Laredo was one big place. It's supposedly the biggest inland port in the USA, which is believable considering the amount of traffic this supposedly small town has. Raisin and I spent a happy few days with my folks in a hotel, then with my friend Becky Garcia at her home. All this heat and humidity makes A/C all the sweeter.
I had no one to talk to after seeing Inception with my parents. The movie was just too much for them, and they had lots of questions like "Was the wife dead or alive?" and statements like "I just didn't like all that floating nonsense." I can see how the movie was a bit difficult to follow, but it explains itself perfectly with enough holes to inspire subsequent thought and conversation.
My folks and I ate at a little hole in the wall called "El Something-Or-Other." I remember it meant "The Hunter." It was right next to a closed down restaurant called El Metate. I don't pretend to understand why I can remember the shut-down place that we walked by and not the place we actually ate at, but there you go. It was delicious food. I ordered pozole, or meat stew, and it was thick and wonderful. My mom got some caldo, or soup, and was pleased; my dad ordered a side of beans, which he claimed only had ten or so, and was thus disappointed. Their presentation sucked - we were served in on styrofoam plates and bowls and cups - but the flavor and consistency of the food was superb. And the name? For all you know, I'm keeping this one to myself.
I did a little bit more historical investigation of Laredo with Becky. The area is the only place in Texas which can claim that SEVEN FLAGS have flown over it (once upon a time, Mexican insurgents created The Republic of the Rio Grande which lasted less than a year). As such, it has some very old stories which survive in family histories and - as I was soon to learn - in the buildings themselves.
Casa Ortiz (in the previous post, I mentioned Jesse Gonzalez and Casa Ortiz) is one such place, among the oldest houses in all of Laredo. There was a sizeable courtyard which had a thick staircase which made cutbacks all the way down to the river. Jesse, who lives there and gives tours, told us that the cutbacks were intended to slow down invading indians and give the family enough time to hide. You can say with accuracy that they don't make em like that anymore.
We could see the Rio Grande from the elevated grounds, and the damage from the recent flooding was evidenced by several bent or broken light poles. The river apparently covered a part of Laredo's International Bridge Number One (there are four) and came close to reaching the top of Number Two. Crazy!
After parting ways with Becky, Raisin and I took a few days getting to San Ygnacio. San Ygnacio is made up of a government building (library included), two gas stations, and one restaurant. I hit up the restaurant for an agua fresca (she just had lemonade, which was good), and then later for a meal. There were only two choices on the menu, so I chose the first one: picadillo a la Mexicana. As can be imagined with just a couple of options to focus on, it was fabulous. Soup for starters, corn tortillas and salsa (you had to break up your tortillas to make chips), and then homemade tortillas to go with the meal. Yum! Beans looked to be out of a can, but the meal as a whole was really delicious.
The kids I spoke with in San Ygnacio had a lot to say. One claimed to be seventeen but had the voice of a kid barely thirteen. He asked me about my trip, and I asked him about the Border Patrol. Specifically, did they bother the townspeople? He nodded, and I asked why. Any cars that are too full or hang too close to the ground are suspect, he told me. I had gotten carded earlier that day just hanging out at a picnic area, so I understood completely. He didn't elaborate, and I didn't push, but the entire issue felt like I was touching a local sore spot. An older kid taking a few courses at Laredo's TAMIU showed up and confessed he was doing community service for 8 unpaid traffic tickets. He complained about the lack of things to do in town, confused by the disbanding of a local rec center, and longed to get out. I was impressed with the level of conversation and interest.
The librarian gets a quick mention here. She showed up late and closed up early, BUT she let Raisin relax inside in the air-conditioned room. She gets points for the latter.
Now, we're in Zapata. A few people honked coming into town, possibly because they saw the Texas Country Reporter last week. Makes me smile.
I spoke with a lovely couple at the first grocery I saw. The older gentleman told me about his days as a migrant worker, bouncing around and doing all the picking and digging jobs that machines do now. His wife, who was tending the register and doing the work of the store, listened and commented occasionally. We talked about obesity, charity, and prosperity. We talked about the USA. Again, there was a real sense that the times have changed in this country, some things for the better and some for the worse.
