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Chapter I: The Journey
Begins
Monday August 15, 2005
We had planned to leave San Francisco
on Monday,
August 15th, 2005. And we did…by about five
minutes. The day had been insane. We had been up all night finishing the
packing and cleaning. In the end, we were hauling things out the back door as
our new renters were coming in the front door.
We were moving in a 15
passenger Chevy van with most of the seats pulled out to make room for our
important stuff. What we decided to take or not take lead to some interesting
“discussions” between us. “You want to take that? Well, if you’re taking that
I’m taking this!” This explains why we have a suitcase full of Cheri’s
favorite cosmetics and shampoos and also have Tony’s favorite carved wooden
trunk from Belize featuring voluptuous bare breasted mermaids, Amazons and angels (you
have to see it to appreciate it). Just think about it. If you were leaving
the country and could only keep a 10 ft by 5 ft by 4 ft square container of
everything you own and have accumulated through the years, what would you
take? We found the answers very surprising.
We dubbed the van “the Big
Bastard” in homage to the world’s best (only) Aztec Priestess/Vampire/Erotic
Dancer Action Movie, “From Dusk ‘til Dawn.” Those who have seen this classic
will remember George Clooney commandeering Harvey Keitel’s
RV and telling him to “point this big bastard” towards Mexico.
It seemed appropriate. At 11:30 at night we were tying
our 12 ft sea kayaks to the roof. With three cats and an English bulldog in
tow we finally...FINALLY…rolled out of San Francisco
around 11:50 that night.
We were sad to be sure. SF
had been our home for thirty years. We had met here, married here and raised
our son here. Still, we knew this was the right choice and so with our hearts
in our throats we headed out for the 4000 mile journey to Playa del Carmen, Mexico.
That night we got as far as Sacramento. We were bone tired. We had not slept in almost forty-eight hours, and
so we decided that safety required a rest stop. We crashed at the Sacramento
home of Cheri’s brother Don. We spent two days sleeping and resting up. We
also got a lot of help and attention from another of Cheri’s brothers, Dean,
and his wife Ali. Thank you, guys. You were all great.
Thursday August
18, 2005
On Thursday afternoon we
figured it was now or never to get this trip really started. We hugged and
kissed the family, climbed into the cab of the Big Bastard, put Linda
Ronstadt’s “Heart Like a Wheel” on the CD player and pulled out onto Highway
5 heading south.
Before going any further,
let’s talk about the pets for a moment. We were traveling with three cats,
Shammy (world’s fattest cat), Carib (bitchiest little princess of a feline
you will ever meet) and Belle (tiny, sweet and almost twenty years old). We
were also taking an English Bulldog named Huggybear. Have you ever been in an
enclosed space with a Bulldog after it has eaten? Enough said.
We had originally planned
to put the cats in carriers and put them and Huggybear in the cab with us.
Did NOT work. Not only was there no room once the carriers were inside, but
the cats hated it. They howled, they sprayed, and they generally turned the
cab into a feline hell. By the time we left Sacramento
we had abandoned the carriers and let everyone loose in the cab with us. We
put in water, food and a litter box. Everyone liked this better except for
Carib the Princess who threw up…twice. But eventually even she got the hang
of it. In preparation for the trip with the cats, we had gone to AAA and
bought “Traveling with Your Pet,” which lists pet-friendly hotels by state.
After we bought it, we realized we could have gotten the same information
from the free (for members) state “tour guide” books. (This was the first
money we spent needlessly, but certainly not the last.) Reviews of hotels in
AAA’s tour guides list whether or not they take pets (look for the little dog
symbol). A lot of hotels charge an extra fee for pets, and others will let
them in for free. Others operate on a “need to know” basis. And there were
occasions we felt they didn’t need to know!
In preparation for our
trip, the consulate in San
Francisco told us we needed
an International Health Certificate and a rabies certificate for each pet. We
read on the internet that these documents had to be dated no more than 72
hours before crossing the border. However, other sources said this was not
the case, and the consulate in San
Francisco said they simply
needed to be a couple of weeks before our trip. We got ours approximately two
weeks before we reached the border. We got these certificates from our local
SPCA for a grand total of about five hundred bucks. We put these documents in
our “important papers” folder to have them ready for anyone who asked to see
them at the border or in Mexico.
Of course, no one at any time ever asked to see them or concerned themselves
about our pets. More money we could have avoided spending-again, it wasn’t
the last.
