Christmas in Mexico 2004

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Christmas in Mexico 2004

In case you wonder why I picked Hermosillo, you may want to scan this website.
SONORA - MEXICO'S WILD WEST BY BOB BROOKE, IN ACCESS MEXICO CONNECT MAGAZINE

I use my alarm so seldom that I kept waking to see if I overslept. Fortunately, my last waking check was around 4:30 a.m. so I went to the shower and began last minute preparations for leaving. Last minute packing included; granola bars, water, camera, and, the ever important, toilet paper. I have traveled in Mexico before.

The way the Greyhound bus system works here in Arizona, and other places I suspect, is that you buy your ticket an hour in advance, then stand in line and hope you get a seat. I had prearranged a place to leave my car for the week with a shuttle included. The shuttle dropped me off at about 5:45 and I stood in line until 6:05 when I purchased the right to stand in line. Fortunately, local protocol allows you to leave a bag as your proxy so you can go sit in the comfortable seats provided. (sarcasm intended) I read my current Irene Johansen novel until 7 when they called for boarding.

As I entered the bus I noticed a sun visor screen, like you put above the dash on your car, on the front seat next to the driver. I moved the visor and sat down wondering for the next fifteen minutes if the driver would come in and tell me I couldn't sit in that seat. Instead, he retrieved the visor and began to put it in place over the windshield in front of him. He retracted the built in screen, and replaced it with his own by fastening it to the built in wires with spring loaded clothes pins. Now, I knew I was headed for Mexico where they definitely have their own way of doing things. The bus started moving around 7:30.

I dozed and read until we stopped in Tucson. The driver said we were stopping for five minutes and, yes, I could use the toilet in the terminal. As I returned to the bus, a young lady stopped me for a security check , which was odd as there was no security check in Phoenix. Anyway, I emptied my pockets and she wanded me. Then, she picked up my Swiss pen knife and said I couldn't have it on the bus. This was the third knife I have lost to the war on terror at security checkpoints. The first two were my fault as I knew better at the airports, but forgot to pack in my checked luggage. I never dreamed I had to plan for security at a bus terminal. After five minutes of fuming, I became philosophical and turned back to Irene.

Nogales was a hoot! This is where we filled the bus with people, bags, and boxes. One of the boxes was a bicycle that was wedged in the back next to the toilet so the door would only open a crack so you could squeeze in sideways. We also changed drivers who explained immediately that he spoke no English. He was an affable guy and kept waving vigorously at other oncoming bus drives all the way to Hermosillo. We spent way more time in Nogales than I expected. People kept getting on and off, running to get sodas, donuts, sandwiches, chips, etc. At one point, the bus started and pulled forward to permit access to one of the luggage compartments that was blocked by a parked taxi. Then, it backed up to the original spot, and we waited some more. (Don't even ask why the taxi was not asked to move.) Finally, the bus driver pulled a necktie from his pocket and tied it around his neck. Now, we were ready to begin the third, and final, leg of the journey.

Having just begun the journey after a long wait, we now pull into customs, open the door and wait some more. This was a very informal and friendly event. Three or four guys came to the bus and did the Mexican equivalent of high fives with the driver. I understand enough Spanish to hear a bargain being struck. The driver who had turned down passengers at the terminal was now clearing the seat behind his to accommodate two new passengers, the brother of the customs guy and his girlfriend. The exchange of cash wasn't even subtle, and I saw US dollars changing hands. I don't know if this had any affect on our inspection, but we breezed on through with no further complications.

We made one more stop before landing at our final destination. I use the word, landing, accurately, as we flew down the highway while the driver chatted with female friends sitting beside him on the step. They sat directly under the sign that said it was forbidden for passengers to be in front of the white line behind the driver. Anyway, we stopped at a roadside cafe/diner/hut. As the bus pulled in, a half dozen vendors came to the door with tamales, burritos, tortillas, flautas, and miscellaneous homemade delicacies. I ate my granola bars. One guy came on the bus and gave everyone a small bag of twelve to fifteen pieces of candy and gum. Then, he proceeded to make a passionate speech, none of which I could translate. He came back to me and looked at me like, "Well, what are you going to do?" I handed the candy back to him. He looked surprised, but took the bag and left. I wonder now if I passed up a chance to win a million dollars.

