The way of the guey

How to cross the border into Mexico:

Go towards Mexico. Pass the US Border. There, you’re done!

The Mexican frontier has no customs or immigration from the U.S. side, though they are hardly so lax with their neighbours to the South. Borders seem to be a one-way economic valve around here.

Crossing into Juarez is immediately interesting, not in the least because in my hungover fugue I both mislay my handwritten directions to the vehicle import office and forget to change money. I spin around in circles in Juarez till I’m pointed in the right direction and have seen enough to feel confident this place is not Mexico as most Mexicans know it. Trucks with gun turrets and armoured soldiers with heavy weaponry roam the streets, massive office buildings and hotels are betrayed as Mexican only by their low-slung and crammed together counterparts.

Customs takes a $400 deposit on the bike and an hour of my life, most of which is spent waiting for Jesus the copy guy to show up. A long desert road later I make it to Chihuahua for the night; Hostel San Juan turns out to not be the backpacker paradise the internet claims. I’m the only foreigner there, and the local ladies of the night add colour with their moaning through the paper thin walls. A drunk motions for help with his door in the dim and claustrophobic hall – he can’t get his room key to work – turning it works for me. Seedy, would be the word to describe the joint.

Looks great from the courtyard, though – I even ran into some architecture students the next day taking photos of the centuries old building.

I’m glad to connect with a couchsurfer the next day, and even moreso when Pepe turns out to be the most interesting Mexican I’ve met. A fellow shoestring traveller, we compare notes and talk about bar food vs. actually going out and purchasing nutrition. Lotta protein in peanuts. He is currently nursing several projects while interning as a doctor in a village South of Chihuahua. I’m fascinated by his RFID blood donor scheme, in which he proposes to insert RFID tags into the Mexican populace to track their participation in blood donations to know what is available and where for emergencies, as well as to encourage participation by prioritizing based on donations.

Apparently he nearly managed to secure an $800,000.00 grant for it and when it went through the ministry of Health the department head met with him to tell him she would only release half of the funds for the project, and tried to get him to sign off on the move. He refused to sign, good man, working with the next president to get the ball rolling, in the meantime occupied with his work and directing truckloads of medical supplies to remote villages.

We go on a tour of the city together where they point out the Angel of Liberty statue complete with laser-shooting sword in front of the palace or palacio as they call their city halls. There is an interesting series of murals supposedly depicting the history of Chihuahua inside, and on the other side of the walls a punk rock show protest is going on for unsolved murders of women in Chihuahua.

We go out to a rooftop cafe view of the city where I try cheese mixed with huitlacoche, a sort of fungus that grows on corn. Delicious, the first but certainly not last in a series of tasty latinamerican weirdnesses.

The next day we ride to the village where he practices – in Mexico all doctors must work a year in rural areas to graduate. I’m warned to stay inside the clinic but of course I go explore. On inquiring about the bullet holes riddling the town I learn there was a firefight. A long time ago, right? No, last weekend! The clinic is located by a roundabout that connects four towns, which apparently makes it the site of most conflicts. Chihuahua is a state in which mucho marijuana is grown, leading to much drug-related violence.

We check out a desert museum which is pretty cool for a museum, and on a whim head out an hour West for the world-renowned caves of Naica.

Turns out he has an uncle who heads security there, but at the moment it is closed to all, so we ride North an hour or so to a lake for fresh fish soup. Not having expected these impromptu detours, I’m in flip flops. Riding through the gravel roads we end up on is an interesting experience.

His friends put us up for the night, I play Kinect with their kid, and they feed us delicious homecooked dinner and breakfast. Three spinsters bring me savoury filled tortillas for lunch and interrogate me about my journey; two of them look at me as if I have a second head but the third is aglow with enthusiasm and excitement at the idea. This introduction to Mexico has been very interesting, I have been impressed by how open and friendly the people have been, I’m looking forward to whatever is to come.

For a long time now I’ve been contemplating via satellite image the Copper Canyon of Mexico. Perhaps this is the only way to do so, for in person its scale is completely overwhelming – six times larger than the so called Grand canyon of the U.S.A., twice as deep; I have set no time limit on this part of my journey. Who knows, I may never leave.

Next stop, Creel, gateway to the Canyon.

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