As we depart Guadalajara, we are fresh with inspiration and anticipation of what we will find on our travels into the mountains of central Mexico and points south, we plan to drive to Mexico City. We are not anxious to see Mexico City, we favor more rural areas, but, for better or worse, we have glibly instructed our family and friends that if they want to communicate with us, send our mail to General Delivery, Mexico City. We agree that we should not leave Mexico without making that final check. Our plan is still to travel to Columbia, but we fully intend to see as much of Mexico as we can along the way. We travel easily, not trying to make great distances each day. First stop, Lake Chapala; it is indeed beautiful but we are not overly impressed. We continue on, travel is living up to expectations, we are enjoying all the sights and scenes of Mexico and are becoming acclimated to the 'pace' of Mexico, both physically and mentally. We find ourselves very relaxed and everything is as we expected or hoped it would be. Ed has brought his camera and is taking pictures along the way, Joseph and I are happy that he has taken this on because neither of us had considered it.

We continue on toward Mexico City, we now call it, "Mejico, Mejico" (with the " j" pronounced as an "h") as the locals do. My Spanish, crude as it is, has proved to be the most reliable with Joseph's workable and Ed's struggling along. We have come to the conclusion that it is best if we take turns talking Spanish, with each on his own when his turn comes up, the other two acting as though they are mute. It works well; soon we all are practiced enough to order food, procure the proper hotel accommodations, (one room, three beds, running water, preferably hot, and ventiladores.) It tests not only our linguistic abilities, but the patience of desk clerks all over Mexico. We are happy to find that the 30 peso per night rate is consistent everywhere. The Cadillac continues to run well overall, the only thing that troubles us is that it occasionally vapor locks and stalls out, but after a five or ten minute rest we are able to restart and continue driving.

A typical day's travel would begin with a leisurely breakfast; my particular favorite is beans, rice, eggs, a stack of corn tortillas, coffee, (sometimes laced with Kalua) all washed down with orange juice or Coca-Cola. I feel safe with this, however, Joseph is far more imaginative and is likely to order almost anything. Ed sticks pretty much to the same menu I do, he is fairly conservative as well. We soon develop an individual attitude about drinking the water, we have bored of talking about it, and our final solution is 'every man for himself.' I notice that although we each have our own system about when or when not to drink the water, no one ever gets sick. I conclude that either we have built up immunities, or the danger of gringos drinking Mexican water is over rated. After getting out on the road we alternate the driving, stopping at little 'tiendas' along the way to buy beers, sodas, and various snacks as we go. We have no way to keep anything cold, so we buy them one round at a time. We also alternate turns going into the stores, it is a little intimidating to the 'country folk' when three large "norte americanos" come in all at the same time, the stores are usually very small, so we have adopted this system. Not only is it easier on the locals, but we have found it is more enjoyable and more interesting when going into the little tiendas alone.

Each night we check into a hotel; go out for dinner, then check out the local night life if any. We also, (Joseph and I more so than Ed) drink and laugh quite a bit, Ed laughs as much as we do, but we drink more. We seem to find ourselves fairly wound up after a day's driving, and need to let off steam. Sometimes during the day we stop at points of interest along the way, either tourist type attractions or just to get out of the car along some beach somewhere. We don't make great time mileage wise, but we are having a lot of fun. The relationship among the three of us seems to work well. I have never been involved in a triad like this before; Joseph and I had been friends since our school days, Joseph and Ed had met a few years before in Mammoth and lived at Pinecrest Dorm, back in the 'old days.' I met Ed through Joseph when I first moved to Mammoth. Ed and I not only worked together, but were house mates during the winter of '72, my first winter in Mammoth. Each person has an individual relationship with each other, completely independent from the third person. I think it worked well because no one ever felt left out, or discriminated against so it made for a good threesome, creating a kind of  'muskateerian' all for one, one for all attitude.