One final point on the
mascotas (pets): at the Consulate’s office in SF, they told us without
question that we could take no food of any kind into Mexico,
including pet food. We therefore budgeted the pets’
food with the idea that it would be gone by the time we reached the border
and that we would buy more food (at more expensive Mexico
prices) on the way. At the border, although we planned to throw the rest of
our pet food away, we changed our minds at the last minute. Let’s see what
they do, we decided. What they did was nothing. We could have brought a years
supply along and nobody would have cared it seemed.
All right, enough about the
animals. Now, back to the trip.
We spent the next several
hours on the road and expressed our relief that we had not been attacked by
banditos, rabid dogs or heavily armed Federales. Of course we were still in California’s
central valley, but we felt encouraged nonetheless. Around midnight
we pulled into Pasadena and stopped at a motel that AAA had said took pets. We unloaded the
animals into the room and called Domino’s Pizza (the only thing still open at
that hour in Pasadena). Once the pizza arrived (pepperoni and mushrooms) we popped open a
bottle of fine champagne given to us by our dear friend Walid in SF. Thus,
the first day of our new life in the tropics ended in a Super 8 motel in Pasadena
eating bad pizza and drinking great wine out of plastic cups. We knew then
this was going to be one hell of a journey.
Friday August
19, 2005
The next morning we headed
out on Interstate 10 going east. This part of the trip can best be described
as tedium interspersed with Denny’s and IHOPS. We crossed over into Arizona
and began to take note of interesting road signs such as the ones that
announced a prison area and suggested that drivers not pick up hitchhikers.
DUH!
We passed through Phoenix
while playing Isaac Hayes’ 20 minute version of “By the Time I get to Phoenix”
(“Hot Buttered Soul” 1969, possibly the greatest R&B Album ever
made-editorial comment by Tony) and continued southeast on 10. Since Tony is
a HUGE history buff and an absolute fanatic about Wyatt Earp and Doc
Holliday, we decided to stop and spend the night in Tombstone,
site of the Gunfight at the OK Corral.
Leaving 10, we found the
road to Tombstone was a dark, narrow two-lane highway that seemed to go on forever.
Actually it was only 20 miles, but it turned out to be good practice for Mexico.
We even saw a new sign: “Watch for Animals next 114 Miles.” We checked into
the Overlook Best Western in Tombstone. It was a real find. Clean, pleasant, with a friendly staff. They took
pets and had a large outdoor fire pit which guests sat around in the desert
evening.
Saturday August
20, 2005
The next morning we
stepped out of our room to an unbelievable vista. Tombstone
is in a quiet desert valley surrounded by towering mountains. In these
mountains the great Cochise united the Apache nations and Geronimo raided the
valleys below. You can feel the years past seep into your skin just standing
there. And of course, just down the road was the OK Corral.
Tombstone is a tourist attraction with period piece restaurants and shop owners
dressed as gunfighters. Still, it was fun. Most importantly, Tony got to take
Cheri on the exact same path the Earps and Doc Holliday took to the OK
Corral. (“Whoop-de-doo”- editorial comment by Cheri). The actual site of the
Gunfight was a small alleyway now surrounded by a fence. They have these
hokey animatronic robots standing where the actual participants were, but it
was still pretty cool.
On the way out of town we
stopped at a small store for snacks and water. A group of nice folks sat
around the stove (yeah, just like on the Walton’s). An elderly lady spoke up
and said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but can I ask where you are going with
those kayaks?” They thought it was pretty funny to see ocean kayaks in the
middle of the desert. And when we told them we were on our way to the Caribbean Sea they really
cracked up. They wished us well, but it was pretty obvious they thought we
were crazy!
We returned to Highway 10
and continued southeast. We passed through the rest of Arizona,
a small patch of New
Mexico and on into Texas.
On the way we stopped at a Quicki-Mart type place for provisions. A friendly
cashier asked “Where y’all from? “San Francisco,”
we answered. “And where y’all going?” she asked. “Playa del Carmen on the Caribbean coast of Mexico,”
we answered. She stared at us for a moment wondering if we were lost or just
nuts. She finally responded, “Y’all know you’re still in Arizona,
don’tcha?” We assured her we knew where we were and then continued on our
way. We drove to El
Paso which was much bigger
than we expected. We also noted a number of pawn shops and gun stores
confirming our presence in the Lone Star State.
Late that night we stopped in Van
Horn, Texas which did not seem to be any more than a truck stop with multiple
hotels and fast food places. We chose a Best Western only because the one in Tombstone
was so good. It was the right choice. And while checking in we discovered
that the owners were from San
Francisco. Cue puppets to
sing “It’s a Small World After All.” There were friendly exchanges and then
to bed.
