03 MARCH 2011
I use to think that jumpìng a border anywhere was the duck´s nuts, setting foot in a new land, accepting a unique welcome stamp in my little booklet of ´proof of citizenship´, being the Neil Armstrong of my family, these were some of the travel moments that I use to look forward to. I recall one trip a few years ago when I did my very best to convince a similarly hard headed hombre of mine that jumping the border from Laos to Burma, even for just a few hours, would have been a worthwhile experience. His preference on the other hand was to travel ´lines´, you know, do the length of a country, cut across continents, take a few lines down in some outlandish Bolivian prison. Sometimes I get the concept of ´lines´ confused, apologies it´s my advancing age ofcourse.
For a few weeks prior to the start of this escapade Frichot had been pushing the cause of Tijuana. I knew why ofcourse. He had become the border jumper that I once was and whilst I didn´t so mind the concept of hanging three feet within the Mexican/Mexican´t border there was always the desire to head south, much further south and check out what the United Mexican States had to offer (really, that´s it´s official name - Google it bro´).
The Mexican/Mexican´t border
What I had kind of deduced from the haphazard organisation of the world wind Frelisher wing and a prayer tour was this, that one, the inconsistency and intermmitent transmission of funds would produce scarcity and scarcity in turn would lead to absurd and or enlightened decision making - take your pick. I mean it´s what lead us to slyly abduct a basket of deep fried pickles from a random Canadian guy who was oddly pondering over them in an equivalently random rock bar somewhere along the strip in Vegas. It was also the reason that hangovers were a constant companion as 1.2litre bottles of Corona should always be considered with the good grace in which they´re received. Secondly as logistics co-ordinator and associate to the tour´s purveyor of finances I had the ability to acutely focus the fiscal dilemmas of our journey and redesign them in accordance to our more modest realities. It´s why the return back to LA for a cross continental flight to NYC was postponed to another day and its why the bus out of TJ turned south at the border instead of heading north.
On the road to Mazatlan
On the road to Mazatlan
Now if you haven´t heard of the Mexican town of Mazatlán then don´t fear, up until five or so days ago I hadn´t either. In fact we probably wouldn´t have even stopped here but for the fact that the big woosbag Frichot couldn´t handle a 48hr straight run from Tijuana to Mexico City on a rehabilitated cement truck that now functioned as a people mover. Aside from the fact that most bus seats are uncomfortable when you´re seated in them for 2hrs straight or more what else is there to complain about? Lack of sleep, screaming toddlers, huge Mexican dudes blasting Sepultura from the back rows, all in an honest days work of the budget traveller right? In any case I relented to Frichot´s demands of splitting the journey in two and through a little reconnaissance found a nice little beach town on the Central Pacific coastline that would fit the bill for a quaint little two day layover.
Out of business
With a scenic tour of TJ under our belts on the morning of departure, provided kindly by the taxi driver that thought I was speaking Swahili instead of Spanglish, we boarded the 10·30am ride south for what was going to be a 28hr run down to Mazatlán. I could already see the fear in the eyes of Frichot as he rocked back and forth in seat number 35 of the red eye express. He didn´t know it at the time be he was just about to get hit with a healthy dose of chicken express fever, a rare disease that strikes at the internal ´acceptance nervous system´ of pundits of an overnight express. Irritation and mental stability are attacked first, uncontrollable bowel movements follow and the finally the individual ends up in a ball of misery on the aisle floor, hysterically laughing at themselves for their own stupidity at accepting such a journey. Essentially he was now f**ked!
Leaving TJ that morning we encountered a plethora of ramshackle buildings that hung precariously to the hills that rounded the city, it was if God has just run his first ´How to become a builder workshop´ and the results remained for all to see. As we continued I felt the slow onset of drowsiness attack me and my eyelids started to drop below the horizon. I must have been knocked out for some time as the next thing I remember we were in the midst of a wild mountains that were totally boulder-ridden and completely lacking in vegetation. More than worthy of snapping a few photos and an excellent way to wake up from a slumber induced by the gentle sway of Mexican roads.
Cutting through the border town of Mexicali and then following the Mexican/Mexican´t border that had us peering into California and then Arizona for the rest of the afternoon. As a relatively cheap way of funding a tourist drive through the desert it was more than interesting. With night falling and the scenery hiding being its evening shade curtain both Frichot and I stared off into the abyss for the next few hours, a mind numbing experience if ever there was one. A lack of sleep on an all-nighter with the inability to switch on a light for reading purposes only means that there´s time for personal reflection and contemplation, as superficial as it can be at times.
With the first rays of sun lighting the interior of the cabin in the morning and a roadside stop that had us bleeding tears of caffeine in the hope of managing our levels of comfort into Mazatlan, we cruised into the cozy Pacific Coast town somewhere after 2pm. The painful ordeal for Frichot was now over and a 2-3 day hiatus was now in store. Not that I wanted to burst the little bubble of sweet euphoria that Jet was riding at this point after conquering the 28hrs down but I knew that just around the corner there was another ride waiting. It wasn´t going to be 28hrs but the run to Mexico City was still going to be enough to cause a little pain...sometimes it´s the things left unsaid that can be the most painful, right!?
Leaving TJ that morning we encountered a plethora of ramshackle buildings that hung precariously to the hills that rounded the city, it was if God has just run his first ´How to become a builder workshop´ and the results remained for all to see. As we continued I felt the slow onset of drowsiness attack me and my eyelids started to drop below the horizon. I must have been knocked out for some time as the next thing I remember we were in the midst of a wild mountains that were totally boulder-ridden and completely lacking in vegetation. More than worthy of snapping a few photos and an excellent way to wake up from a slumber induced by the gentle sway of Mexican roads.
Final light - 16 hrs to go
Cutting through the border town of Mexicali and then following the Mexican/Mexican´t border that had us peering into California and then Arizona for the rest of the afternoon. As a relatively cheap way of funding a tourist drive through the desert it was more than interesting. With night falling and the scenery hiding being its evening shade curtain both Frichot and I stared off into the abyss for the next few hours, a mind numbing experience if ever there was one. A lack of sleep on an all-nighter with the inability to switch on a light for reading purposes only means that there´s time for personal reflection and contemplation, as superficial as it can be at times.
Day of arrival
With the first rays of sun lighting the interior of the cabin in the morning and a roadside stop that had us bleeding tears of caffeine in the hope of managing our levels of comfort into Mazatlan, we cruised into the cozy Pacific Coast town somewhere after 2pm. The painful ordeal for Frichot was now over and a 2-3 day hiatus was now in store. Not that I wanted to burst the little bubble of sweet euphoria that Jet was riding at this point after conquering the 28hrs down but I knew that just around the corner there was another ride waiting. It wasn´t going to be 28hrs but the run to Mexico City was still going to be enough to cause a little pain...sometimes it´s the things left unsaid that can be the most painful, right!?
