January 6, 1974
It has been snowing steadily for two days straight, the drifts are about four to six feet deep and the flats are two and a half to three. I can hardly wait to get out of town. I am living in Mammoth Lakes Ca. It's not that I don't like living here, but we have finished work for the season and a long planned trip to South America is about to begin. This is not just another trip to the tropics with northern snowbirds looking for a week or two in the sun to temporarily escape the harsh northern winter, this is an open-ended trip, the kind where you give up your apartment and come back to work when the money plays out, this is the biggie, a life's adventure.

Yours truly and two friends, Ed Itchek (left) and Joseph Farber, (right) have carefully planned this trip since the spring of '73 after Joseph and I returned from a two-week snowbird trip to San Blas, Mexico in April of that same year. Upon returning to Mammoth we hatched the plan for the trip we now begin, we have spent all summer working extra hours and saving money with this goal in mind. Somewhere along the way Ed wanted to be included. At first, although Ed is a dear friend, we declined because we did not want to take a 'rookie' along on such an extended trip. We feared that 'culture shock' would be too much, he would burn out and make the whole trip a drag. We planned to take the 'economy trip.' Joseph and I have been close since the eighth grade and we did not want a 'third party' to contend with, and besides, Ed did not speak any Spanish. However, Ed's persistent arguments that he would learn Spanish, or at least enough to not be dependent, coupled with the fact that he had made a similar trip to Europe after completing college convinced Joseph and me that he should be included on the trip.

Ed certainly lived up to his word, he immediately enlisted the aid of our friend Betty who had taught high school Spanish, and they went right to work. Ed also contributed a great idea that helped format the trip in a most positive manner, he suggested that he might want to take off on his own at some point during the trip, and the three of us agreed that anyone might do the same thing, and of course, no hard feelings. I think in all our minds we felt this would be a good idea, as well as an escape clause to prevent personality conflicts from souring the trip, after all three does have the potential of strain.

Right away there is a minor glitch. Ed and I are ready to go, we have given up our apartments, effective Dec. 31, and are crashing on friends couches. Not only are we anxious to get going, but are wearing out our welcomes, fast. Joseph has another two weeks worth of work to complete before he can leave, but Ed and I cannot wait that long. Joseph has purchased a 1963 Cadillac just for this trip and although Ed and I have promised to pay our respective thirds, Joseph fronted the money and presently is dependent on the Caddie for everyday transportation. We have agreed to sell the Caddie, or whatever remains of it, when the trip is over, and to then divide the loss three ways, hell, we figure the car might die somewhere along the way but we don't care, we've only (or I should say Joseph) paid twelve hundred for it, that's four hundred each if worse comes to worse. Gas prices have just gone through the roof due to the Arab embargo, and as Joseph says, 'these gas guzzlers are a dime a dozen.' We originally had hoped to drive to Florida, ferry ourselves and the Cadillac to the Yucatán peninsula, then drive through Central America and down to South America, as I said earlier we had planned a life's adventure. However, with gas prices 'normal' in Mexico, we amended that plan and now would drive through Mexico and Central America all the way down to South America. The Caddie is a large four door model with power everything and air conditioning, it seems perfect for the trip.

Ed's situation is slightly different from mine, he wants to go to Santa Monica to visit his parents before we depart. We have agreed that I will meet him in Santa Monica and we will travel in Mexico by train to San Blas and wait for Joseph. Joseph will drive the Caddie down as soon as he wraps up his remaining work and we will meet in San Blas. I have agreed to give Betty a ride to Pasadena and am waiting for her to get everything together so we can leave.

Finally, we leave, the drive to Pasadena is rugged, the storm is dumping snow all the way down Owens Valley into L.A. County where it finally turns to rain, the normally four and a half hour trip takes about seven. I drop Betty off in Pasadena and drive to my brother Ron's house in So. Pasadena to spend the night. The next morning Ron gives me a ride to Santa Monica, I leave the Dodge, (which actually belongs to my other brother Mitch) in So. Pasadena. Ed and I, very anxious to begin, leave that very same night on the midnight Greyhound for Calexico from L.A.

Arriving in Calexico about five in the morning, we are left with nothing to do but kill time until about noon when the train will depart from Mexicali for points south. The waiting is boring and a little depressing, we arrive at the train station about eight or so in the morning and wait for the ticket window to open so we can buy our tickets just to wait some more for the train to leave, we have not yet acclimated to the slow pace of 'south of the border'. We are delighted at the cost of our tickets though, only fourteen dollars each, and that's all the way to Tepic, about one thousand miles. We decline the sleeper, deciding that we will just sleep in the coach seats. The train schedule says the trip will take twenty four hours, and we believe it.

