Border Parking

You know how we used to watch astronauts fly to the moon and of three wild men of space only two got to walk the surface of the moon? That was me stuck in the command module known as GANNET2.

Layne walked to Mexico and left Rusty and I behind. Like any good astronaut in orbit I was a busy bee and did chores while she went to play in Los Algodones. I walked her to the border and watched her go. Just like a whole bunch of pedestrians who cross between 6am and 10pm Pacific Time.

The truth is Los Algodones (“the cotton” in Spanish) is the dental capital of the southwest. Americans come here for inexpensive high quality tooth care not to play in the sun. An implant for Layne in St Petersburg was quoted $5,000. In Los Algodones the bilingual Cosmetic and Implant Dentistry Center (viewable on Google Maps)  quoted $1400 per implant. You choose; Layne chose Mexico. As you can see it’s a six minute walk from where we spent the night.

I have come to terms with the fact that everything about my retired life seems sketchy to my well resourced and stable, properly housed former suburban neighbors but getting medical care outside the US need not be a fearsome proposition. In fact you can get excellent private care by English speaking medical  professionals with hospital stays and nursing care unimaginable in fast paced profit focused US hospitals. There’s no question the best is in the US, the question is: can you afford it?

So Los Algodones has created a market place for Americans to get care they can’t afford in the US and the reason this is all happening here is the particular geography. Baja California sticks out here on the west bank of the Colorado River which enters Mexico and creates the meeting place of four states. In the north California meets Arizona and in the south Baja California meets Sonora. Just to make it extra complicated in the summer months Arizona and California are an hour apart as are Baja California and Sonora. BUT the dentist who probably gets more clients from Arizona runs his office on Arizona time, along with the rest of the town. Confusing eh?

The Quechan Tribe sensing an opportunity built a vast parking area butting up against the international border. It’s split in two halves. For day trippers it’s six bucks a vehicle and for overnight parking it’s ten. For  full RVs and trucks it’s $22. There is a dumpster for trash and nothing else. The place is packed! 

So by now you have figured out my fate. Any suggestion I leave the parking lot to explore Yuma was instantly shot down by the admiral. Years of steroid use has done her teeth no good and she needs two implants so the final quote for all work including extractions etc was $3200. We return March 13th to finish the job and have the new teeth installed. But as that all news progressed during her day in Mexico, she wanted to know I was as near at hand as I could be for moral support. So I sat in the parking lot. All day.

Rusty and I went for occasional walks. We watched as pedestrians streamed south across the border.

Then I gave GANNET2 a spring clean, shaking out the rugs, vacuuming, washing the floor and wiping down the walls and so forth. A nice cup of tea as I paused and waited for a text. “Still waiting” she said. Rusty had a treat and took a nap. Behind him you can see the endless lines of cars at the automated pay machines, exact change and credit cards only.

Being at the border is watching an ebb and flow of humanity all day long. In the morning the tide pushes cars and a few pedestrians north into California, then by mid morning the flow turns and heads south into Mexico, cars back up a little through the port of entry but the pedestrians walking the sidewalk into Mexico is a flood.

Then everything goes quiet for a while as the tide settles for a couple of hours. Then people stream out of Mexico on foot back to their vehicles, then the bi- national commuters come to the border from their dollar paying jobs and go home to Mexico where their dollars go further. After the border closes California Highway 186 becomes a dead end and all goes quiet. At seven am Arizona time the line has already formed waiting for the gate to open: 

There is an Indian Casino on the highway and an RV park but there is no other sign of life along the two mile spur between Interstate 8 and the Andrade Port of Entry. Of course in the vast empty parking lot a well worn Class C RV pulled up alongside and when the well worn occupant got out I said Hi! And I got not a word back. His RV is plastered with advertising for Bandito Books which I looked up online.

It turns out Allen is a government conspiracy nut old school style contrails and I don’t know what, also purportedly a surfer and world traveler. Not exactly a first rate salesman but I’m glad for that as I prefer to be ignored by conspiracy nutters!

I walked to the gate dropping our trash into the dumpster on the way and the really nice dude at the gate got me legal for another night, another ten bucks. As soon as Layne walked back we moved away from the conspiracy guy last heard loudly playing conspiracy talk while settled in across the lot for a night of pain management. 

A few pictures from Rusty’s various  walks to pass the time: 

A border patrol helicopter at work:

Immigrant fence sitters:

“We don’t need no stinkin’ badges…” This lot cross the line at will:

Wasn’t I surprised to find a historic marker, rather the worse for wear by the side of the road!

And in the distance they have Fat Albert here too keeping a heat seeking eye on the border.

Welcome to friendly California!