The employee at Totonaka RV park was pleasantly surprised to be offered sausages, Mexican jerky (machaca) a few eggs and one can of beer. We kept some wine for dinner and a liter each of tequila and mezcal the maximum allowed by US customs for personal import without duties. The fridge was empty.
The idea is to expedite our passage through customs. We have a bunch of processed foods we like and they should be okay. You never know how hard customs will come down on you but the best way to piss them off and invite a proctology exam is to hide stuff or lie about the products we’re carrying. We’ll see how right we got it when we present what we have.
We stopped by Walmart to pick up some souvenir foods and went through the usual Covid temperature test, hand wash and mandatory mask which I know are forgotten in the US. We haven’t had Covid and don’t intend to get it now so masks will stay with us across the line. In the parking lot we again met Arturo and his car washing gig. Ten bucks and we got a clean van in January.
Layne wanted one last fish taco at her favorite eatery so we did get that done! There was no hurry so we left town around one o’clock heading up Highway 15 in the hundred degree heat of the afternoon.
And we had our creepiest encounter with the Mexican military. There’s this permanent inspection station on the highway northbound and we were selected for an inspection. Usually it’s no big deal, they check the van and look around a bit and marvel at the fact we live in the space. Done and dusted. This junior league creep made me feel like he was after my virginity. He poked around, fondled Laynes earbuds longingly (she disinfected them later) and talked about how rich gringos are. He looked at the microwave and expressed resentment that we even have a fridge which I pointed out was empty. No sodas he asked? expecting me to offer him one. Then he stood there like a bellboy expecting a tip. I stood at the driver’s seat and stared pointedly out the window at the notice that advised how to act if the military inspectors acted inappropriately. We stood there in an uncomfortable face off and finally he stepped out. I’d not have given him a soda even had I had one. I felt dirty as we drove away. Five minutes of feeling fondled.
Santa Ana is a truck stop town. It reeks of prosperity with two main highways intersecting here. Highway Two comes from Mexicali, the capital of Baja with all that commerce. Then Highway 15 comes south 70 miles from Nogales loaded with trucks and tourists. Santa Ana has food, lodging, parking and all the services. You can buy vehicle insurance for the US, you can exchange dollars and there’s coffee, waffles, Asian food and so forth all by the side of the road.
But that wasn’t what I wanted first. I wanted to cruise some history not least because we’ve been through Santa Ana twice and both times we’ve ignored the chance to take a detour. Not this time.
I found old town (Viejo) on Google maps and there we drove, through the highway commercial district and off into the boonies.
Founded in the 17th century as you’d imagine, Santa Ana Viejo. Pimas Indians lived here until the Jesuits showed up in usual fashion and built the lovely (locked) church. New Town has 10,000 inhabitants while Viejo has but 800 so my walk was short.
Rusty was freaked out about getting ambushed but I went further afield, no street dogs in sight, and I came across this:
Apparently Santa Ana is the Ocala of Sonora. They raise championship jockeys here. I was astonished. The streets were empty and I read the inscriptions at my leisure. Thanks to the owners and their dedication (and money I assume) and cheers to the jockeys from this tiny pimple of a town.
I wanted Rusty to enjoy a proper walk so we drove out into the countryside where he could run at ease.
We ate a cup of ceviche we had brought from Guaymas and it was a bittersweet evening. Mexico was lovely and we had a grand time this winter- the best journey ever. We both love living aboard GANNET2 and are not in the least tired of traveling. Rusty treats the van as his home and safe space but he’s always ready to get out and explore. We pondered our extraordinary nomad life become real, we ate our fish and octopus and watched the countryside turn gold as the sun started to set.
And then the horses showed up as if to prove this really is horse country.
On cue Rusty barked a warning and hoped into the van and sat on guard, ears up, watching the monsters stroll by totally ignoring his stress.
Then they were gone.
I made some pictures of our last evening in Mexico.
It was time for dinner so we stopped roadside for a final typical Mexican meal, a goat quesadilla (bírria).
A Mexican meat pie.
There’s a campground in Santa Ana but we didn’t much like it. We stayed one night on our drive round from Baja but it’s not up to snuff with a pretty bad bathroom no shade no WiFi and no reason to park in the fenced gravel lot.
The truck stop at the south end of town was a revelation with a parking area away from most of the trucks with a shaded park with coveted picnic tables, a child’s playground and a toilet block not too terribly wrecked by passersby. It’s noisy but our van is well insulated and if we button up and run the a/c on the batteries we can cut ourselves off from the outside.
That was our last full day. As you read this, if on Wednesday 15th June we should be in Bisbee for lunch. All will be revealed because as I write this I have no idea how the final 90 miles will go. We will try to make them enjoyable without being too focused on arriving at the destination. As always.