The driver had trouble getting people back on the bus...surprise, surprise. He had announced a fifteen minute stop, but it turned out more like twenty-five. Finally, he closed the door, and pulled forward. The bus erupted with protests. He stopped and people scrambled off the bus to find their companions. Finally, he stood in the aisle facing us and said, "Ya?" which means, "Ready?" There was a chorus of "Ya's, and we left. You would think you were someplace in Germany.

At Tucson, an older gentleman sat down next to me and we became acquainted. The first thing I noticed about Dwaine was he was wearing a cap that read, "The United State of Idaho." I thought he may be a member of the Idaho military minute men or something. It turns out he was/is a very nice guy, a WWII vet that served in Egypt and Morocco. He and his wife, Renee, have had a place in San Carlos, about an hour and a half south of Hermosillo, for the past sixteen years. This meeting was quite coincidental as I had been reading about San Carlos on the Internet. It appears to be a lovely seaside resort community with a large American and Canadian population. Dwaine invited me down for a guided tour. More on San
Carlos later.

Sonoran Desert

From the bus terminal in Hermosillo, I took a taxi to a motel that had been recommended, La Siesta. It was a very nice motel; clean, modern, with a very friendly staff, and a good restaurant on the premises. It is located in the "Hotel Zone" away from the downtown, or "El Centro" area. The boulevard out front is interesting. It consists of eight lanes with two dividers. On either side of the center four lanes are two, one way lanes. Traffic in the center can move in two lanes in either direction while each side is reserved for one way traffic moving the same direction as the near center lanes. Traffic in the center moves smoothly with few stops while the side lanes handle local traffic. I can't remember seeing anything quite like it. This design makes for extremely easy moving about for vehicle traffic, a little tricky for pedestrians.
I walked up and down the boulevard investigating the area, but most of the businesses were restaurants, car dealerships, and night clubs, oh, and, of course, other hotels. I did find one shop, or store. It was combination of groceries, pharmacy, household goods, and appliances. It was not as extensive as Walmart, but along the same line. It was fun to walk the aisles and note the similarities. Except for the language and prices marked in pesos, you would think you were at a Safeway. I priced some prescription drugs that I had purchased before in Mexico, but prices were outrageously high compared to what I paid in the past. I guess border prices get very competitive, but in the interior they get US prices. For example; twelve 40mg capsules of Nexium were $35 US. Fourteen 500mg capsules of Amoxicillin were $6.50 US. I bought 100 capsules of Amoxicillin last year in Nogales for $20 and the year before that in Algodones for $10. I guess I won't be running any drugs this trip.

On day number three, December 23, I was approached by a man at the hotel restaurant who said he was an official guide for the state of Sonora and showed me his credentials to prove it. He must have read my mind as I had just asked the desk clerk if he could find me a guide. I had the name on a card in my pocket. Anyway, I hired Carlitos, Charlie, to help me the next day. He said he would charge me 400 pesos for all the time I wanted. That is about $35 US, and way more than the going rate, but I liked him and, it turns out, he really needed the money. When I say more than the going rate, I learned during my visit that the police in Hermosillo make about $8 per day. Of course, they work steady and Charlie doesn't. I didn't and don't regret the money.

The next day, we met about 10:00 a.m. I say about as I was on Mexican time. Charlie showed up at 10:20 saying something about busses. I said I didn't care. The first thing I wanted to do was learn how to get around by bus. So, we walked across the major boulevard and waited a couple of minutes for a bus. The fare was 4 pesos each, or about 36 cents. For the condition of the equipment it was too much. Thankfully, the ride lasted only six or eight minutes and we only had two close calls. (Just kidding.) It was a little like the ride of Mr. Toad.