Until next time...
Showing posts with label laredo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label laredo. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
The Border Patrol and my Daytime/Nighttime Strolls down Old Mines Road
I just finished a stretch between Eagle Pass and Laredo. Twenty miles after the former, I passed a town called El Indio, an aerostat radar unit a few miles after that, and then a whole lot of nothing for the remainder of the walk. The pavement petered out, and Raisin and I walked Eagle Pass Road, though nobody calls it that. People call it the Old Mines Road, and it goes all the way into Laredo.
We met TONS of border patrol agents on this road, and because they don't communicate too much with one another and not well at all between regions, I had to introduce myself countless times. As a benchmark for comparison, anywhere else but the border I might have met one law enforcement agent in 100 miles. On Old Mines Road, I met a few dozen in 50 miles.
The BP agents all do a double take. Several pass us, then turn around to ask questions. It's usually the same conversation, but there are notable exceptions due to the agent or circumstance.
On the first day off the pavement, some agents stopped and got out of their car (You never know. Sometimes they stay in and talk to you from the comfort of an air-conditioned car; other times they get out and meet you halfway.). I thought, "Here we go again," but they didn't approach me. They were bent over something by the side of the road. When I got closer, I saw many many foot prints, fresh and about a half-inch to inch deep in the somewhat firm mud. They were trying to learn as much as they could from the prints before continuing any kind of search. I didn't stick around, but thought it was pretty interesting.
Raisin and I hunkered down in the shade on the same day and were resting when several cars passed us on the road. There were BP cars, sheriff cars, fire rescue vehicles, EMT vans. There might have been ten in all. On a lonely dusty road, ten cars turn your head.
A bit later, a couple of BP agents stumbled upon our resting spot while doing a drag pull. The Border Patrol have a system with which they identify the general location of a hiker or hikers. There are several dirt roads on which they drag several huge chained-together tires to make the road flat and mainly smooth. If a walker disturbs the road's dust and stones by crossing it, the BP agents are trained to spot the trail he leaves. This is called cutting sign. By monitoring which roads have been crossed, they can specify the general location of a hiker or hikers.
So the agents were dragging a couple of tires, and I flagged them down to ask about all the cars. Apparently, an 18-wheeler collapsed on a man changing a tire. On the 18-wheeler was a house. Yeah, think about it. All of that came crashing down on a man who, believe it or not, may have survived. But in what condition, I'll never know. Other 18-wheelers were brought out to disassemble the house and lighten the load so the emergency personnel could do their job and get the guy out.
That was day one. At the end of it, we found a decent camping spot hidden off to the side of the road. Little did I know I would be betrayed by my own.
At 2:30am, I could hear a BP truck driving slowly down the road, looking for signs of a crossing. When it got close and the slow grinding of their tires on the caliche road made the rubber growl, Raisin started barking. The car stopped, and a flashlight beam cut through the night. I called out to the men, and the first thing the driver said to me, keeping in mind that we hadn't yet seen each other, was "Do you need any water?" These guys were looking out for me, and though I think Raisin has a lot to learn about stealth camping, I felt good about the encounter. We had a brief conversation, and then on the flip-side of their tour of the road, they stopped to talk for a bit longer. It was bizarre to be having a conversation in the middle of the night while I was in my sleeping bag and these armed agents were standing nearby, but Raisin wasn't intimidated. She was wagging until they left.
The mosquitoes, by the way, were bad on Old Mines Road. They weren't terrible, but it only takes a handful to make your nighttime sleep a little harder to hold onto.
Once the guys left, I got attacked again. I hid under the sleeping bag which was rated at 20 degrees Fahrenheit and way too hot for South Texas hiking. I lasted a couple hours, then got up and took off, saving both our breakfasts for later.