Sunday August
21, 2005
The next day we took 10
into San Antonio. Did anybody mention that Tony is a history freak? Of course we
decided to stay overnight in San
Antonio so that Tony could
visit the Alamo the next day. That night we had dinner on the Riverwalk in downtown San Antonio.
Well done renovation, great restaurants and pretty surroundings all on the
bank of the river. A lot of fun, if a little pricey. We stayed a few blocks
away at the La Quinta. Good motel. Reasonable, clean and secure.
Monday August 22,
2005
The next morning we went
to visit the Alamo. We expected something a little touristy but found instead that the
preservation and presentation were really well done and very moving. The
grounds are beautiful, tranquil gardens. The only remaining structures of the
original fort/mission are the “Long Barracks” which is now a museum and the
church which is now the Alamo Shrine. Even Cheri who is not a big historical site fan was impressed.
Its combination of history and referential honoring of the dead reminded us
of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London. It was well worth the stop.
After leaving San Antonio
we said goodbye to Highway 10 and we headed south to the border on 87. We
figured to spend one more night in the U.S.
to avoid crossing into Mexico
late in the day. We knew we wanted to cross the border early in the morning
to give ourselves as much time as possible with Mexican Customs and
Immigration, and to still allow us drive time to avoid spending the night in
Matamoros because of the reports of increasing border violence and crime. Our
plan had been to stay in Brownsville, Texas that night, but while looking at the map we saw how close South Padre Island
was to the border. Hmmm, let’s see. Spend the night in a trucker hotel on the
border or find a beach front place on an island in the Gulf of Mexico. No brainer.
South Padre Island is about 30 minutes from the main highway south. The island has a Gulf
side and a bay (mainland facing) side accessible by a bridge (upon which
traffic stops if pelicans are crossing). There are tons of budget hotels as
the island makes its living from crazed college students during spring break
and crazed suburban families during the summer months. The summer season was
over when we got there so we had the place to ourselves. We stayed at a nice
Travelodge and finished the day drinking Margaritas and eating fried shrimp
and oysters at a beach front bar called Wanna Wanna.
Tuesday August
23, 2005
We started out this day
with whoops, hollers and high-fives. We were on our way to Mexico.
We cruised down highway 49 from South
Padre Island to Brownsville
and asked directions to the border. We were sent to a small bridge called the
International Bridge (very original) which we crossed after paying our two dollar toll. We
drove into our adopted country to fanfare and celebration. Well, not exactly.
Actually we drove in without any sign of Immigration or Customs. We were in Mexico
and nobody seemed to care. For one brief moment we thought, “Hell, let’s just
keep driving,” but saner thoughts prevailed (Cheri’s of course) and we did a
u-turn back to the border, parked the Big Bastard and went into the Mexican
Border Patrol offices.
We found the appropriate
customs office and presented our manaje de casa. Mexican law allows families
moving to Mexico to do a one time only transportation of their household goods tax
free. This requires the creation of a comprehensive list of all items being
transported known as the manaje de casa. There are certain restrictions (only
one computer per person, no new items, etc.). The list is given to the local
Consulate who then approves and stamps it. The stamped list is then to be
given to Customs at the border who then verifies that the approved list
matches the actual items being imported and then the tax is waived…in theory.
After passing our list
around to several people with obvious confusion as to its purpose, we were
told that we would have to enter Mexico
at the other point of entry in Brownsville/Matamoros, which is the Veterans Bridge
(not the bridge we had taken). We were then sent back into the U.S.
(paying another toll of course, both to Mexico
on leaving and to the US on entering.).
We found the Veterans Bridge
and crossed over. Another toll payment, please. Again, the Customs office.
Again no one seeming to understand why we were there. Eventually after an
hour or two and several people saying they could not help us, a nice Customs
official with reasonable English (better than our Español), told us we needed
to hire a customs broker.
Customs brokers are
licensed businesses who assist in the importation of goods to Mexico
for a fee. In San Francisco, the Consulado staff had told us we did not need a broker since the
amount we were importing was so small. Wrong! How much would the broker cost
we asked. The fee for the broker would be about $400.00 to have him assist us
in gaining a “tax free” entry into Mexico.
We asked if the tax would be cheaper and we were assured it was, about
$200.00. Great, we said, we will just pay the tax. Lo siento, that is not
possible. Since we were entering with work visas, a broker, according to this
customs official, was required by law (a law the SF Consulado knew nothing
about). How long would this take we inquired. About three hours unless we
wanted to return tomorrow morning in which case our papers would already be
processed by the broker. So back to the States we went, paying one more toll.
We went back to South Padre Island, back to the Wanna Wanna. And back to the shrimp, oysters and
margaritas. Hasta mañana.
