Onward

Things became blurry after that. We shopped, ate, hung out and raged a bit. Tijuana seemed different, calmer. I did not see one ski mask wearing soldier or cop in the entire city, let alone military checkpoints or patrolling trucks of men with automatic weapons. It actually felt pretty casual going out drinking, walking around. One memory stands out of the additional three days we passed in Tijuana: Standing on the beach in Rosarito at sunset with Hector and my sister, eating coconuts. It was beautiful.

After five days in Tijuana, we finally headed out. It was difficult to leave. We headed east, through Tecate, the Rumorosa, Mexicali, through the small border towns and down to Puerto Peñasco, spending the night in the same hotel where Alec and I spent a weekend over a year ago. We left the next morning, the stifling Sonoran heat shocking us after the breezy, Tijuana temperatures. We headed southeast, toward some small Sonoran towns that interested us, intending to loop back up to Nogales to re-enter the United States. Until we ran into a customs checkpoint. In the middle of Sonora. Miles from the border. It was odd.

“Do you have the car’s registration?” the agent asked in Spanish, without ever asking for ID, anything to declare, where we were headed or even if we understood him. “No,” I answered, “our tag is current. We have ID and insurance cards….”. “Pull over to Secondary Inspection” he ordered. I have never been asked for the my car’s registration in Mexico, not by Mexican or American Secondary Inspection agents, or the Mexican military in checkpoints in Baja California and Sonora, or in customs on the Sonora / Baja California line. We sat and waited. Finally, he came. “You have to have the car’s registration. Whose car is this?”. “Her husband’s” I answered, referring to my sister. “Does she have her marriage license?” he asked. “Of course not” I answered. “Does she have his ID?”. “No” I answered. He randomly started opening our bags, without even advising us. “How much money do each of you have on you?” he asked. Great. “I have one dollar” I answered, opening my wallet for him to see. “You don’t travel with money!?” he responded. “I need to got to the bank”. I didn’t even mention that an ATM in Tijuana had eaten my bankcard and that money was a little problematic for me at the moment. “You have to go back to Sonoyta and cross back to the American side,” he said brusquely, “if you continue to Caborca, your car will be impounded”.

So, that ended our Mexico experience for summer. Ejected. Kicked out. Of Mexico. Mi querido México. A-hole. After such a nice visit. We back tracked to Sonoyta and ate our last meal and passed our sand covered car, stacked high with shit that we’ve acquired, through the border without even a wait and only a flash of our passports. No Secondary Inspection. It was a miracle.

On the bright side, I thought, I have always wanted to visit Organ Pipe. I love cactus, especially the huge, barrel-like Saguaro cactus that they have in Arizona. It seemed that we were the only car on the road, except for a few million south bound Border Patrol trucks. I pulled off the road to take a couple of pictures. Another migra wagon pulled by, skidded, and made an abrupt U-turn. I pulled out into street as I watched him race back up to us in my rear-view mirror. He was directly on my bumper, but wasn’t indicating in anyway that I was supposed to pull over. What the fuck? Seriously. I kept driving, mainly because I didn’t know what else to do. I started slowing for an upcoming Border Patrol checkpoint. The young agent was pretty conversational. I really didn’t feel like chatting, but did what you are supposed to do to avoid confrontation with men in authority with uniforms and guns. “Did you pull off of the road back there?” he finally asked. “Yeah,” I answered, “it’s a national monument. I wanted to take some pictures”. “An agent called it in” he answered. “No kidding,” I responded “he nearly ran me off the road”, “There’s a lot of smuggling in this area” he retorted. “Well, I hope they do a better job than I did” I responded. He let us go. I was irritated. How many confrontations can you have with The Man in one day?

And we raged toward Phoenix. It was only 118 degrees.