I started the hike with about nine liters of water and knew that I'd have to rely most likely on either mud puddles or the Border Patrol. Since the BP agents usually keep their water cool, I preferred theirs. All the agents I encountered were very helpful with the water resupply, even giving me food in the process. Between Eagle Pass, Carrizo Springs, and Laredo, they've got a really nice team of men and women working for them.
We got stopped again, though Raisin never officially got carded. It's a good thing, too, because dogs have to have a chip in them in Laredo - city ordinance. I didn't understand the sentence, "Are you a US citizen?" due to various factors, the main one being that some agents choose to ask the question all of a sudden. Like this:
"So you're just walking?"
"Yep."
"Where'd you start?"
"Corpus."
"Where are you going?"
"Corpus."
"Where are you from?"
"Corpus."
"Are you a US citizen?"
The question is not a natural extension of the conversation and has tripped me up because of its inherent awkwardness. The majority of agents will ask, so I know it's coming. Still, I sometimes flub it, like going up a staircase carrying something big and thinking there's going to be another step.
So I flubbed, and this raised their suspicions. They asked for my ID, which I gave, and they soon realized I was telling the truth. During this time, another BP car pulled up, and the drivers got out. They walked right up and said, "We got one."
A man had been abandoned by his coyote group and wandered around for five days, totally lost. He was hungry and thirsty and needed to give himself up to survive. So he sat on the road and waited for a BP truck, which given enough time will always come.
I really wanted to see him but refrained from asking. The guys were friendly, gave me some water and a few power bars, and then the same fellow who had spoken of getting "one" warned me of the emptiness of the upcoming stretch of road: "The only people who use this road are oil men, truckers, Border Patrol, and the wets."
It's weird to hear that word "wets," but I know the crossers are using similar terms to describe their hunters like "gringos" and "migra." So strange that with just one word, hundreds of thousands of people can be summed up and brushed off, divorced from their humanity. The fact that it happens in both directions does not make it any better.
The following morning, I woke up at 2:30am again, this time from the mosquitoes alone. I packed up and left, disgusted with my inability to wipe them out (I usually fight them. I've got good techniques, too.). We hit the road and after 30 minutes or so saw the lights of a BP truck coming our way. We walked directly into the light.
While I have a hard time understanding people's general weariness of me when I show up during the day, I have absolutely no problem understanding how unusual it must have been for these men to see a hiker at 3am on a road heavily used by illegal migrants and drug-runners. They rightly had a hard time believing me. I got carded, as usual, but gained their confidence once I cleared. They gave me a refill on water and an MRE, a military "Meal Ready-to-Eat" ration. (One hour later, Raisin and I sat down to our first meal like that. We gobbled it up.) In parting, one agent said, "See you in the morning." And we did, a few hours later with the rising sun.
I was hoping we'd be done with the mosquitoes in the evening, but it just wasn't in the cards. For the third day in a row, I got up at 2:30am to 3am, and started hiking, Raisin by my side. This time, we didn't see Border Patrol for several hours. What did happen took me off guard.
We were walking by moonlight and could probably be seen for quite some ways. I know this because a vehicle honked at me. I stopped and looked off to my left and could see the brakes of a car come on and off. They were telling me, "We're over here. Now come on up." I got very tingly and continued walking, all the while glancing at the hill. They never honked again.
When we finally hit the pavement again, I felt as if several days had passed when in fact I'd only been out of touch for two and a half. We walked a few miles then sat by the road for a break from the heat. A few moments later, a BP car pulled up with a cameraman in the passenger seat. He was videotaping me! From his seat, the agent asked me a few questions, then got out and came over to us. The cameraman and two others got out, and they crowded me and Raisin all while the BP agent was giving me information and asking questions.
Turns out, the non-BP passengers were from National Geographic! They were doing a story on the border on the stretch of road I had just hiked. They asked me some questions, videotaped Raisin drinking some water, and were full of pure energy. During this time, three other BP vehicles showed up, everyone clearly excited about the presence of National Geographic. I asked the first agent about the honk that had happened earlier, and he explained that it was likely a coyote, not a drug-runner, who had called me over and that it was a common technique.