Miercoles Agosto 24, 2005
The next day we returned
to the border. We had been told that our papers would be completely processed
by 10 a.m., so we arrived at 11 just to give them more time. Of course the broker
did not even start our papers until 30 minutes after we got there. The work
of the broker, which took another two hours, seemed to be no more than
issuing a single document saying that we were responsible for the accuracy of
the manaje de casa, not him. He asked us no questions other than our
estimation of the value of our belongings, and he examined none of the
contents of the van. Finally we were told that the process was done and that
we were required to pay $400 cash, which we did. We were then told by the
broker that the paper work still did not guarantee our passing through
Customs. The agent told us that the Customs officials would now go through
all of our things and that it would take several hours. HOWEVER, a small gift
of $100 to the customs official would avoid this difficulty. We paid. We were
then told that there was a $10 “processing fee.” We paid. The customs
inspectors then came to our van, opened the doors, glanced inside, closed the
doors and waved us through. Our tax free entry across the border had cost us
a mere $510 plus two days in a motel and numerous bridge tolls. Welcome to Mexico
Mr. and Mrs. Head!
We headed south for Tampico.
The map from AAA said the road was 180. The map from Walmart said it was 101.
Road signs seem to use both designations. We learned that in Mexico
one highway may have several different names or numbers. Sometimes two roads
or even three roads going in several directions would have the same highway
number. It may have been that the highways were going in different compass
directions, i.e., 180 south or 180 north, etc. But
there was nothing on the signs to indicate the direction. You had to pick one
of the roads and hoped you picked the right one. We also found that there is
an amazing lack of reliable maps for Mexico
on both sides of the border. Our maps omitted most towns, added some we
couldn’t find, misrepresented the types of roads and generally couldn’t be
trusted.
Outside of Matamoros
we hit a customs inspection stop where they verified that our manaje de casa
had been processed at the border. The agents were polite and professional. We
headed off again. We simply followed the signs to Tampico
and Ciudad Victoria. It got a little confusing at one point when the road split in two and
used the same directions and numbers for both roads. We figured it was a
“business loop” and that the roads would reunite. We were right. Eventually
the highway offered us a split where we could go to Ciudad Victoria
or Tampico. We chose Tampico. It was our plan to travel down the coast of the Gulf of Mexico and on into the Yucatan.
That may have been a mistake. What followed was
several hours on a narrow two lane highway with no shoulder. Buses, trucks
and other cars passed each other and us at will all going about 85 mph. It
was on this stretch of road that we learned for the first time that the
yellow lines on the highway and the road signs (like the ones that say “no
passing on the dangerous curve ahead”) are actually just considered
suggestions in Mexico. Drivers can follow the signs or not as they wish.
Mexicans, having a strong sense of pride and independence, generally seem to
choose not to follow these “suggestions.” We thought we were going to die,
not once, not twice but every few minutes for hours on end.
Eventually the road
widened as we neared Tampico. It took us about 6 hours to drive from Matamoros
to Tampico, the last hour or so in the dark. We decided the national game of auto
“chicken” made driving at night just too crazy so we looked for a place to
bed down. We chose the Best Western mentioned by Ginger in her trip report on
the Playa Info forum. It was just before Tampico
in a town called Alta Mira. It’s right on 180, and the well lit Best Western
sign can’t be missed. Normally we try to avoid American chain hotels when
traveling in Mexico. We like the adventure of smaller local hotels. However in this case,
with the pets and the van full of our belongings we decided to go with
Ginger’s recommendation. We were very glad we did. It was clean and modern.
Parking was in a locked courtyard (a must for us with the van) and it had a
cozy little in house restaurant and the last wireless internet connection we
were to find on our trip. It met all our needs, almost (we decided this was a
“need to know” on the pets, and we figured they didn’t need to know), so we
checked in and called it a night. We had done it. We were in Mexico!
Jueves Agosto 25, 2005
We hit the road (still 180
heading south) with high hopes for a wider if not better road than we had
seen the day before. Neither proved to be true. The road from Tampico
to Veracruz was smaller than the road from Matamoros
and was so badly filled with pot holes we feared not for the undercarriage of
our van but for the fillings in our teeth. At some point the highway divided
(no name change for either direction) and we picked one. We ended up in a
tiny pueblo where the streets were in worse shape than the main highway if
possible. As we crawled over topes (speed bumps) and car sized craters in the
street, Tony saw a Veracruz security officer standing by the side of the road and then he made the
mistake. He made eye contact, smiled and waved. “Careful, don’t draw
attention to us,” Cheri warned from the driver’s seat. Too late. Whistles,
pointing and commands to stop. The officer came up to the van grinning. He
explained that he stopped us because Cheri wasn’t wearing a seat belt
(something he could not have seen while standing on the side of the road.)