We got off at a public square that used to be a park. It is fenced off now and the city is in the process of restoring it. Meanwhile street vendors have surrounded the square. For those who have not witnessed the Mexican street experience, it is almost impossible to describe. I didn't have my camera at the time, and a picture here would help. There maybe 200 stationary vendors and 50 mobiles. The stationary have tables set up both on the sidewalk and in the street where they display their goods; leather, food, inflatables, toys, hats, clothing, shoes, etc. etc. The mobiles walk around and around the square playing miniature violins, accordions, full sized guitars, and monkeys on a stick. They have candy, stuffed animals, and probably carry some of the merchandise from the stationary vendors. In any event, it is a colorful and melodious circus. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

One of the items on my "to do" list was to price new eyeglasses. Back in Missouri, Pearl Vision had estimated $325 to update my prescription using my frames. The first shop I checked quoted $81 for everything, so I ordered them. The exam was very thorough, but it was helpful to have Charlie to translate. One of the things I anticipated about the visit to this city was the lack of English speakers. Tourism is not a major industry here so the service people don't need to learn English. Charlie was not only helpful with key translations, but he also helped me with my Spanish. I am getting better day by day and can make myself understood most of the time. Exception: see,
                                                    "The Top Ten Reasons You Know Your Spanish Needs Work."

Charlie and I checked out a half dozen hotels as I wanted to move closer to downtown so I could walk around. Wouldn't you know it was the last one that was the obvious choice. The Kino is very old, but well maintained. The young people that run the place were very attentive and pleasant. They "dealt with" my Spanish.  I was surprised and delighted to have an Internet terminal in the lobby so I could check email and surf a little.

I had plans to explore the surrounding area, so Charlie and I went to the airport to rent a car. If I would have reserved the car via the Internet in advance, the price would have been $30 a day, however, the last minute price with one car left, (Thrify and Avis had no cars) from Budget was $70. So much for planning.

On Christmas Eve morning I got started a little after nine. San Carlos was the first destination, and I rolled in about 10:30 a.m. San Carlos is not a very large town, only about 1200, nevertheless they have one of those eight lane, double divided boulevards as the main street. The term "pork barrel" comes to mind. It is a bright, seaside community with a majority of Americans and Canadians. With all the "gringos" in town, I was surprised to find so few service people who were bilingual. Maybe the gringos speak Spanish. I looked at a few properties out of curiosity, but decided this would be too far to drive to spend extended vacation time. If you like water activities, this would be the place to go. I saw a major dive store on main street, and the marina looked to be the largest business in town. I looked up Dwaine Anderson from the bus ride and he showed me around his resort. It was much like the one I am in here in Arizona, however, his is a gated community and several miles from town. I left Dwaine and headed back to town for some savory burritos with spicy salsa. I left about one o'clock to drive to Guaymas a few kilometers to the east.

Maps can be deceptive. Guaymas looked like a small town, much like San Carlos. However, it was much larger with New York City traffic on four wheel drive roads. My destination was the Ferry boat Terminal that shuttles between Guaymas and Santa Rosalia on the Baja of California. After a half hour of dodging cars and potholes, I gave up and decided to see if I can get the information online.
Later that evening I decided to treat myself to a Christmas Eve dinner. There was a fine restaurant a few blocks from my hotel that had been highly recommended. I should not have been surprised to find it was closed. The Mexican culture is very family oriented, and even the most popular night time businesses were closed. I deduced that the Hotel Zone might have some possibilities, so I drove over there and looked around. Sure enough, The Morton Steak House was open for business. I had a very enjoyable meal in a room with other non-Mexican people.

Carlitos was supposed to meet me at nine for a trip east to Kino Bay.   He wasn't there by nine-thirty, so I went without him. It turns out he was helping a sick friend. The hour long drive was straight line from Hermosillo to the ocean. The road began as a wide, four lane and narrowed to barely two lanes. Near the end, I had to drive in the other lane to avoid potholes that would have swallowed my little Hyundai. At the end, the road curved around a bay that I clocked at six miles long.