Then just as soon as they had appeared, they were off!
Raisin and I took another day to reach Laredo and stayed with my folks in a hotel for a couple of nights. We're now with a childhood and high school friend named Becky Garcia, and she too is giving us a healthy dose of Texan hospitality. R&R! Read & Raisin!
And that is that. Until next time, folks...
We met TONS of border patrol agents on this road, and because they don't communicate too much with one another and not well at all between regions, I had to introduce myself countless times. As a benchmark for comparison, anywhere else but the border I might have met one law enforcement agent in 100 miles. On Old Mines Road, I met a few dozen in 50 miles.
The BP agents all do a double take. Several pass us, then turn around to ask questions. It's usually the same conversation, but there are notable exceptions due to the agent or circumstance.
On the first day off the pavement, some agents stopped and got out of their car (You never know. Sometimes they stay in and talk to you from the comfort of an air-conditioned car; other times they get out and meet you halfway.). I thought, "Here we go again," but they didn't approach me. They were bent over something by the side of the road. When I got closer, I saw many many foot prints, fresh and about a half-inch to inch deep in the somewhat firm mud. They were trying to learn as much as they could from the prints before continuing any kind of search. I didn't stick around, but thought it was pretty interesting.
Raisin and I hunkered down in the shade on the same day and were resting when several cars passed us on the road. There were BP cars, sheriff cars, fire rescue vehicles, EMT vans. There might have been ten in all. On a lonely dusty road, ten cars turn your head.
A bit later, a couple of BP agents stumbled upon our resting spot while doing a drag pull. The Border Patrol have a system with which they identify the general location of a hiker or hikers. There are several dirt roads on which they drag several huge chained-together tires to make the road flat and mainly smooth. If a walker disturbs the road's dust and stones by crossing it, the BP agents are trained to spot the trail he leaves. This is called cutting sign. By monitoring which roads have been crossed, they can specify the general location of a hiker or hikers.
So the agents were dragging a couple of tires, and I flagged them down to ask about all the cars. Apparently, an 18-wheeler collapsed on a man changing a tire. On the 18-wheeler was a house. Yeah, think about it. All of that came crashing down on a man who, believe it or not, may have survived. But in what condition, I'll never know. Other 18-wheelers were brought out to disassemble the house and lighten the load so the emergency personnel could do their job and get the guy out.
That was day one. At the end of it, we found a decent camping spot hidden off to the side of the road. Little did I know I would be betrayed by my own.
At 2:30am, I could hear a BP truck driving slowly down the road, looking for signs of a crossing. When it got close and the slow grinding of their tires on the caliche road made the rubber growl, Raisin started barking. The car stopped, and a flashlight beam cut through the night. I called out to the men, and the first thing the driver said to me, keeping in mind that we hadn't yet seen each other, was "Do you need any water?" These guys were looking out for me, and though I think Raisin has a lot to learn about stealth camping, I felt good about the encounter. We had a brief conversation, and then on the flip-side of their tour of the road, they stopped to talk for a bit longer. It was bizarre to be having a conversation in the middle of the night while I was in my sleeping bag and these armed agents were standing nearby, but Raisin wasn't intimidated. She was wagging until they left.
The mosquitoes, by the way, were bad on Old Mines Road. They weren't terrible, but it only takes a handful to make your nighttime sleep a little harder to hold onto.
Once the guys left, I got attacked again. I hid under the sleeping bag which was rated at 20 degrees Fahrenheit and way too hot for South Texas hiking. I lasted a couple hours, then got up and took off, saving both our breakfasts for later.
I started the hike with about nine liters of water and knew that I'd have to rely most likely on either mud puddles or the Border Patrol. Since the BP agents usually keep their water cool, I preferred theirs. All the agents I encountered were very helpful with the water resupply, even giving me food in the process. Between Eagle Pass, Carrizo Springs, and Laredo, they've got a really nice team of men and women working for them.
