Catching Up....Borderline alcoholics and desert yuppies

I have fallen behind in my blogging duties. My apologies to all, I will try to make the next few posts concise and digestible, as there is much to discuss. I shall begin where I left off, taking in the rays in Terlingua. My last night in town, it was just me and Cynta chillin at her place, so we decided to watch a movie. After first deciding to watch the Motorcycle Diaries but failing to find the DVD (Cynta assumed she lent it to someone and forgot... same thing that happened to my copy of that movie!), we decided to watch a film that was made right in the area we were living, titled Los Trés Entierros de Melquiades Estrada, or the Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada. The story of the film is about a Texan cowboy (Tommy Lee Jones) who befriends an illegal immigrant, who is killed by a novice Border Patrol guard (boo hiss) after he discharged his rifle trying to kill a fox or something. After the local authorities decide not to investigate, the cowboy, Pete Perkins, decides to take the law into his own hands, abducting the perpetrating border patrol guard and taking him on an epic journey along with Estrada's body to the place where Estrada was from to bury his body.

Aside from the obvious connotations regarding Texan cowboys' lack of confiedence for local law enforcement, I also took away a keen sense of how strong the cross-border camaraderie was (and still is) between rural Americans and rural Mexicans (we're all just people trying to get by, after all). There is a sense of understanding and comfortability that arises when a white man walks into a Mexican bar and begins conversing with the bartender in fluent spanish, without prejudice or preconception. It is as if they have been living next to each other for centuries, the only thing separating them being their skin color. The conflict only arises with stupid border patrol guards who don't know the lay of the land and don't bother trying to learn it before swooping in and imposing their own rules.

Speaking of border patrol, did you know that the officers in that specific branch of law enforcement are only there because they failed ALL of the other tests to get into other, more significant positions? Yes, border patrol guards are the cream of the crap, the top of the bottom, the worst of the best. It's sad to think that that's how much we value our relationship with our neighbors to the south.

Anyways, moving right along, the next day I drove to El Paso. The first part of the drive was awesome, heading up right along the Rio Grande through more national parkland and beautiful rocky passes. I passed through Marfa (again) and continued northwest, into the mountain time zone and into a whole new world, one really unlike any I have encountered so far.

El Paso sent my head in a spin upon first arriving. Highway signs to Juárez all had "no firearms" images attached to them. I would look north, towards New Mexico, and see mountains and occasional glimmers of fancy mansions and mercedez benzes surrounded by rocks and trees. Then I'd turn my head south and see vast and endless ghettos of shacks and one-story pueblos, probably only getting electricity a few hours each day. I heard stories of journalists in Juárez being massacred and strung up in the trees of this one park to warn others of what would happen to them if they went investigating about the drug problems in the area. I saw cars all over the place with pieces of paper saying "untitled" in the place of a license plate. Cars obviously boosted in Juárez, stripped of their plates and serial numbers and resold on the cheap to needy mexicans only to be driven back over the border again, possibly even smuggling more drugs in. Did you know that 2/3rds of the metropolitain population lives in Juárez, crossing the border every day to come work in El Paso? There's also a 40 mile radius around the city in which the mexican workers are allowed pretty much unfettered access to, provided they don't bring any guns and go back to mexico when the work day is over. The cops are all corrupt and the drug cartels run the show. The level of danger here was much higher than it was in New Orleans, but, interestingly enough, this time I felt much safer, if not more comfortable.

The reason for this lies in my company. I was staying with my friend Monica, who I met through the computer lab at Michigan. Last Fall Monica moved out to El Paso to teach elementary school (don't ask me why she chose El Paso). She lives in a house with three other people, of which I only really met one. Shane (the guy I met) was the nicest guy. He's had a troubled past, spent some time in the marines, had it all and lost it all, and now he's getting back on his feet, getting ready to go back to school and trying to find work where he can. As I saw him, Shane was like the big papa bear; kind eyes and loving care for his flock, but pick a fight with him and he will fuck your shit up.

The day before I arrived, Shane had fallen off the roof of a carport he was working on for this guy up the street and torn the tenden in his achilles heel. Even so, despite all the pain and agony that came with attempting to walk around in his cast, even with the crutches, Shane went way out of his way to show me a good time. We drove around town in the convertible, checking out the sights and learning some interesting cultural facts about the town (did you know mexican drivers are terrible, and none of them have insurance, so if one runs into you they just drive off?). After that we went to the grocery store, picked up some hot sauce and orange juice, and went back to their place to cook up some of the bombinest wings I've ever had. Having satisfied our hunger, around 3:30pm we headed out to check out the bar scene around town. We hit up all Shane's favorites, from dingy dives with dollar beer grab bags to a tequila lounge housed in an old auto shop garage.