One of the most remarkable things about this village was the lack of litter. You can't imagine how unusual that is in Mexico. A clue to the success of this community's war on litter are the trash cans placed along the road about every 100 yards. This is singularly unique for any place I have traveled in Mexico. The condos, pictured here, and the homes, all face west. The sunsets must be dazzling.

For those who can't afford, or don't want to pay for ocean front, there are always observation towers next to your motor home with a ship to shore radio antenna.

Carlos made it for a Sunday trip to Ures, a small village about 50 miles to the northeast. We did a little shopping downtown, then caught a bus. The journey out and back showed a different terrain than I had seen on my other trips. This was mountainous, not like the Rockies, but up and down, and around and around. There was a small village before we arrived in Ures where they make syrup out of cane the old fashioned way. A half dozen tree limbs ten or twelve feet long are lashed together and anchored to a grinding wheel in the center of a circle. The other end is attached to an animal, usually a horse, but a burro would do. The animal walks around in a circle while the operator feeds cane stalks into the grinder. The cane is crushed to liquid and drained into containers that are carried into a lean to for boiling down to syrup. Eventually, the result will made into candy called, "Ponchera"

We had lunch at the bus station. Carlos had tamales, and I had pozole, pronounced "po sole eh". Pozole is a hominy stew with a variety of vegetables and meats. This was particularly good until I spoiled it with habenera sauce. When I finished eating it, my eyes were watering and sweat was running down my face. The young man pictured was the sandwich (torta) maker and server. There was a woman that did the cooking. You can see, we ate in the kitchen.

This is the station manager and he is in the ticket office.

I found this tractor of interest. It is completely hand carved. You really need to enlarge to see the detail.

My Americaness must have glowed like a neon sign as many people came up to me to try their English. The people were very friendly and curious. On one occasion while I was at an outdoor cafe sipping a Tecate, a young man got out of a pickup truck, walked over to shake my hand, and extend his greetings.. Carlos said he was just being friendly. I don't think that has ever happened to me anywhere before.

The bus trip back to Phoenix was much more inconvenient and took nine and a half hours. I had purchased a novel in Hermosillo at Sanborn's, a department store that would equal Marshall Field in Chicago. The bookstore at Sanborn's was extensive, but they only had five novels in English, and the price was 120 pesos ($11). So much for planning. However, the trip would have taken fifteen hours without the book.
Again, we left about a half hour late, but the bus was not crowded and another Dwaine Anderson never happened. There were also no diner stops with colorful vendors, just mile after mile of Sonoran desert. About 30 miles from the border, there were lean to type buildings on either side of the road staffed by men in military uniforms. We pulled in to a lean to and were asked to leave the bus. The soldiers had opened the bombay doors of the bus and extracted all the luggage. They were opening and examining each piece. When they pulled up your bag, you were asked to step forward. I was the last out of about thirty. I was not worried as I had no contraband. While our luggage was being searched, there were others going through the bus. After about twenty minutes, they let us continue. I felt bad for one woman who had a box that was taped securely. They cut it open and handed it back to her in pieces. The bus driver was helpful in getting it back in the luggage compartment.

When we approached customs at Nogales, so did hundreds of other cars, trucks, busses, motorcycles, and bicycles. It took an hour in queue before pulling up for inspection. Unlike the inbound inspection, this was quite extensive. Again, we were asked to exit the bus, this time with all our carry on bags. As we exited, a uniformed agent inspected our identification. In my case, my driver's license. It wasn't until this moment that I understood why my trip to Hermosillo would appear strange to most people. As with others exiting the bus, he began to question me. He, "Where are you coming from?" Me, "Hermosillo." "How long have you been there?" "One week." "Were you visiting friends?" "No." "Relatives?" "No." "Was the purpose of your visit business?" "No." "What did you do while you were there?" "Just looked around and did a little shopping." (I was hoping that I wasn't coming off cocky.) We were speaking in English so there was no translation problem, yet he looked more and more puzzled. Finally, he said, "No relatives?" "No." "No friends?" "No." He shook his head, handed my license back, and walked away. I wonder how I would have explained my solo motorcycle trip of 6500 miles last summer.

