To The Border

The road from Oaxaca to the coast at Tehuantepec is known for its endless curves through the mountains and Rusty, already miffed at leaving the sanctuary of the El Rancho campground had to suffer mountain curves to boot.  

For the passenger it was tiresome as Layne did not get much sleep the night before departure and the book we were listening to, the biography of a Dutch art thief was pretty dull.  She didn’t half the drive, winding as it was, nodding off. 

I enjoyed the drive even though there were slow trucks which presented an interesting passing challenge and numerous pot holes that made me cringe for GANNET2’s undercarriage.

Autumn seems to have struck across North America and even here the air is cooler and less humid, the rainy season has left its mark leaving the countryside green and a descent from five thousand feet to sea level is not such a fearsomely hot proposition as previously. 

By the time we reached the coastal plain we were at that point where the Pacific and Caribbean Seas are closest, separated by a narrow neck of land filled with high mountains that funnel strong winds into the Pacific Ocean  at the Bay of Tehuantepec. The forecasters told us we had 23 mph winds with gusts to 51 and it was windy but hardly any of the turbines were spinning gor some reason.  

The potholes were pretty bad on some  long stretches of the highway but the worst thing was passing all the refugees. 

We saw Venezuelans begging on the streets of Oaxaca but further south we saw hundreds marching along the side of the road.  These are people displaced by dire poverty in Venezuela caused by failed policies compounded by US sanctions and a vast human migration is underway to our own border. I saw news headlines suggesting talks over removing sanctions may soon begin. Too late for this lot who have already walked thousands of miles seeking their new life. 

It was close to 90 degrees and we saw mostly young men and women but there were family units, infants, toddlers, grandmothers and fathers. Some were walking in sandals, most have backpacks and they all walk with purpose when they aren’t resting in the shade. 

We saw some being transported on motorcycles and what that was I’m not sure. I wondered if it was local government trying to shuttle people out of their jurisdiction or possibly churches helping people along. There are soup kitchens and way stations to help these thousands of walkers but the scene is utterly unnerving. 

These people have walked further than you can imagine and with their children. They have survived the horrors of the Darien  Gap, 60 miles of jungle separating Colombia from Panama, a nexus of smugglers drug dealers and organized crime where these refugees are raped and murdered at will. And they are coming to the US to start new lives. 

The police and Army watch them but seem to do much good or bad for them. We watched a group of refugees slink off the road into the bushes as we slowed for a checkpoint as though they were afraid of the police but for the most part officials don’t seem to act as if these clumps of people are there. 

We were both quite affected by this stream of humanity as we rolled on by in our air conditioned luxury home on wheels. The thought that they will be walking the highway all the way to Colombia fills me with awe and dread, guilt and sadness. Mexicans keep on keeping on around them but I had a hard time with it all. And yes I know they are lucky not to be in Ukraine or Gaza but still…And the thought that their goal is the US makes me queasy. What do they expect to find? 

It was awkward for us to find a place to stop. It was like driving through an episode of the Walking Dead as we didn’t want to be mobbed by them.  And to sit there eating ham sandwiches and drinking cold cokes from our fridge was too much. It reminded me of a road trip we made in Eastern Europe after the Cold War ended. We visited Auschwitz, the death camp among other horrors and we came away in our rental car somewhat mind boggled and silent as you might imagine. Then as we drove in silence we got hungry…to eat felt as though we were ignoring the horrors we had seen. And yet…Now here we are again.  

I was forced to think about Webb Chiles’ belief that there is purity and simplicity in travel by sail.  Perhaps I am too sensitive for this but I craved the distance we had during our sailboat journey past these countries in 1998. Make of that what you will and I am sure these reflections open me to all sorts of criticism but facing this calamity of refugees is something that has to be lived not commented on from afar. The comfort of GANNET2 seems too remote to understand their plight. God knows what the US is supposed to do with them all but Mexico doesn’t want them and is letting them through to cross our border. Thanks a lot. Oh dear. 

We pressed on and I bought  a roadside cheesecake pie from this lady. She wanted to sell me two at $1:75 each (gringo pricing I suspect but I don’t mind!) but Layne wasn’t having that. Mine was delicious after dinner. 

iOverlander showed a potential overnight spot in the parking lot of a Soriana supermarket and Autozone in the town of Tonala four hours from the border. We organized our border papers and did some last minute shopping. We will miss Mexico’s easy shopping with vast selections and US style  supermarkets. Central America is much poorer and more restrictive. 

After two weeks of general strikes Guatemala seems to be at impasse. Food prices have shot up owing to scarcity when traffic was blocked but the indigenous leaders demanding the resignation of corrupt officials aren’t being heard so our fear is the country may close down again. 

Our plan is to load up with fuel food and water and to enter Guatemala today and drive 275 miles direct to El Salvador hoping to be in Santa Ana tomorrow. Maps of road blocks have shown Central America 2 (CA2 on maps) to be clear to travel. 

From here on formal campgrounds are rare and each little country has its own formalities and customs and habits. The dream of a United States of Central America fell apart in the 19th century and that gives travel a distinct flavor is each country. Personally I’m pretty sure I shall miss Mexico! 

That’s is our route we hope for the next two days. The overall route below should get us to our date with a shipping container easily by the end of November. That is our plan but plans as we know…