When we arrive in Mexico City we are aghast at the traffic, it is truly a nightmare, we are immediately lost. We are determined though and fight, almost literally, our way downtown to the main Post Office only to discover that no one has written to any of us. We vow never to return to Mexico City again. Even though we are completely familiar with horrendous traffic and air pollution of the worst kind, (we are all from the LA area) we are appalled by Mexico City. Not only is the air pollution and traffic worse, but the poverty we see on the outskirts of the city teaches us all a lesson about life that cannot be described by this writer, one must see it to believe it. We do not spend even one night in Mexico City. We continue south along the east coast of Mexico. We are disappointed by Vera Cruz, we find it to be just a sea port town, and spend only one night there.

Upon leaving Vera Cruz, we drive south and east down Mexico 180, stopping for lunch at a seaside town named Alvarado. The town of Alvarado seems affluent by Mexican standards, gaining financially from the abundant fishing industry of the Gulf of Mexico. We stop for lunch (oyster shooters) and happen to meet up with four local guys, they buy us a beer, we buy one for them and although they speak little or no English, one thing leads to another and we wind up spending the rest of the day with them. They all have good jobs, they are diesel mechanics and service the large fishing boats in the local fishing fleet. They are intelligent, have plenty of bucks, about the same age as us and they want us all to hang out. The particular boats that  they work on are out to sea that week so they are off duty, but they take us on a tour of the fleet that is in port, they are large, modern, commercial fishing boats and we are very impressed. 

(this pic shows Joseph fishing with Peter watching, and Ed photoging, we all caught the same number of fish) 

Everyone is enjoying everything very much and after the tour they invite us to their homes for even more fun yet. We happily accept their hospitable offer.

Leaving the boats and waterfront behind we pile into the Caddie, all seven of us, I'm riding in the shotgun seat, Joseph is in the front middle, one of the mechanics has asked to drive, and the three remaining Mexicans are sitting in the back seat with Ed. These guys are fat, all four of them. It was pretty damn funny to look at Ed pancaked in between these guys looking a little like a cue-tip, in the back seat. We are having some fun now. Our driver, perhaps because he is a mechanic is a very good driver and drives with great care as he negotiates the bumpy, washboard, bone shaking, dirt roads on our way to their homes, which are situated on a small peninsula jutting into the Gulf. Their homes as are the others here, about ten in all, are simple and comfortable. It's not exactly a little village, it is more like a small settlement, all very colorful and very beautiful. There are a few old cars kind of laying around; overall, not unlike other places I have seen and always been ready to pass off as 'glad I don't live there' how can they live in such poverty. But after actually meeting the people that live here, getting to know them and being inside their homes enjoying their hospitality, I form some new ideas about others, and their values. It is also very isolated, so isolated that they have ice, beers, and sodas delivered by the local agency truck. The Caddie had survived the trip intact although the exhaust system sustained a slight leak, we were riding very low with seven passengers and I guess one of the many bumps we passed over took its toll. We spend the rest of the afternoon with these wonderful people, throwing frisbees, drinking beer, fishing, and just having fun in general as we communicate using half Spanish, half English, and half sign language. Overall, perhaps because of our inability to speak each others language except minimally, we laugh a lot and communicate through feelings and gestures, all in all a most enjoyable and memorable afternoon. Although they implore us to spend the night and continue the merriment, we at last say good bye, pile back into the Caddie, and head out onto the highway. The feelings we took with us were of companionship and brotherhood, I felt as though we had been given a glimpse into one aspect of the Mexican peoples' essence, the strength of their feelings for life, love, and sharing.

Back out on the road we continue south, feeling a little drained and pretty damn tired. I am completely worn out, not from the beer, we really didn't drink that much, but more from the mental energy it took to speak that much Spanish coupled with the amount of physical energy we had spent throughout the day. We are all tired as we reach San Andrés Tuxla and check into a very nice hotel, which is located right on a nice plaza. We get settled in, eat one more time, and call it a night.