All luggage went through an X-Ray machine as in airport security. Meanwhile, a drug sniffing dog went through the bus and a custom agent went through all the overhead storage, including that over the bus driver's seat. This inspection took about thirty minutes and then, we were asked to pull up a few feet and wait. Another thirty minutes went by while I tried to concentrate on the novel, but wondering if they found something and had quarantined the bus. Finally, the bus moved forward and we crossed the border only to enter downtown Nogales, Arizona to stop at the bus terminal.

I had been anticipating this stop since I planned this trip. There is a tiny shop next to this bus station that sells the best tortas I ever tasted. The tortas I like are made with roasted beef and include lettuce, tomato, avocado, and mayo on freshly baked Mexican pan (bread.) Others from the bus knew of this place as well and I found myself fourth in line and worried if I would have time to get my order before the bus left. Not to worry.

They were out of bread, so no tortas. I was so disappointed that I vowed to make a special trip sometime this winter to go back and get my torta.

With only one more stop in Tucson that the Mexicans pronounce "Tookson," we arrived three hours behind schedule. The good news was that I didn't have to drive home in rush hour traffic. The bad news was that the bus line, "Crucero," took another hit in their on time arrival schedule.

The trip ended on an upbeat note as my shuttle showed up in five minutes. I was in my car and driving home within twenty minutes of touchdown. I never had to resort to my own toilet paper.

There is more about the trip, but I'm sure your attention span is more than exhausted by now. Below is what I will call my "Sights and Sounds of Mexico," which summarize some of my observations that either amazed, delighted, irritated, or amused me.

A uniformed policeman shoveling sand from a ditch to fill potholes on the highway.

Car alarms in the suburbs, Hotel Zone, chirping all night and early morning.

The sound of crickets at night.

Shooting firearms on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

Christmas songs in Spanish with new arrangements. For example: A male with a Johnny Mathis voice singing Gloria in Excelsis with a rumba beat with a large orchestra.

Christmas morning hearing Tennessee Ernie Ford singing "Sixteen Tons" in the hotel lobby.

In Bahia Kino, an ancient Indian woman, Mestizo, wearing traditional, bright, native clothes of deep reds, blues, golds, and purples, followed by a man her age wearing a Green Bay Packer jacket.

The Rest of the Story

A few days after I arrived home, I learned that my motorcycle club, The Geezers, plan a trip to Mexico on February 10-12 going to Puerta Penasco, through Hermosillo, and winding up in San Carlos. I'm signed up for the ride and hope to see Carlos along the way. Buen Viaje.

