Clearing For Customs

We’re sitting in the pool at Rancho Acosta, on the outskirts of Álamos, Sonora.On a 99 degree day it feels a lot cooler than 112 degrees. 

“We need to figure out what day we’re going back to the States” Layne says out of the blue. 

“Why?” is the only thing I can say. Most of this five month trip we’ve been operating by-guess-and-by-God, making it up as we go along. Now suddenly it’s time to make a hard core plan. We’ll never stick to it, is all I can think. 

“We need to get the van ready to cross back to the US.”  Let’s face it: Layne the former lawyer is usually right on matters of financing, socializing, planning, cooking and stocking the Promaster with food. Indeed our whole retirement madness to drive around at random as houseless nomads is based on the plan she hatched in 2016. 

That comment in the pool was why we suddenly found ourselves emptying lockers, throwing out crap we hadn’t used since we left Key West October 25th last year. 

“A flour sifter?” I protested. 

“We’ll I might need it. You said it was a good idea,” the master planner  riposted. 

“I said it was a good idea on the boat when we were miles from a bakery and carried fifty pounds of flour,” I replied. I used to pride myself at being a pretty decent baker under way back in the era of paper recipes and metric conversions worked out in a long private mumble multiplying cups by ounces and converted by dividing the result by 28 to get grams. Or something like that. I let my phone do the work now. But we don’t bake in the van. There’s no room and Mexicans have become demon bread bakers in the last twenty years. They even make great pizzas. 

I put the flour sifter reverently next to the trash can. The following day a campground employee snagged it with great joy when I told him we didn’t want it. Next I got on my knees at the back of the van and put the official Florida tag on the door. We had been using a homemade tag ordered on Etsy to look identical to our official tag. Except it has no registration sticker. The idea was if it gets stolen we carry a few unofficial spares in the safe onboard. Saves dealing with the Florida DMV if we find ourselves in a distant land with a stolen tag. 

I’m not excited about going home. There’s the good stuff, friends and elaborate meals and a nostalgic go around checking places off my list of not yet seen wonders. But I like Mexico. I like being on the road. I get a thrill in the morning when we settle in for a few hours driving to places unknown to me. I love being a nomad. I love buying food at roadside stands, of learning to figure out currencies and customs. I love being treated like an adult in countries where your health and safety are protected by your common sense not by lawsuits and warning stickers. I love driving in Mexico where the most important rule is use your four way flashers if you’re going to do something idiotic. I’m dreading going back to the land of aggressive passing and instant road rage. Layne says I’m much happier than ever I was when we sailed from San Francisco to Key West nearly a quarter century ago. She says even when we end up doing unplanned stupid stuff like getting stuck in the sand or being  forced to back up a track because of a dead end, that’s when  I’m having the most fun. I guess I’m more a van lifer than a sailor. 

One thing both have in common is getting ready for customs inspections. We used to anchor out of sight before approaching the port of entry. We’d do just as we’re doing with GANNET2 getting the van ready for inspection by removing things that annoy customs inspectors like fresh food and alcohol and stuff. 

The date of said border crossing? Well, we are pretty certain it will be at Naco a tiny border post no one knows about. 

But the day? Gosh, that’s a tough one. We’re shooting for the fifteenth but anything could happen to delay us so we have some breathing room as our papers require us to leave by the 27th. “We don’t have time to go back and hit Morelia one more time do we?” The planner in chief looked at me in that way she has when I want to buy some extra coconut cakes from the vendor at the speed bump on the highway.  

No of course we can’t revisit Michoacán or Oaxaca or Veracruz or Chiapas. But I am assured we’ll get lunch at the Bisbee Breakfast Club with Bruce and Celia  when we finally do take the plunge. I’m easily bribed. Arizona here we come.Eventually. 

Panama 1999. Miki G and crew. 