The accommodations on the train seem oriental express perfect; each first class passenger is assigned a seat, complete with a doily and a small pillow. The cars are air conditioned and very comfortable. I am filled with apprehension as the train begins its journey through the great Sonora desert. Throughout the afternoon Ed and I spend a great deal of time standing on the small platforms between the cars enjoying the dry desert air, it is hot, but bearable. The sound of the wheels clacking and the cars swaying creates an exciting feeling, and as the coaches seem old fashioned I feel somewhat detached from 'reality', which suits me just fine, I let my imagination run, and I have gone back in time one hundred years.

The days are short this time of year and as night falls we visit the club car to drink beer and eat overpriced grilled cheese sandwiches. They are charging us in American money, we will learn quickly to use pesos whenever possible. The peso exchange rate is twelve and a half to one, we love it, we have each changed one hundred dollars into twelve hundred and fifty pesos, and we are anxious to start using them.

Soon we try to sleep. However, it is now learned that these coach seats are not that easy to fall asleep in. We should have spent the extra bucks for the sleeper car. Too late now, we sleep uneasily for what seems like an eternity. When real sleep finally comes, the train stops, we have reached Benjamin Hill. Two trains will now become one, the train which leaves Nogales Texas and our Mexicali train will join and travel south as one. It seems like it takes an hour or more of banging and clanging to unite them but we are assured that finally we will chug down the tracks as one train. I spend the rest of the night half asleep and half awake.

SUDDENLY! A great loud sound of almost thunder, the ground seems to tremble under the train. It is immediately evident that we are slowing, and quickly. I look out the window, now I can hear shots being fired, two shots, three, then a burst, now a staccato. I see a hundred, no, more like a thousand, horsemen riding toward the train. I see a particular horseman look directly to me, he is riding a magnificent jet black stallion at full gallop and he has crossed bandoleer ammo belts over his white peasant clothing. He wears a great sombrero and sports a large mustache. He smiles as he raises his rifle, I see the flash and hear it's bark, I duck to the floor just as his bullet slams through the window and into the wall behind me. I hug the floor as the train begins to slow, . . . I can hear loud voices, and still occasional shots. The train lurches, the brakes have been engaged severely, the engineer is bringing it to a halt. Men board the train shouting orders to everyone to remain calm and in their seats. We are told not to worry, these are "Pancho's 'chachos" and they are simply here to rob the train, we are not in any danger. Just then, a man who looks exactly like my vision of Pancho Villa, steps into the train. He looks left and right as he slowly walks down the aisle of the train toward me, I can feel my heart beating in my chest, I have never been this afraid in my life. He almost walks right by me, but just as he is next to my seat he stops, looks at me, and says.

"My name is Francisco Villa, and these men are my army, and we are at war," he hesitates, turns away from me and takes two steps before turning back, then, while pointing directly at me, he continues "with Americans who come to Mexico to take advantage of us." He takes one more step toward me, leans over, gets right in my face, and shouts,

"LIKE YOU!!!" He hesitates and stands up. He seems to not be angry any longer. He looks to the ceiling, turns back, then calmly, slowly, his face deliberately drenched with scorn, he lectures me.

"You know, you Americans have been stealing Mexico away from Mexicans long enough. That Richardson and Wheeler outfit, just taking over two million acres of our land in Sonora. Then no sooner than they are finished here comes Anaconda, maybe feeling confident by Richardson and Wheelers easy success, and they grab three hundred fifty thousand acres. And then that Texan, Robert Vick, he grabs off another million and a half acres. And that's not all, at Las Palomas, another two and a half million grabbed by Edwin Marshall. And there's more. But we're taking it all back now, and we don't care how many Americans must die in the process. We are giving it all back to the people." He smiled as everyone on the train applauded and cheered. Then he looked at me with complete contempt, as though he could read my thoughts as he sneered and said. "Sure, maybe that was then, and this is now, but let me ask you, what the hell are you bringing to Mexico? Well, I'll tell you. You bring nothing, nothing, NOTHING!" He hesitated again, as if to let what he said have its full meaning. "What little money you have is no help, you are just like the other Americans . . . You just come here to take, take, take. When you have what you want, you just leave, you just go back home. You're bringing us nothing, you are just here to take, nothing has changed, only the date." He reached calmly and deliberately into his waistband and brought out a huge pistol, pointed it directly at my heart and cocked the hammer, I closed my eyes and there was a huge sound, simultaneously I felt a LURCH and a THUMP to my chest!!!!

