One journalist's musings about the beautiful, bizarre world in which we live
NOV. 25, 2010 – 2 DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING
The Spanish increases as you get closer to the border. The tans get deeper. There are more buildings.
Then WHAM! A different world.
Buildings badly in need of paint. Cars without license plates. “Tecate” signs everywhere. Painted brick walls advertise to drivers who follow some path unknown to us newcomers.
We pass one of the largest, most elaborate graveyards I’ve ever seen. White stone contrasts the more-than-a-dozen flower stands lining the street in front.
People loiter. A couple hangs out on a bridge, while a group of men walk down the street. There are nicer vehicles around than I expected, though there are some beaters.
Tires squeal. “Lane” changes are made. A man crosses between cars moving to a stopped light. An arrow points us to Monterrey. Yup, that’s where we want to go.
Tacos. Autos. Motel Fiesta. Taller mechanico. Todos pueden! Pemex. Oxxo. Pollos y carne.
Sandy desert with a little green.
Casas. Seguridad. Reynosa. 7-Eleven? Really? Si – abierto 24 horas.
Alto. Monterrey 200.
Policia Federal with sirens on whip past at a speed at least twice what we were doing.
Retorno. Los Arcos. A little so-called “super mercado” stand sits at the corner of a desert road and a highway. Halliburton? Brick walls, fountain. Dozens of cars. A truck carrying a heavy farm trailer stops at the retorno, and our driver slams on the brakes, muttering in Spanish.
Barbed wire. Brick wall. A mill? Mecasa. A big operation, at any rate.
It is obligatorio that we wear our seatbelts. I can see why.
We’ve stopped our fast drive. People are trying to sell us what looks like shrimp on the roadside. One man kicks a chicken away from the roadside.
“Aduana Reynosa” garita, says the sign.
No one asks for our passports. No one asks for a visa.
Well, I don’t want to miss anything, but I’ve got to take a nap.