 

Memorial Day

Memorial Day has no meaning in Mexico unless you operate a tourism business. We’ve been told it’s a busy weekend close to the border, even though the significance of the day doesn’t quite translate. So it’s just Mexico, lovely and messed up, odd and serene, where you can be a traveler and skim the surface of a complex history in a complicated  country. And wonder at an Army that doesn’t fight abroad but struggles to keep the peace at home. 

Driving Through The Heat

We only noticed the 112 degrees when we arrived at the campground and got out of the van. The four hour drive from San Carlos to Alamos (which means poplar trees in Spanish. “Remember the poplar!”) was completed in blistering heat from which we were protected by virtue of being inside lovely GANNET2 with lots of air conditioning! 

We stopped in Enpalme, the town where we had dropped off a stray dog in January, the first of two we’ve rescued on this trip, and were glad to see he’d found a home. We gave Matty Parra fifty bucks to help her good work at Huellas de Angel  (Angel’s Footprints) and we said hi to the three dozen happy friendly street dogs she currently has at her shelter. https://m.facebook.com/HuellasDeAngel.AC/

Rusty sat outside the fence giving us the stink eye until we climbed back aboard with no extra dogs. He is a jealous old hound and does not play well with others. We got on the road, Highway 15 south toward Navojoa just the three of us. 

This was not fresh ground for us as we had driven south along this stretch five months ago. I must say that driving it again with all our Mexico experiences under our belt made for a different drive, a little less agog of course but very happy to be on the mainland and away from Baja. Technically Highway 15 here is a Cuota (toll road):

After you pay the toll the employee switches the sign to say “Buen viaje!” and the light goes green. Only the camera failed to pick out the words! 

Even though this is an Autopista - a toll highway- it slips into neighborly informality as the road unspools. 

Utility motorcycles ride the shoulder  and bicycles of course aren’t allowed. Sort of. 

The activity roadside we had missed in Baja was in full force here. 

I bought a weird yam filled empanada above that Layne thought was disgusting. She bought a Dulce de leche cake which is actually pretty good. How can you say no to these people working to make a living in 100 degrees on the street? Even if you don’t eat it you’ve spent two bucks…

From being a four lane highway through the arid desert suddenly you find yourself dealing with speed bumps and pedestrians and village life! 

And then you are back to serious travel!  The open road!

Aside from the official tolls there are the Indian Reservation tolls. The inhabitants of the Rio Yaqui reservation say they are forgotten by the federal government so they set up toll blocks at each end of their land and charged us 50  pesos ($2:50) to pass. 

Some Mexican drivers blow through but to me the toll is of no moment so we stopped and paid. 

What seems to me to amount to an act of charity drives some Gringos crazy. They rant about the legality of paying the toll and so forth though sometimes you’ll get stoned if you run these blockades. 

They give you a receipt and such is their poverty I can’t think of any reason to get mad.

Standing around in the heat takes dedication too. They aren’t taking welfare. 

Mind you some people complain about paying the official tolls too. That money goes to the private companies operating the toll roads in the manner of Florida’s Turnpike. 

And that’s how you drive the toll roads in Sonora State. They are more or less the sane all over Mexico. Some states have better road surfaces (Jalisco and Colima) and some worse (Sonora Michoacán and Chiapas) and some states have more rest areas (Baja) and some less (Oaxaca and Veracruz) but I much prefer paying a toll rather than increasing my travel time on more topes potholes and hazards on the toll free highways. We use those when we have to but crossing some of Mexico’s vast open spaces is much easier on a toll road. And the public art can be hard to decipher: 

Eventually though we made it to Alamos and got GANNET2 ready to hunker down for a couple of days till the heat calms down next Tuesday. 

Our insulated inserts are in the windows, the shore power is plugged in and the air conditioning is keeping things bearable. With a swimming pool and WiFi on the pool deck I think we will be fine. 

Now I’m wondering if anyone delivers pizza to the outskirts of Alamos? What are the chances..?