The next thing I realized, I was fully awake. I guess the two trains with one huge last jolt, had finally become joined. I must have dozed off during the transition. Now I can feel the train begin traveling slowly down the tracks trying to gain speed, but struggling. The train was much bigger and much heavier now. I found myself in a slight cold sweat, that was a very intense dream. I could not help but ask myself as I tried going back to sleep, what was I bringing to Mexico?. . . . Or was I here just to take?. . . . Oh well, I'm here now, it's a moot point, at best.

When morning finally arrives, two things happen; one, I have developed a splitting headache, and two, it gets hot very quickly as the air conditioning in our car no longer works. We stumble forward to the club car and eat breakfast, it helps, but it's still hot and I still have a headache. The country side has turned from desert to semi-jungle and the humidity is high. My feet hurt and my underwear is creeping, this train has lost all its "oriental express" appeal, even the doily and little pillow have disappeared, first class travel accommodations seemed to have ended at Benjamin Hill. I idly wonder if Pancho had anything to do with it, and we start looking to journeys' end at Tepic, but that is at least four hours away. I return to hanging out on the little platforms between the cars and find some degree of relief from the increasing humidity and heat, I hope that we will adapt to these conditions reasonably soon. We cross a river and as I look out to the horizon and see no signs of the twentieth century as I perceive it, I am reminded of Pancho Villa and the dream. It haunts me. . . . But only slightly.

The country side becomes more jungle like and we cross many rivers as we climb into the mountains. The train works harder, goes slower, and makes more stops, it's as though the train has become a local, which in fact it has. At each stop, people run up onto the platform with various tacos, burritos, and other foodstuffs for sale, we buy some, the food is palatable, but not great. Time drags now, the humidity increases, we finally reach Mazatlán and quite a few people detrain, we feel close to our destination but it seems to take forever. We ultimately reach Tepic six agonizing hours later, and six hours behind schedule. We are finally here, but, as we stand out on the station platform and watch the train depart it becomes very lonely, we realize that we are actually no where. And it's hot. After evaluating our position, we take a cab to the only hotel I know, the Hotel Juarez. It's a real dive, but we love the price, thirty pesos (two and a half bucks) each. After checking in, we race to the room to shower, we both want and need it badly. Ed goes first, I take off my shoes and realize that the only way to deal with these socks is to throw them out the window into the alley behind the hotel, and I do. Look out below, . . . some poor slob down there, . . . tough break. My God, I forgot how stinking my feet could get. Ed finishes, I get into the shower, actually into the bathroom, the whole bathroom becomes the shower. It is tiled completely and all one has to do is take out the toilet paper and towels, a shower head simply protrudes from the wall. Just turn it on, the water is not hot, it's not cool, it's in between, but what really matters is that it is wet, pretty soon I'm a new man, but a tired new man. We enjoy our first "siesta," sleeping about three hours.

When we wake up, the sun has set and it has cooled down, it has become downright pleasant, it feels good. We walk down the street and into the first restaurant we see. It is great to eat good food and drink Mexican beer, we are elated. The meal costs just ten pesos, but the beer is just about the same price, ounce for ounce, that you would pay in the USA. After eating, we walk down to the main plaza and marvel at the twin towers of the old Catholic church looming into the night sky, we also marvel at the fantastic environmental change we have made in just forty-eight hours, physically and emotionally as well as culturally. We are ecstatic, almost lightheaded, with our situation. We head back to the hotel for a good nights sleep, tomorrow; San Blas.

The next morning we check out of the Juarez, eat a modest breakfast of beans, rice, eggs, and Coca Cola, find our way to the Central De Autobús, (bus station) buy a ticket, board, and begin our bus   trip to San Blas. The bus itself is old, I'd guess about 25, and seems to have no shock absorbers left at all. It pitches and sways as it stops at virtually every corner through Tepic, then finally out onto Highway 15, where we make fewer stops as we start heading north to the San Blas junction at Mexico 46. Overall, I would rate the bus as standard fare for a second class Mexican bus. Although the locals show no fear at all, Ed and I exchange glances which communicate our, let's call it apprehension, as our bus starts the descent down a very narrow, winding, steep road, the sides of which are dotted with little crosses maintained with flowers. These little memorials are marking the places where others have perished making this very same trip. Ed smiles his infectious broad smile as I nod toward one elderly woman dressed in black as she feeds rosary beads through her fingers with remarkable speed. Ed doesn't deny fear, he handles it, the mark of real bravery. Tepic's altitude is 3000 feet and we will be descending to sea level, the road is very steep with numerous winding curves. Although later we will drive mountain roads as severe as this ourselves, we have just arrived and this is an early test of our nerves. Needless to say, we survive the descent, and the bus continues north along a flatter section of Mexico 15. The bus makes a final stop at the junction and we turn west into the home stretch toward San Blas on Mexico 46. We feel good, the road for the most part is even now, with just a slight descent as we enter the thick jungle. The road itself is an asphalt ribbon, it's not one lane, but it's not quite two lanes either. Two vehicles can pass, by American standards close, very close, but, as we will learn, fairly average for Mexican highways. There are plenty of potholes and it seems as if the traffic itself trims back the jungle growth. It feels as if we are driving through a tunnel and the road edge at best, is difficult to see. The road winds and takes us deeper at every turn into dense jungles with towering royal palms, through stretches of maguay fields and past coffee, avocado, banana and mango plantations. Don't be misled though, these "plantations" are very modest by American standards of agriculture.