She showed him that indeed she was wearing her belt. He then said she had
been speeding. She protested that she had been barely moving, certainly no
more than 10 mph because of the road conditions. He responded that she had to
go slower because of the “niños” (children). He placed his hands together in
prayer (seriously) raised his eyes to heaven and said that his job was to
protect the niños. Of course the street was empty except for us and no child
could be seen in any direction. After concluding his prayer the protector of
children asked us for fifty U.S. dollars. We pretended not to understand and
he repeated it a number of times. Each time we said how sorry we were but we
did not understand. Tony then held up a five dollar bill which he took,
smiled, thanked us and motioned us to move on.
We were now truly lost. As
we headed through this unknown town we passed a Municipal Police Station.
Cheri pulled the Big Bastard over and Tony went inside-not without some
concern after the Veracruz state cop. It turned out we had nothing to worry about. Inside were
two local cops, one old and one young, in a room which was bare except for a
single desk where the two of them sat in their shirtsleeves. In Tony’s broken
Spanish and their broken English they were able to understand the problem.
They gave Tony directions back to the highway and even drew a map to get us
to Veracruz. They could not have been nicer. They followed Tony outside to meet
Cheri and wished us luck. Before going Tony showed them our AAA map of Mexico
and asked them to show us their town. They laughed loudly at the idea that
their little town would be on a map. They did show us where it would be IF it
were on the map. Then handshakes, "Adios,” and off we went. In a few
minutes we were back on 180 heading south again.
The road eventually
smoothed out and we passed the Costa Esmeralda which is a stretch of the Gulf Coast
which seems to be a resort/vacation area much like South Padre Island.
Lots of little budget, seaside hotels. We headed on, planning to spend the
night in Veracruz. We occasionally stopped for gas. Pemex, (the national gas company)
had stations everywhere. We also would stop at small mom and pop restaurants.
No McDonalds out here. We would leave the van running with the air
conditioning on for the pets, and lock it up with another set of keys. After
we ate we would walk Huggybear and count up the cats to make sure nobody got
out. At one stop we sat in a restaurant when Tony said he was going back out
to the van to get the maps. Cheri said, “If you come in here with those maps
people will think you’re a tourist.” Tony looked around the room of entirely
brown faces speaking Spanish and began to laugh. Up until that moment of
course nobody there suspected that the pale Irish guy with the white beard
and the blonde girl talking English were anything other than natural born
Mexicans. He left the maps in the car and our secret identities remained
safe.
We reached Veracruz
early that evening. If we had it to do over again we would have skipped going
through Veracruz. The city is a large port town with a giant malecon along the Gulf Coast.
There is a very large, unbelievably busy tourist/resort area. Some day we
will come back to visit Veracruz. We hear Carnival here is the best in Mexico.
But on this trip, just trying to get through town, maneuvering through the
traffic was a nightmare. Friends from Mexico City
have told us that this is only a fraction of the people and traffic we would
see there. No thanks, this was bad enough. 180 goes right into the center of
town and follows the ocean front from commercial port into the hotel/resort
zone. We saw only high rise style hotels, generally of an upscale type. We
knew this would not work with pets. After driving all the way through Veracruz
we entered a section (town?) called Boca del Rio
which appeared to be the cheaper part of town. We saw few hotels but none we
could stay in. We finally saw a Best Western sign and went for it (which
means we had to drive out of town on a two lane street for a few miles until
we could turn around and go back). No problema!
The Best Western was
perfect if pricey. It had a secure locked parking area and all of the rooms
were suites with two bedrooms and full kitchens. The animals finally got
their own room for the night. There were two upscale restaurants adjoining.
We ate at the Italian one. The hotel did not allow pets, but when the desk
clerk heard we were from San
Francisco, he made an
exception. He was the first openly gay person we had seen in Mexico.
He was very nice and did a small curtsy when we gave him a tip. So far this
trip Best Western had really come through for us. We decided we would spend
the next night at a Best Western too. Oh, how wrong we were.
Viernes Agosto 26, 2005
The end of this day found
us drinking cold beer and eating quesadillas in an extremely nice whorehouse
a few miles outside of Villahermosa. It had been a long day.
The day started out with
much promise. We decided to make this a short travel day and go no further
than Villahermosa, about a six hour drive away. We figured we would find a hotel in a
city that size (we knew they had a Best Western). We thought that with a day
of “rest,” we could start early from Villahermosa
the next morning and make the long haul to Playa in one day.