From the bus terminal in Hermosillo, I took a taxi to a motel that had been recommended, La Siesta. It was a very nice motel; clean, modern, with a very friendly staff, and a good restaurant on the premises. It is located in the "Hotel Zone" away from the downtown, or "El Centro" area. The boulevard out front is interesting. It consists of eight lanes with two dividers. On either side of the center four lanes are two, one way lanes. Traffic in the center can move in two lanes in either direction while each side is reserved for one way traffic moving the same direction as the near center lanes. Traffic in the center moves smoothly with few stops while the side lanes handle local traffic. I can't remember seeing anything quite like it. This design makes for extremely easy moving about for vehicle traffic, a little tricky for pedestrians. I walked up and down the boulevard investigating the area, but most of the businesses were restaurants, car dealerships, and night clubs, oh, and, of course, other hotels. I did find one shop, or store. It was combination of groceries, pharmacy, household goods, and appliances. It was not as extensive as Walmart, but along the same line. It was fun to walk the aisles and note the similarities. Except for the language and prices marked in pesos, you would think you were at a Safeway. I priced some prescription drugs that I had purchased before in Mexico, but prices were outrageously high compared to what I paid in the past. I guess border prices get very competitive, but in the interior they get US prices. For example; twelve 40mg capsules of Nexium were $35 US. Fourteen 500mg capsules of Amoxicillin were $6.50 US. I bought 100 capsules of Amoxicillin last year in Nogales for $20 and the year before that in Algodones for $10. I guess I won't be running any drugs this trip. On day number three, December 23, I was approached by a man at the hotel restaurant who said he was an official guide for the state of Sonora and showed me his credentials to prove it. He must have read my mind as I had just asked the desk clerk if he could find me a guide. I had the name on a card in my pocket. Anyway, I hired Carlitos, Charlie, to help me the next day. He said he would charge me 400 pesos for all the time I wanted. That is about $35 US, and way more than the going rate, but I liked him and, it turns out, he really needed the money. When I say more than the going rate, I learned during my visit that the police in Hermosillo make about $8 per day. Of course, they work steady and Charlie doesn't. I didn't and don't regret the money.
The next day, we met about 10:00 a.m. I say about as I was on Mexican time. Charlie showed up at 10:20 saying something about busses. I said I didn't care. The first thing I wanted to do was learn how to get around by bus. So, we walked across the major boulevard and waited a couple of minutes for a bus. The fare was 4 pesos each, or about 36 cents. For the condition of the equipment it was too much. Thankfully, the ride lasted only six or eight minutes and we only had two close calls. (Just kidding.) It was a little like the ride of Mr. Toad.
We got off at a public square that used to be a park. It is fenced off now and the city is in the process of restoring it. Meanwhile street vendors have surrounded the square. For those who have not witnessed the Mexican street experience, it is almost impossible to describe. I didn't have my camera at the time, and a picture here would help. There maybe 200 stationary vendors and 50 mobiles. The stationary have tables set up both on the sidewalk and in the street where they display their goods; leather, food, inflatables, toys, hats, clothing, shoes, etc. etc. The mobiles walk around and around the square playing miniature violins, accordions, full sized guitars, and monkeys on a stick. They have candy, stuffed animals, and probably carry some of the merchandise from the stationary vendors. In any event, it is a colorful and melodious circus. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
One of the items on my "to do" list was to price new eyeglasses. Back in Missouri, Pearl Vision had estimated $325 to update my prescription using my frames. The first shop I checked quoted $81 for everything, so I ordered them. The exam was very thorough, but it was helpful to have Charlie to translate. One of the things I anticipated about the visit to this city was the lack of English speakers. Tourism is not a major industry here so the service people don't need to learn English. Charlie was not only helpful with key translations, but he also helped me with my Spanish. I am getting better day by day and can make myself understood most of the time. Exception: see, "The Top Ten Reasons You Know Your Spanish Needs Work."
	Charlie and I checked out a half dozen hotels as I wanted to move closer to downtown so I could walk around. Wouldn't you know it was the last one that was the obvious choice. The Kino is very old, but well maintained. The young people that run the place were very attentive and pleasant. They "dealt with" my Spanish. I was surprised and delighted to have an Internet terminal in the lobby so I could check email and surf a little.