The land has become very low and water abounds as we cross swampland while approaching the Río Palillo. The bridge crossing the river here is unbelievable low, I've never seen one any lower, it barely clears the water. We later learn that at times, during high water runs, the bridge is actually covered with water, though still passable.

We arrive in San Blas, it is midday, maybe one or one-thirty, the bus station is in the middle of town. We de-bus, take a good look around and smile as we realize that we have made it. It is everything we had hoped it would be, except much hotter, much dustier, and far more humid than we anticipated. We walk across the plaza and down one of the 'main' streets to the "Hotel Bucanero" and check in. The hotel is great, we can't believe our good luck. The price is the same as the Juarez in Tepic, thirty pesos each, (two-fifty) per day. We will learn later to negotiate even better prices, but we are very happy for now. The room itself is large with two double beds and tile floors. There also are two large "ventiladores," (ceiling fans) one over each bed. It has an acceptably sized bathroom, and although everything seems a little run down, the room and bathroom are clean. There is a slight mildewy or musty smell to the bedding, and a seemingly out of place odor of diesel fuel. We also notice a gecko lizard living in the room, but he doesn't bother us at all. Good thing, we discover they are everywhere. We change into our cut-offs and head for the beach.

San Blas sits on the west coast of Mexico about 160 miles south of Mazatlán and rests very low, just barely above sea level. Sometimes, at high tides, the ocean creeps quite far inland and can be a little disturbing for the newcomer. San Blas had been important as a shipbuilding center in the 1750's, and Spain also maintained a naval garrison here for the Spanish armada in order to fight off British and French pirates. The town was officially recognized in 1768 and in that same year, the famous (or infamous) Fray Junipero Serra began his mission building journey to the north from this very port. Many others as well used the city as a port of departure for California, and other points north, some as far as Alaska. There is little tangible evidence today of the town's history, the two exceptions being the decayed remains of an ancient fortress and church, and an old roofless customs house. The harbor facilities no longer exist, a sandbar separates today's harbor from the beach, and shipping to and from the Philippines is only a footnote to the much larger history of Spain's conquest of Mexico. Today, San Blas is just a small fishing village with very 'economico' tourist accommodations, absolutely perfect for our needs. 

It was about a twenty minute walk to the beach, probably the hottest twenty minutes of my life, between the humidity and the temperature it felt at least 130·, no wonder the siesta is a national pastime in Mexico. I remember that only 'mad dogs and Englishmen' go out in the noonday sun and appreciate the wisdom of not only the saying, but more importantly, the siesta. We make it to the beach, head out across scorching sand and dive directly into the surf, if you could call it surf, the water must be about 90·, our swim is brief. We exit the water and run full speed back across that same scorching sand up to the palapas (simple shelters constructed using poles and palm fronds) on the beach, learning for the first time what shade really means. As we look at each other across the table, we simultaneously see ourselves as the fools we really are. Our bodies are completely white and our systems are completely out of synch with our environment. Two days before we were living in complete winter and now we are living in the tropics. We laugh, we are in a very happy and carefree mood. We order a fish lunch, complete with rice, beans, tortillas, a little tiny salad, and of course, cold cerveza. It is delicious, we spend the next two hours drinking beer and find ourselves quite nicely high by the time we finally decide to leave. But leave we do, we realize now that it is going to be a hot walk back to the hotel. Although already we have consumed more than our fair share of beer, we decide to stop at the "Coco-Loco" for additional refreshments. We saw it earlier, but didn't pay any attention on our way to the beach, but now we are uncontrollably drawn by the sign that says 'aire conditionado,' and the picture of the little coconut with the straws sticking out doesn't hurt either. We sigh in relief as we enter and although the air conditioning is not making it 'cool,' cool is a relative term, it is very nice inside. We order a Coco-Loco, a very sweet drink liberally laced with three or four different rums and served in a coconut, it is delicious. We take our time drinking it, we order another, mariachis come in, we order music, we laugh, we order yet another Coco Loco, and this time let's include our new friends, some guys who just happened to be in the bar. We continue to enjoy ourselves through the afternoon, toward dusk. Now that the sun is setting and it has finally cooled off a little, we take what remains of our Coco-Locos outside onto the patio and finish them off as we talk and laugh, we are having some fun now. Ed notices some mosquitoes, or something coming out, so we finish and walk back to the hotel, swatting whatever these things are all the way back, we can't see 'um. We literally stumble into our room and call it a night as we both 'fall asleep' for the night. It has been a great day.