By 5:30 or so, when Monica met up with us, we had probably had around 4 beers each already, so I was feelin pretty good. We went back to the house for a minute, gussied up and headed out again to meet up with Monica's friends at a tasty mexican restaurant. Having drank all those beers already and ate those wings not too long ago, I refrained from ordering anything aside from sangría and eating chips and salsa while everyone else stuffed themselves.

By the way, Monica's friends are hilarious. Pretty much all of them are beautiful gay men, an artist, a teacher, a spokesperson for a Texas congressman. And they were fabulous! Post-dinner we briefly stopped at a starbucks to utilize their internet and buy some plane tickets, then we headed over to the local gay bar for more drinks and partytime. As the night wore on and the alcohol built up, I got jollier and jollier, as I do, and before long I was having the time of my life. We ordered a round of upside-down pineapple cake shots (which we had to explain to the bartender how to make), ordered a vodka martini for Shane (the first time they forgot to add the vermouth so it was just vodka and olive juice.....yuck), and I switched from beers to liquors. And you know how that goes.....

By the end of the night we had stopped at two more bars, one with a college feel (and way too many people for my tastes), and the back to the local watering hole by their house, where I ended up purging some of the last drinks I ordered and almost lost my glasses in the bush (good thing Monica was paying attention...). We stopped at Whataburger and I threw some grease in my stomach and then we headed back to the casa and promptly passed out.

The next morning, as you can imagine, was a hard one to wake up to. I had a six hour drive and a national monument ahead of me, and I had woken up late and had the worst hangover ever. The plan to leave by 10 turned into 11:30, and due to spending so much on drinks the night before I didn't feel wealthy enough to go out and buy a real breakfast. Gas station coffee and muffins, 3 dollars. Could've been better.

Nevertheless, I arrived at White Sands national monument still with a bit of a headache, but what I found pretty much erased any lingering hangover that I still had. The crisp, dry desert air, the steady breeze flowing across the tops of the dunes, the blazing sun, and above all, the beautiful scenery all around me. It was truly an amazing experience that made me completely forget about the night before.


Magnificent! If I had more time I would've tried dune-sledding, there were a lot of people out doing that. But alas, it was time to get a move on, gotta make it to Santa Fe by dinner!

I arrived in the Adobe City around 7:30 or so, only to find myself lost and confused. I drove around for 20 minutes or so trying to find the house of my couchsurfing host, Annie, but to no avail (it turns out I had mis-written the address as 1605 instead of 1065... I blame the hangover). To boot, Annie wasn't answering her phone when I called, so I felt like a stranger in a strange world, totally lost and amiss as to what to do.

I drove around for a while until I found a gas station. After gassing up I went inside and asked at the counter if it were possible there were two streets with the same name. The guy showed me a map of the city, but no further progress. Luckily I had the phone number of another couchsurfer, Jess, who was unable to host me but had expressed interest in meeting up for a beer or two. So I called up Jess and what do you know, he answers! "Oh yeah!" he says, "we're down here at this pub drinking beers and getting dinner, come meet up with us!" So I find the place on the map and head on down, walk in the bar and out back to the patio, and find Jess and his friend visiting from Houston sitting there drinking beer and eating chips and salsa. Yay! Friends!

Shortly after sitting down, Annie calls me back and we get the directions sorted out. I invite her out to the bar, but she's only 20 and they're super strict about who they let in (under 21 only with parental supervision), so we agree to just meet up at her place after dinner. Soon after getting off the phone, several more of Jess's friends join us at the table. Things get lively, I meet a struggling artist (who I recommended to start an artists' co-op) and a woman who's joining the peace corps in Morocco (whoa, she's actually leaving tomorrow! It has been a while since my last post....), along with a slew of other interesting characters. I ordered a tasty and satisfying burger and had a dandy time. We left the bar around 9pm and I headed over to Annie's house, this time with accurate directions.

When I arrived at the casa, I found one lone guy sitting at the dining room table working on his laptop. After brief introductions I find out that he is one of Annie's housemates and Annie and her boyfriend were currently out at Outback getting ribs with a gift certificate. We hung for a while and talked about St. John's University (which, it turns out, Cynta from Terlingua went to back in the 70s) and their academic style (all primary sources, like following the discoveries as they're discovered). A bit later, Annie and Cooper return from their outback/beer excursion and we sit around and have intellectual discussions over beer until bedtime. I get to sleep in the makeout nook and there are some interesting stains on the cushion, so I put a blanket down to sleep on top of, with an awesome down comforter to complete the Travis sandwich. I slept very well that night.

Ok, I've written enough for one post. Stay tuned.... adventures in Santa Fe, Flagstaff, the Grand Canyon, and more of Central Arizona! Next time, on Midwestern Cooperation!