I had plans to explore the surrounding area, so Charlie and I went to the airport to rent a car. If I would have reserved the car via the Internet in advance, the price would have been $30 a day, however, the last minute price with one car left, (Thrify and Avis had no cars) from Budget was $70. So much for planning.
On Christmas Eve morning I got started a little after nine. San Carlos was the first destination, and I rolled in about 10:30 a.m. San Carlos is not a very large town, only about 1200, nevertheless they have one of those eight lane, double divided boulevards as the main street. The term "pork barrel" comes to mind. It is a bright, seaside community with a majority of Americans and Canadians. With all the "gringos" in town, I was surprised to find so few service people who were bilingual. Maybe the gringos speak Spanish. I looked at a few properties out of curiosity, but decided this would be too far to drive to spend extended vacation time. If you like water activities, this would be the place to go. I saw a major dive store on main street, and the marina looked to be the largest business in town. I looked up Dwaine Anderson from the bus ride and he showed me around his resort. It was much like the one I am in here in Arizona, however, his is a gated community and several miles from town. I left Dwaine and headed back to town for some savory burritos with spicy salsa. I left about one o'clock to drive to Guaymas a few kilometers to the east.
Maps can be deceptive. Guaymas looked like a small town, much like San Carlos. However, it was much larger with New York City traffic on four wheel drive roads. My destination was the Ferry boat Terminal that shuttles between Guaymas and Santa Rosalia on the Baja of California. After a half hour of dodging cars and potholes, I gave up and decided to see if I can get the information online. Later that evening I decided to treat myself to a Christmas Eve dinner. There was a fine restaurant a few blocks from my hotel that had been highly recommended. I should not have been surprised to find it was closed. The Mexican culture is very family oriented, and even the most popular night time businesses were closed. I deduced that the Hotel Zone might have some possibilities, so I drove over there and looked around. Sure enough, The Morton Steak House was open for business. I had a very enjoyable meal in a room with other non-Mexican people.
Carlitos was supposed to meet me at nine for a trip east to Kino Bay. He wasn't there by nine-thirty, so I went without him. It turns out he was helping a sick friend. The hour long drive was straight line from Hermosillo to the ocean. The road began as a wide, four lane and narrowed to barely two lanes. Near the end, I had to drive in the other lane to avoid potholes that would have swallowed my little Hyundai. At the end, the road curved around a bay that I clocked at six miles long.
		One of the most remarkable things about this village was the lack of litter. You can't imagine how unusual that is in Mexico. A clue to the success of this community's war on litter are the trash cans placed along the road about every 100 yards. This is singularly unique for any place I have traveled in Mexico. The condos, pictured here, and the homes, all face west. The sunsets must be dazzling.
For those who can't afford, or don't want to pay for ocean front, there are always observation towers next to your motor home with a ship to shore radio antenna.
Carlos made it for a Sunday trip to Ures, a small village about 50 miles to the northeast. We did a little shopping downtown, then caught a bus. The journey out and back showed a different terrain than I had seen on my other trips. This was mountainous, not like the Rockies, but up and down, and around and around. There was a small village before we arrived in Ures where they make syrup out of cane the old fashioned way. A half dozen tree limbs ten or twelve feet long are lashed together and anchored to a grinding wheel in the center of a circle. The other end is attached to an animal, usually a horse, but a burro would do. The animal walks around in a circle while the operator feeds cane stalks into the grinder. The cane is crushed to liquid and drained into containers that are carried into a lean to for boiling down to syrup. Eventually, the result will made into candy called, "Ponchera"
		We had lunch at the bus station. Carlos had tamales, and I had pozole, pronounced "po sole eh". Pozole is a hominy stew with a variety of vegetables and meats. This was particularly good until I spoiled it with habenera sauce. When I finished eating it, my eyes were watering and sweat was running down my face. The young man pictured was the sandwich (torta) maker and server. There was a woman that did the cooking. You can see, we ate in the kitchen.
This is the station manager and he is in the ticket office.		I found this tractor of interest. It is completely hand carved. You really need to enlarge to see the detail.
My Americaness must have glowed like a neon sign as many people came up to me to try their English. The people were very friendly and curious. On one occasion while I was at an outdoor cafe sipping a Tecate, a young man got out of a pickup truck, walked over to shake my hand, and extend his greetings.. Carlos said he was just being friendly. I don't think that has ever happened to me anywhere before.