We put our cats and
Huggybear back into the Big Bastard and rolled out of town. We didn’t even
get lost. At this point we decided to take toll roads instead of continuing
on 180. We followed the signs out of town on toll road 150, which took us
southwest for a short period of time before intersecting with toll road 180
marked by signs to Villahermosa. Of course, the toll road and the regular
highway several miles away were both designated 180. We discovered to our
delight that the toll roads from Veracruz
to Villahermosa were all well paved, multi-lane divided highways. The tolls were
expensive (about $40 US for the day), but after the previous day’s nightmare
of narrow two-lane pothole ridden roads, we figured it was worth every penny.
We were in great moods and actually were able to go 65 mph for the first time
since leaving the US. Woo hoo!
The countryside was muy
hermosa. Lush green jungle, beautiful valleys and lots of farmland. Mostly
cattle ranches and pineapple farms. Unfortunately we also saw some extensive
flooding from the tropical storm which passed through earlier this week. The
toll road was elevated above it, but we could see fields and the occasional
house submerged. This went on for miles and miles in several different
places.
When leaving Veracruz,
we also saw some of the largest and most painfully poverty-stricken shanty
towns we have seen in Mexico. This on the edge of one of Mexico’s
most successful port towns. No, it isn’t fair.
On the way out of town we
stopped at a small roadside restaurant/tienda next to a Pemex. The food was
okay, but the highlight of the stop of Cheri’s discovery of a nearly
life-sized plaster statue of a bulldog. Despite the fact that we had a live
specimen of that species waiting in the van, she insisted that we purchase it
for our new home in Paamul. At $180 pesos, she said we couldn’t possibly pass
it up. Can you say “trailer basura?”
We then spent the day
driving towards Villahermosa, arriving late in the afternoon. Before getting to town, we noticed a
good sized “auto hotel”/motel on Highway 180 just before Villahermosa.
It looked nice, clean and secure. However we passed it by with the
expectation that Best Western would come through for us once more. Little did
we know.
Although not as large or
insanely busy as Veracruz, Villahermosa was still a good-sized town, and took a bit of maneuvering to find the
Best Western. We were hoping it would be a regular motel where we could park
our van right outside our door, but instead it was a fancy high rise. Knowing
we could never smuggle the pets into a hotel of that sort, we asked if they
accepted pets. Not only were we told in no uncertain terms that they would
not allow pets, but that we would find no hotel in Villahermosa
that would. On the way out of the hotel, the doorman suggested we try the El
Camino Real and gave us directions. When we worked our way across town to the
El Camino, we found it to be a luxury high rise. They didn’t want our type
there, either. This desk clerk not only said no to the pets, he literally
turned up his nose and walked away.
It was now getting late,
and we still hadn’t found a place for the evening. Our choices were to 1) sleep
in the Big Bastard with the engine running all night to keep the AC on for
the pets, 2) drive back to the auto hotel we had seen on Highway 180 just
before Villahermosa or 3) keep on heading out of town and hope to find something on the
other side of the city. We decided on #3 with the expectation that there
would hotels and/or motels more suited to us on the outskirts of town.
Unfortunately we saw no
hotels at all except signs to the Hilton, which we followed diligently until
we realized it was a mountaintop citadel of conference rooms and luxury high
rise rooms. We knew without being told that we would not be welcome there.
After all, we had already been tossed out of better places than that.
At the last (and possibly
12th) toll booth of the day, we asked the toll taker if there was a hotel
“cerca de aqui.” He smiled, actually smirked, and said we would find one 30
km ahead near the town of Estacion
Macuspana. Buoyed by this
news, we drove on. About 20 minutes later, we remembered we had forgotten to
stop at the banco and counted up all of our pesos and dollars. We were sure
we wouldn’t see another ATM until probably Chetumal. Now our concern was
whether we would need to spend all our money on gas and not have enough for
even a cheap hotel. However, we pushed on with our fingers crossed. Outside
of Villahermosa 180 reaches a junction with 186. 180 goes
north, and 186 goes southeast. 186 is what we
wanted. However, once we turned on to the highway we still saw no hotels or,
at this point, even towns. The road at this juncture will, at some point in
the future, be a wonderful divided highway. Unfortunately, now it is a narrow
path through a very long construction zone, with only one lane of traffic
going each direction.
We were just about to give
up and return to Villahermosa and try a second time for a motel when we saw a bright, big and
beautiful compound on the side of the road. It was set back somewhat on a
hill. It appeared to be surrounded by a wall with interior rooms. It seemed
perfect.