One thing we see in San Andrés Tuxla affects me deeply. The next day as we are eating breakfast in this most beautiful town, a boy of about eight years comes into the restaurant, begging. This, in itself is not alarming, but he has two, not one but two, club feet. I am shocked, in our country they correct this with an operation at birth. But this is not the USA, it does not have all the things we take for granted.

Back out onto the highway again and heading south, the weather is wonderful, the Caddie is running strong but now we have a slight rumble from the exhaust system leak acquired from our shenanigans the day before at Alvarado. We are traveling close to the coast, the beaches are beautiful and for the most part, completely uninhabited. We make numerous stops along the way, enjoying and exploring these seemingly abandoned beaches, but by mid afternoon we have returned to the highway to make some 'real time' as we are now looking forward to enjoying the Caribbean beaches of the Yucatán peninsula. However, 'real time' is impossible to make. In this low coastal area we encounter rivers and bays to negotiate and although there are ferries, there are few bridges, so we find ourselves waiting numerous times for the ferry to return from the other side. No one is in a hurry. We also are completely acclimated to the 'manana' pace and  find the stops interesting and pleasant. At each waiting point, there is food and drink offered for sale. Joseph is particularly fond of the lobster tacos. I suggest that because we are crossing a fresh water river here, that they are not actually lobsters at all, but crayfish. We have a long discussion to this end, but in the final analysis, he remains unconvinced. Ed just smiles, he doesn't give a shit which they are, he just likes the way they taste. Finally, after leaving the state of Tabasco and crossing into the state of Campeche at Frontera then on through San Pedro, we arrive at Zacatal. It is now late afternoon, or early evening, and we are informed that if we choose to take the ferry across to Ciudad Del Carmen on the Isla Del Carmen, we will spend the night there. The toll bridge which exits the island to Isla Aguada, and subsequently on to Campeche and Merida is closed for the night; they don't tell us why. We elect to cross to the island city. We will spend the night there.

This sandbar island, Isla Del Carmen, helps form the Laguna Del Terminos where the mighty Usumacinta River finally drains at the end of its northward quest from the rain forests of the Guatemalan highlands, as well as the Yucatán peninsula, into the Gulf of Mexico. The Usumacinta is a world class river and the mightiest in Central America, it is navigable and provides great support to the many peoples that live along its banks. Isla Del Carmen has been occupied by Maya fisherman since the earliest days. In the mid 16th century it was taken over by pirates, who used it as hiding place and lair because of its close proximity to the port at Campeche City. They attacked the Spanish galleons, stealing the silver and gold headed for Spain. In those times, it was called the Island of Tris. The pirates controlled the island until the early part of the 18th century when they were at last driven out by the army. Today, the island is occupied by about 75,000 people, mostly living at the island's only city, Ciudad Del Carmen, which is located at the island's south west end.

We found a refreshing change of ambiance at Ciudad Del Carmen, the colors were brighter, the people were different, for the first time in Mexico we saw black people. There were steel drum bands, this island had a feel left over from its pirates heritage and we thoroughly enjoyed it. We checked into a hotel, cleaned up, and went out on the town in search of food, drink and good times, we found all three. The town was somewhat in a state of Marti Gras, music everywhere, people dancing in the streets, working girls, and bars with large roll up doors opening out to the street affording a full view of the festivities inside, and from the inside, the festivities outside. Although not in use today, many of the bars had recessed tiled waterways right at the feet of the drinkers, their original purpose to eliminate the need to stop drinking in order to relieve oneself; and in the olden pirate days men did just that. (At least that is what I was told by the current bartenders.) I took full advantage of the wide stock of rums offered for sale, tasting and enjoying a wide variety of mixed drinks. I talked, laughed, and joked (in Spanish, of course) with the locals and other revelers throughout the night, just having a great time, a gala evening indeed. When my whoremongering friends finally returned back to the bar, in a great mood after their bawdy adventures, we drank and laughed the remainder of the night away well into the wee hours of the morning before returning to our hotel. We awoke with great hangovers the following morning, but it was well worth it, it had been a night to remember.

MEXICO CHRONICLES ( Return to Contents)

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