The bus trip back to Phoenix was much more inconvenient and took nine and a half hours. I had purchased a novel in Hermosillo at Sanborn's, a department store that would equal Marshall Field in Chicago. The bookstore at Sanborn's was extensive, but they only had five novels in English, and the price was 120 pesos ($11). So much for planning. However, the trip would have taken fifteen hours without the book. Again, we left about a half hour late, but the bus was not crowded and another Dwaine Anderson never happened. There were also no diner stops with colorful vendors, just mile after mile of Sonoran desert. About 30 miles from the border, there were lean to type buildings on either side of the road staffed by men in military uniforms. We pulled in to a lean to and were asked to leave the bus. The soldiers had opened the bombay doors of the bus and extracted all the luggage. They were opening and examining each piece. When they pulled up your bag, you were asked to step forward. I was the last out of about thirty. I was not worried as I had no contraband. While our luggage was being searched, there were others going through the bus. After about twenty minutes, they let us continue. I felt bad for one woman who had a box that was taped securely. They cut it open and handed it back to her in pieces. The bus driver was helpful in getting it back in the luggage compartment. When we approached customs at Nogales, so did hundreds of other cars, trucks, busses, motorcycles, and bicycles. It took an hour in queue before pulling up for inspection. Unlike the inbound inspection, this was quite extensive. Again, we were asked to exit the bus, this time with all our carry on bags. As we exited, a uniformed agent inspected our identification. In my case, my driver's license. It wasn't until this moment that I understood why my trip to Hermosillo would appear strange to most people. As with others exiting the bus, he began to question me. He, "Where are you coming from?" Me, "Hermosillo." "How long have you been there?" "One week." "Were you visiting friends?" "No." "Relatives?" "No." "Was the purpose of your visit business?" "No." "What did you do while you were there?" "Just looked around and did a little shopping." (I was hoping that I wasn't coming off cocky.) We were speaking in English so there was no translation problem, yet he looked more and more puzzled. Finally, he said, "No relatives?" "No." "No friends?" "No." He shook his head, handed my license back, and walked away. I wonder how I would have explained my solo motorcycle trip of 6500 miles last summer. All luggage went through an X-Ray machine as in airport security. Meanwhile, a drug sniffing dog went through the bus and a custom agent went through all the overhead storage, including that over the bus driver's seat. This inspection took about thirty minutes and then, we were asked to pull up a few feet and wait. Another thirty minutes went by while I tried to concentrate on the novel, but wondering if they found something and had quarantined the bus. Finally, the bus moved forward and we crossed the border only to enter downtown Nogales, Arizona to stop at the bus terminal. I had been anticipating this stop since I planned this trip. There is a tiny shop next to this bus station that sells the best tortas I ever tasted. The tortas I like are made with roasted beef and include lettuce, tomato, avocado, and mayo on freshly baked Mexican pan (bread.) Others from the bus knew of this place as well and I found myself fourth in line and worried if I would have time to get my order before the bus left. Not to worry. They were out of bread, so no tortas. I was so disappointed that I vowed to make a special trip sometime this winter to go back and get my torta. With only one more stop in Tucson that the Mexicans pronounce "Tookson," we arrived three hours behind schedule. The good news was that I didn't have to drive home in rush hour traffic. The bad news was that the bus line, "Crucero," took another hit in their on time arrival schedule. The trip ended on an upbeat note as my shuttle showed up in five minutes. I was in my car and driving home within twenty minutes of touchdown. I never had to resort to my own toilet paper.
There is more about the trip, but I'm sure your attention span is more than exhausted by now. Below is what I will call my "Sights and Sounds of Mexico," which summarize some of my observations that either amazed, delighted, irritated, or amused me. A uniformed policeman shoveling sand from a ditch to fill potholes on the highway. Car alarms in the suburbs, Hotel Zone, chirping all night and early morning. The sound of crickets at night. Shooting firearms on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Christmas songs in Spanish with new arrangements. For example: A male with a Johnny Mathis voice singing Gloria in Excelsis with a rumba beat with a large orchestra. Christmas morning hearing Tennessee Ernie Ford singing "Sixteen Tons" in the hotel lobby. In Bahia Kino, an ancient Indian woman, Mestizo, wearing traditional, bright, native clothes of deep reds, blues, golds, and purples, followed by a man her age wearing a Green Bay Packer jacket.
The Rest of the Story A few days after I arrived home, I learned that my motorcycle club, The Geezers, plan a trip to Mexico on February 10-12 going to Puerta Penasco, through Hermosillo, and winding up in San Carlos. I'm signed up for the ride and hope to see Carlos along the way. Buen Viaje.