We pulled in through the
front gate and were immediately met by a very attractive young chica wearing
tight jeans, heavily made up, with a streak of purple in her hair. We pushed
the dog down so he wouldn’t be seen and got out of the car to ask her about
availability. We were nervous because not only the dog but two of the cats
were now peering out the window, and we didn’t want to be rejected yet
another time because of the animals. Our young hostess seemed nervous, too-we
thought because of her inability to understand our broken Spanish.
Regardless, we negotiated a room for the night for $35 US, the cheapest rate
we had seen yet!
We began to have some
questions about our lodging when we saw our room for the first time. There
were no keys given to us for the room. The entrance to the room was a private
garage which could be closed electronically once inside. From the locked
garage, guests entered the room. Unusual, but we assumed it was a security
measure. Of course, the Big Bastard, with kayaks on top, was about an inch too
tall to fit into the garage. An ancient toothless stooped caretaker in a
cowboy hat told us to park out in the open and guaranteed that the compound
would be secure through the night and that our vehicle would be safe.
We then went into the
room. It was brand new with very nice furnishings. The main room was divided
into the bedroom area and separate sitting area with an overstuffed half-moon
couch. The bed was quadruple normal size. This made us happy, as the animals
had been sleeping with us in a double bed, but it did raise the question of
why a hotel with such luxurious furnishings charged such a minimal rate. The
bathroom was equally interesting with an extremely large walk-in shower
behind a totally glass wall suitable for a party of ten or so. The toilet was
in a similar glass enclosure across the way. This also seemed a little
unusual for a $35 a night trucker hotel, but still no alarms went off. We
then found that the mammoth dressers were just blocks and contained no
drawers. Atop one of them was a TV which, when turned on using the controls
built into the headboard of the bed, provided nothing but non-stop American
hard core porn channels! We then found the notice on the back of the door
indicating that rooms rented by the hour, and that if “services” provided
were inadequate, guests should speak to the “manager.” We began to suspect
that we may have just booked a room for the night in an “adult” motel at best
and possibly a very upscale house of ill repute at worst. Just as the light
bulbs went on in our heads, the lights went out in the hotel. It seems there
was a regional power failure. Our lights, our air conditioning and our
American hardcore porn all shut down. We stood there in the dark room of a
Mexican whorehouse and simultaneously said “Shit!”
After a few moments, we
took a flashlight and walked up to the reception area to see what the
situation was. We found a number of young ladies of all shapes and sizes
sitting around an electric lantern and joking and laughing in Spanish. With
our appearance, they quickly faded back into the interior of the building. We
were told that power was out for the whole area and there was nothing they
could do. They sold us some ice for our cooler, and we returned to our room.
A short time later, the power returned after a few false starts. We then
considered our circumstances. Here we were, spending the night in what just
might be a Mexican whorehouse, albeit a very nice one. The room seemed
secure; however, our imaginations ran wild with the possibilities of the
dangers of spending the night here with an expensive van full of our things
parked outside. Our location out on the highway many miles from the nearest
city made it unlikely anyone would hear our cries of help if our hosts
decided to help themselves to our van, our belongings, our virtue or our
lives. However, the only alternative was to hit the road in the pitch black
night on unknown highways. We decided to go with the devil we knew and hunker
down for the night. We reminded each other that every time we had traveled in
Mexico, the people we had met, regardless of the circumstance, had almost
always been helpful, protective and nice. There was no reason to think that
this young group of entrepreneurs would be any different. After all, they had
waived their normal $25 per hour fee and charged us a ludicrously low amount
for the entire night! Besides, we had Huggybear to protect us. And they had
24 hour room service. A telephone call would produce any number items from a
room service menu including full dinners, snacks, condoms, various delicacies
and expensive alcohol, including American whiskey, or, if you were feeling
particularly generous with your “date,” a bottle of Moet and Chandon
champagne. We decided to stay and opted for quesadillas and Coronas.
Food and drinks arrived
through a rotating drum in the wall. A knock was given on the wall, and the
drum rotated with our food and drinks on the inside. Our dinner was removed
and payment placed back inside the drum, which was rotated back towards the
unseen waitress. Much to our surprise, some of our money was returned as it
turned out management wanted to buy our beers as an apology for the power
failure. Tony felt that a more generous offer could have been made by
management, but Cheri was happy, pointing out that if they had planned on
murdering us in our beds, they probably wouldn’t have bought us beers.
We settled in for the
night with our guard dog snoring loudly on the couch but not loudly enough to
drown out the enthusiastic sounds of the couple in the next room. We tried to
ignore them and practiced our Spanish for a while by reading the subtitles
provided by the porn channel. However it occurred to us that we had no idea
where we could ever repeat the phrases we were learning! Oh well, time for lights
out.