We got stopped again, though Raisin never officially got carded. It's a good thing, too, because dogs have to have a chip in them in Laredo - city ordinance. I didn't understand the sentence, "Are you a US citizen?" due to various factors, the main one being that some agents choose to ask the question all of a sudden. Like this:
"So you're just walking?"
"Yep."
"Where'd you start?"
"Corpus."
"Where are you going?"
"Corpus."
"Where are you from?"
"Corpus."
"Are you a US citizen?"
The question is not a natural extension of the conversation and has tripped me up because of its inherent awkwardness. The majority of agents will ask, so I know it's coming. Still, I sometimes flub it, like going up a staircase carrying something big and thinking there's going to be another step.
So I flubbed, and this raised their suspicions. They asked for my ID, which I gave, and they soon realized I was telling the truth. During this time, another BP car pulled up, and the drivers got out. They walked right up and said, "We got one."
A man had been abandoned by his coyote group and wandered around for five days, totally lost. He was hungry and thirsty and needed to give himself up to survive. So he sat on the road and waited for a BP truck, which given enough time will always come.
I really wanted to see him but refrained from asking. The guys were friendly, gave me some water and a few power bars, and then the same fellow who had spoken of getting "one" warned me of the emptiness of the upcoming stretch of road: "The only people who use this road are oil men, truckers, Border Patrol, and the wets."
It's weird to hear that word "wets," but I know the crossers are using similar terms to describe their hunters like "gringos" and "migra." So strange that with just one word, hundreds of thousands of people can be summed up and brushed off, divorced from their humanity. The fact that it happens in both directions does not make it any better.
The following morning, I woke up at 2:30am again, this time from the mosquitoes alone. I packed up and left, disgusted with my inability to wipe them out (I usually fight them. I've got good techniques, too.). We hit the road and after 30 minutes or so saw the lights of a BP truck coming our way. We walked directly into the light.
While I have a hard time understanding people's general weariness of me when I show up during the day, I have absolutely no problem understanding how unusual it must have been for these men to see a hiker at 3am on a road heavily used by illegal migrants and drug-runners. They rightly had a hard time believing me. I got carded, as usual, but gained their confidence once I cleared. They gave me a refill on water and an MRE, a military "Meal Ready-to-Eat" ration. (One hour later, Raisin and I sat down to our first meal like that. We gobbled it up.) In parting, one agent said, "See you in the morning." And we did, a few hours later with the rising sun.
I was hoping we'd be done with the mosquitoes in the evening, but it just wasn't in the cards. For the third day in a row, I got up at 2:30am to 3am, and started hiking, Raisin by my side. This time, we didn't see Border Patrol for several hours. What did happen took me off guard.
We were walking by moonlight and could probably be seen for quite some ways. I know this because a vehicle honked at me. I stopped and looked off to my left and could see the brakes of a car come on and off. They were telling me, "We're over here. Now come on up." I got very tingly and continued walking, all the while glancing at the hill. They never honked again.
When we finally hit the pavement again, I felt as if several days had passed when in fact I'd only been out of touch for two and a half. We walked a few miles then sat by the road for a break from the heat. A few moments later, a BP car pulled up with a cameraman in the passenger seat. He was videotaping me! From his seat, the agent asked me a few questions, then got out and came over to us. The cameraman and two others got out, and they crowded me and Raisin all while the BP agent was giving me information and asking questions.
Turns out, the non-BP passengers were from National Geographic! They were doing a story on the border on the stretch of road I had just hiked. They asked me some questions, videotaped Raisin drinking some water, and were full of pure energy. During this time, three other BP vehicles showed up, everyone clearly excited about the presence of National Geographic. I asked the first agent about the honk that had happened earlier, and he explained that it was likely a coyote, not a drug-runner, who had called me over and that it was a common technique.
Then just as soon as they had appeared, they were off!
Raisin and I took another day to reach Laredo and stayed with my folks in a hotel for a couple of nights. We're now with a childhood and high school friend named Becky Garcia, and she too is giving us a healthy dose of Texan hospitality. R&R! Read & Raisin!
And that is that. Until next time, folks...
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