I wish we’d have had more time. I wanted to take MPM to New Orleans, and to spend more time around Alabama, and see some other things visitors must do, but I had to get to Mexico City quick-like, and he had to get back too. So we just drove.
The motel in Houston (his choice) was basically a truck-stop with beds. It wasn’t quite as bad as the motel in which I found a pair of red men’s bikinis behind the bathroom door, but it was full of truckers and migrant-type workers. Good folks, all. Fine people. Hard-working. It was just a place to stop the truck and sleep, after all. Here is a photo of MPM unpacking the CrackerTracker for his favorite shirt. Lots’o’trouble for Abercrombie, but worth it (?) I guess. Notice the truckload of crap I have.
After a good sleep and a delicious breakfast from the convenience store, we drove all the next day to Monterrey (Mexico). We crossed the border at the Friendship Bridge, or whatever they call it, with no trouble. MPM was amazed at the difference, just on the opposite sides of the river. On the US side, they were pleasant, efficient, and hardly asked any questions at all. But once we got to the Mexican side, it was obvious we were back in Mexico (by the way, these are MPM’s own observations). We had to look for the immigration guy to stamp our visas. Apparently it was his lunch break and had left the office. MPM went to pee, but the bathroom had no water, so he couldn’t flush or wash his hands. Then we passed through customs without a search of me or the stuff in the car (righteous indignation from MPM—he had been searched three ways to Sunday when he flew into the U.S.) But then, we were stopped by the Mexican army guys, who asked me a couple of questions, and looked through two suitcases—one full of my shoes, and the other full of MPM’s shoes. Irritating MPM even more. He thinks his country is ass-backwards in a lot of ways, and it’s their own fault. He’s really idealistic, though, and wants to work in the gov’t to change things. He sees inefficiency and corruption in Mexico, I see color and contrast. In the U.S., he sees efficiency and order, and I see sameness and boredom.
Anyway. Monterrey is a pretty cool city. It’s surrounded by mountains (maybe really big big hills), and one of them crops up right in the middle of town. Supposedly there’s a cable car to the top. Never saw it, though—and we saw lots of the city. We got lost in the maze of course, and argued pointlessly about staying in a nice hotel, which was full anyway. But we got lucky after we decided to go on to Saltillo, and found a really nice hotel on the edge of town for a price he could live with. We even had a really nice dinner at the restaurant next door. A little pricey, but we’d been eating from the shelves of truck stops, so we felt we deserved it. This photo is of the (big hill) just behind the hotel. Dramatic, right? I love big clouds.
The drive after Monterrey (well, Saltillo, actually) goes through a big nowhere-land, maybe not officially a desert, but close enough. The clouds are usually really beautiful. On the side of the road you see all kinds of people under tarps selling strange fruits, snakeskins, or gasoline in milk jugs at way-jacked-up prices (it’s a long way between gas stations).
We were both ready to get to Guadalajara, so we didn’t stop again after Monterrey. We got to Guadalajara at about 11 that night. Since I’ve been in Atlanta, MPM and his Puerto Rican roommate Jose had moved to a decent neighborhood in a pretty bad area of town. Strange, but the bad area is on top of a big hill that has great views of the city. Their little neighborhood is some developer’s attempt to reclaim the hill for decent folk. This is the view from MPM’s bedroom. It’s actually really cool at night. You can see some more construction going on just below. More reclamation I suppose. The reason MPM had to be back was because he and Jose were supposed to moving that next week to better digs.
Ahh, Guadalajara. I had a great four days there, going to all the same old places, seeing all the same old faces. I really do like it there, and still have many good friends. We even went to see MPM’s mom, in a small town about 45 mins outside the city. It’s a cute little town, mostly. No tourists, ever (not much to see, really). This is MPM, aka Mr. Cool Big Man With a Razr in the Small Town. The town has a great name, though. Pronounce this:
Tlajomulco de Zuñiga.
Coming up after a short break: the big move to the big city.
