highway directions since I’d never driven in Mexico.  In all the confusion I forgot to reset the van’s trip miles to zero, complicating future calculations.  I took a deep breath and pulled out of the parking lot.  I was in Mexico!

Traffic was fast and heavy—just like on our interstate highways.  I drove slowly, hoping to understand some of the signs.  I made two wrong turns, but I finally found Rt. 97.  It was a nice, straight, well-paved road.  There was one lane going each direction, but the shoulder was almost wide enough for a second lane.  I soon noticed that all of the cars were driving half in the lane and half in the shoulder.  It became obvious that they did so because it allowed faster traffic to pass them, and because oncoming traffic could pass more easily.  It seemed like a good idea, so I did the same.  Speed limits ranged from 60km to 110km (35-75mph) and changed frequently (with few signs).  Nobody slowed down but me.  I stopped at a Pemex gas station for a bathroom break.  The bathroom had turnstiles that required one or two pesos to enter.  I was about to go to the office for change, but the lady in charge of rationing out the toilet paper told me to go on in.  She didn’t, however, give me any toilet paper.  I was glad I always carried tissues.  Most of the toilets didn’t have seats.  Only the cold-water faucet worked in the sinks, and there were no paper towels or electric hand dryer.  I’d expected as much.

Once I was well away from Reynosa there wasn’t much traffic.  It wasn’t possible, though, to pull over to the shoulder and stop, since the cars used half of it for a driving lane.  I’d begun seeing a lot of horses tied up in the grassy area off the shoulder.  Seemed strange to see them so close to a major highway.  After Rt. 97 dead-ended into Rt. 101/180 I could follow Sanborn’s route book—somewhat.  The book didn’t seem to always be accurate.  The road was no longer flat, and hills appeared in the distance.  Near one of the towns I passed, a vendor had set up a large awning with a counter and stools beneath and on one side.  On the other side was a table with pots of various kinds of meats and fillings for tacos and gorditas.  My food vocabulary isn’t very good either, so the waiter let me peek into the pots to make my choice.  The food was some of the best on my trip.  The route book had mentioned a Rancho San Felipe before coming to place where Rt. 101 split from Rt. 180, and I did find the site.  Rt. 101 headed inland toward Cd. Victoria.  About twenty miles from the city I saw a large orange grove with the mountains in view above the treetops.  It was a beautiful sight.  I’d thought about spending the night in Cd. Victoria, but I wasn’t tired by then so I kept driving—south on Rt. 85 now.  I soon saw signs for El Cielo Biosphere and Gomez Farias, the town at the base of the Biosphere.

The landscape had changed in a way that is hard to describe.  There were few cars on Rt. 85.  It was like driving in the country, but not our country.  Everything was lush and green, with lots of flowers.  The few houses were poor looking, by our standards, but the pure beauty of nature and wildlife surrounded them.  The people seemed unhurried and content.  It was pastoral.  I soon entered an area famous for bee keeping.  There were many tiny stands by the roadside where people sold honey in all shapes and sizes of bottles and jars.  They also sold brown sugar, in hard blocks, and bananas, which they probably picked from the banana trees that I saw growing in the area.  I bought a small bottle of honey, which was all I had room for in my picnic basket.  The closer I got to Gomez Farias and the Biosphere, the more beautiful the scenery became.

As soon as I entered the town I began looking for a place to stay, willing to consider a campsite or a hotel.  The following excerpt from an email I sent to my family the next day describes my search:  “There are only 2 hotels in town. The first was 700 pesos (about $65), although the internet said $50. Then I saw a sign for camping and stopped there. They moved their gate and told me to park in the shade under a tree (this was their lawn). They said it would cost 100 pesos (less than $10)($1 = 13.3 pesos if you want to test your math skills) for one night or for as long as I wanted to stay. Unusual. I asked to see the "bano" and they led me to two shack-like outhouses. One was an outhouse and the other was just an enclosure: no pipes, sink, etc. They explained that the large bucket in the corner was used to carry water from a tap on the house and then use it to wash and pour over you if you wanted a shower. I was incredulous. I believe she said they and their 4 children, who were running around, all used the same facilities. I finally had to explain that I just wasn't used to not having running water. She said they would carry the water for me. I said it wasn't that, but that I would prefer a normal bathroom if possible. If not possible I said I might return. They were all so nice--not disappointed or angry or anything. The lady had hundreds of tiny gnats swarming her face while we talked. I didn't want to have to put up with that either. The third place I looked was the last place before the Biosphere. Their rooms were 450p but they were all taken. However, they said I could camp in my van. That suited me fine. I had to drive the van down a very steep hill and park wherever there was room.”

Hotel Posada Campestre was packed.  Not only were the rooms full, but also every level spot on the grounds had campers, cars, or tents (65p per campsite).  I hadn’t seen one American.  All of the tourists were Mexicans, on vacation for Santa Semana (Holy Week).  Trying to make arrangements for early birding the next morning, I was introduced to a family of four from San Luis Potosi who had arranged for a guide (Estefan, a noted birder).  They were happy to have me join them.

Morning birding arrangements made, I walked up a very steep hill to town, searching for an internet café.  I found one but the internet wasn’t working (no signal, they said).  I didn’t see a pay phone, either.  The owners of the hotel didn’t allow collect telephone calls or ones made with a pre-paid phone card.  I’d made a short call home from their lobby to let everyone know I’d arrived safely.  The hotel charged a dollar per minute.

Dusk was approaching, so I returned to the hotel campsite and got ready for bed.  The girl at the front desk supplied me with electricity by way of a very long extension cord connected into an outlet near the showers.  I plugged in my fan and was very glad I had brought it along.  The night was hot with no breeze.  It had been a very long day of new experiences and I slept well my first night in Mexico.