Sábado, Agosto 27, 2005
We left early from the
maybe-brothel with a wave from one of the girls. As we drove we counted our
money one more time and hoped we could get to Chetumal for no more than $100.
After gas, this allowed little for food and none for bribes in case Cheri got
stopped yet again. We were still on 186 heading northeast, following the
curve of the Gulf of Mexico. The road is paved but under construction to make it a larger highway.
There were hardly any cars on the road going either direction, which was
great for us and allowed us to pick up some speed, despite the fact that the
road was uneven, like most roads we’d seen. 186 runs from the state of
Tabasco, briefly skims through the top of the state of Chiapas, comes back
into Tabasco for a short time & then crosses into the Yucatanean state of
Campeche. Every time we entered a new state, there would be a toll booth
where we’d have to pay a small toll. Near the border of Chiapas
we saw a number of military stops and inspections. However, they either
ignored us or waved us through each time. We were finally stopped at the
border of Campeche. Our military inspector was Ernesto, who was born in Anaheim, California
(four blocks from Disneyland), had friends in Gilroy, California and occasionally worked as a tour guide in Playa del Carmen for
English and Italian tourists. We gave him the name of the Hotel Zanzibar
and promised we would all meet up again in Playa. It seemed that the stop was
less about inspecting the van & more about giving Ernesto a chance to
practice his English. And, of course, as with most bilingual Mexicans, his
command of English far outdistanced our command of Spanish.
At Francisco Escarcega we
stopped at the Pemex and found to our delight an ATM! Our first prayer of the
day had been answered. Now we could afford gas, breakfast and bribes!
Francisco Escarcega had a number of hotels, which we filed away for future
reference. At this point, 186 moves sharply to the
east across the Yucatan peninsula towards Chetumal. The farmlands starting being replaced by
jungle, and we were feeling more at home. This was the Mexico
we know and love. 186 took us through Xpujil (little sister of Xpu-Ha, we
joked), which is a sizable town. We hadn’t seen a Pemex since Francisco
Escarcega and were getting a little concerned, given how the Big Bastard
guzzles gas. Within five minutes of that conversation there appeared a Pemex
- our second prayer of the day answered! Life is good, and we’re almost home.
Just past Xpujil, we finally entered our home state - Quintana Roo. Unlike
other states, they didn’t charge us a fee to enter. QR rules!
A few miles down the road,
we were pulled over at a military inspection point and surrounded by a group of
four or five young men in camouflage with automatic weapons. One of the
soldiers asked us to open up the doors to the van, and he found himself face
to face with Huggybear. He asked in Spanish if he was friendly, and after we
understood him, we said yes. He petted him hesitantly. The other soldiers
gathered around and soon they were laughing at and playing with Huggybear.
Cheri said “Huggybear” to one of the soldiers about 20 times before he got
the pronunciation right. After we explained the name came from the movie
Starsky & Hutch (remember Snoop Dogg as Huggybear?) the soldiers laughed
& made the connection. They had obviously seen the movie. By the time
Cheri offered them some revistas de chicas (Playboys)-a suggestion we heard
about on the Playa Info board-we were all good friends. One thing we learned
is the best way to travel through Mexico
is to bring an English bulldog. People can’t seem to resist them.
We headed on our way and
186 opened up to a wide, smooth paved road with little traffic all the way to
Chetumal where it intersected with 307 north.. We were happy to see the
intersection outside of the city limits. Thank God we didn’t have to go
through another big city to get home. We’ve been lost in Chetumal before, and
it wasn’t fun.
We took 307 north . At this point our journey was practically
finished. Four more hours.
No stops now, we could
almost see Playa del Carmen in the distance. The road north from Chetumal
began as a wide and well maintained road. Unfortunately, it turned into a
heavy construction zone where the road becomes a narrow two lane highway with
no lights. Continuing north we passed through Felipe Carrillo Puerto. 307
divided to go through town and we once again chose the wrong fork in the road
(business loop again!), but it eventually re-joined the main highway. The
road became the standard Mexican highway...no lights, two lanes and mad man
drivers all about. We kept going. Muyil. Tulum. Akumal. Around 11 p.m.
we pulled up in front of the Hotel
Zanzibar in Playa del Carmen. We unloaded
our pets into one of the larger rooms and headed down the street to see our
friends Karent and Alex at their restaurant, La Quinta Pasión. Hugs, kisses,
bienvenidos. They fed us margaritas and fish tacos and then we went back to
the hotel to get some sleep. After thirteen days and 3903 miles, we were
home. Now the work begins. And the fun.
“I don’t think I went where I intended to go,
but I think I ended up where I intended to be.”
Douglas Adams
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