The next morning brings reality very early, the terrific headache centered just behind and above my right eye is dwarfed only by an incredible thirst for ice water. I almost fall into the shower, I am tempted, but do not drink water from the tap. I have heard too many stories. Ed feels pretty much the same, he also showers and we head out of the hotel in search of ice water and breakfast. We find the local McDonalds, not like the kind we have in the states, but a typical Mexican cafe that just happens to be named the same, we wonder about it as we enter. Bad news, good news, the bad is, no ice water, the good, they do have "jugo de naranja"(orange juice) incredible fresh, incredibly wet and cold, and served in unbelievably large glasses. We drink and eat our way back to some sort of normal state of mind. We find ourselves on our second day in Mexico, hung over, sunburned, insect bitten, and for the capper we find that we must stay close to our room and the commode while our systems adjusts to our new lifestyle. Ed wonders if this is how Cortez started, we laugh and try to put things in perspective. Who gives a shit, we're in Mexico and we don't even have a job, our job is to wait for Joseph and just relax. For the next week, while waiting, we explore San Blas, every restaurant, bar, night club, all the side streets and plazas, funeral parlor, billares, (pool room) beaches, and we also discover the location of the local whorehouse. After a few days at the local beach, (we name it 'Hurricane Flats' because of the high winds) we discover Matachen Bay.

Márachen Bay sits about five miles south and east of the town of San Blas and offers a beautiful beach, complete with palapa restaurants and great surf. The water is very warm, and it has only a slight breeze. We use the open air bus that runs daily from San Blas. We also take the 'jungle cruise,' an outboard powered boat up the river and through the jungle to Tobara Springs. It's a beautiful trip through dense jungle. Upon arrival, the springs offer great swimming in clear fresh water, and there is a nice little restaurant as well. The whole trip takes about two, three, maybe four hours, depending on how long you elect to stay for swimming, food, and cervezas.

Although by tourist standards everything is very inexpensive, (hotel $2.50 each per day, meals .80 to a buck and a quarter) beer and liquor prices however, are about the same as the states. After a week passes, we decide that we cannot continue to spend money at this rate, it's a long way to South America and we are just starting, we adjust. We learn ways to save money, we buy ice by the block and booze by the bottle, instead of cocktails at the "Torino Club," we eat better and find the cheapest way to do everything. We get it down to about five bucks a day which includes hotel, meals, and bus fare, but not booze. By the middle of the second week we are totally bored with San Blas, we are constantly on the lookout for the Cadillac, . . . hoping, hoping, hoping. We look especially after siesta time and into the evening, all we have to do is be at or near the main plaza and we will simply see Joseph pull in. We watch the local kids play foosball (they are very good) at the many free machines around the main plaza as we wait, and wait, for the Cadillac.

Finally, Joseph pulls in about seven o'clock in the evening of our sixteenth day! He is literally, a sight for sore eyes. We immediately go to dinner at "La Isla" (the best restaurant in San Blas) to enjoy a hearty meal, then we go out and drink 'ballenas' (liters) of Pacifico beer as we talk and catch up on what has transpired on our travels since we saw each other last. Although Joseph had anticipated staying a least a week in San Blas, Ed and I (along with one sleepless night battling the local "jajenes and sancudos") had him convinced into heading out after one day. These pesky little insects can be ferocious and they seem to especially love Joseph. However, Joseph hates flying, biting, insects almost to an obsession, he will battle well into the night, killing each one inside the room as he wads toilet paper into small holes in screens, puts towels under doors, and will go to virtually any length to keep them out. But, they were too many, too small, and too much. He was ready to leave, the next morning we checked out of the Bucanero and left bug infested San Blas, heading for Guadalajara, and points south.

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Copyright 1996 by R.P. Folsom. All rights reserved.