| From California to Guatemala: A Journey by Bus Across Mexico |
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| Written by Dick Davis |
| Thursday, 24 April 2008 18:15 |
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Page 1 of 9  There is a phrase in Mexico, "From Tijuana to Chetumal." It means from "one extreme to the other." Tijuana touches San Diego. It's north and west and on the Pacific Ocean. Chetumal abuts Belize. It's south and east and on the Atlantic side of Mexico. I've heard: "You can get anywhere in Mexico by bus. Mexico has 800 bus companies and are the finest get-to-where-you're-going system in the world." Crossing Mexico by bus sounded like an adventure, and taking the bus, stopping in places I've never heard of, could make me feel like a pioneer, a discoverer. I pulled out a large map of Mexico and looked it over. I'd avoid resorts and beaches. I wanted to see the heart of Mexico, the interior. I'd descend into the Copper Canyon, three times the size of the Grand Canyon, and cross deserts. I'd follow the mountainous Silver Trail, routes established by the Spanish and seek out early missions founded by Junipero Serra and stay in colonial towns. The route would take me through green jungles and past romantic waterfalls. I'd visit indigenous villages and I'd climb Mayan pyramids. The destination would be the journey itself. The bus would give me a feel for Mexico's topography, the roads, the travel time and the distance. I would travel with Mexicans and get a sense of culture and history. From Tijuana to Chetumal, it's about 3000 miles and with my meandering route it would be longer. I decided to take the trip in stages. The first stage would be from Tijuana to Zacatecas. I'd travel light and buy a shirt or sweater or socks, whatever I needed, along the way. I picked up a felt-tipped pen and drew a heavy black line on my AAA map from Tijuana to Zacatecas. For practical value, it could have been a river in the Congo. I was not familiar with the route, nor did I know where I'd spend the nights. I added up the miles for this first stage on the map. There were 1600 miles of desert and mountains, with the Copper Canyon in between Tijuana and Zacatecas. There were switchback canyon roads, some gravel and dirt, and roads that were not wide enough for two cars to pass, and I wanted to do it all by bus. I didn't look at the bus schedules. I was told there were buses, and they would do the job, so like Zorba said, "Who the hell am I to choose?" My plan: start at the Tijuana bus depot, look for a bus that's headed east, along the general route traced on my map, select a ride to a town, hopefully not more that 4 hours away, maybe 6 if pressed, get off, see where I've landed, stay the night, add a day if it's interesting, then repeat the process, over and again, until I reached Zacatecas, or like Ambrose Bierce, went missing. The Route: Day-by-day, town-by-town, outline:
Expenses: Transportation, bus, taxis, and vans:... $595 Day One: Crossing the Border, The Tijuana TerminalMy friend Victor, who lives in San Diego, worked a half-day then picked me up and drove me to the U.S.- Mexican border. At the border, I found Mexico barricaded by security fences. I entered a multilevel cage, walked up and over and around and down, showed my passport, paid $21 for a Tourist Visa and finally walked through a turnstile to the largest organized army of yellow cabs I'd ever seen. I was told that I could walk a couple blocks and catch a local bus to the Central Bus Terminal for $1, but I was immediately grabbed by the General of the Yellow Army who told me that a taxi could take me to the Terminal, about 6 miles away, for $10. I agreed and he directed me to the next available driver and off I went. I figured that at worst I was out 9 bucks, but I saved time.  It was 3 p.m. when I arrived at the Tijuana Central Bus Terminal. Most of the counters were vacant. There were no lines. Friendly clerks were happy to advise me about schedules and explain the difference among bus classes: Executive, First, Second. I looked at my map, the portion that gives times and distances. I had to choose between a 3-hour or 6-hour trip, to Mexicali in 3 or further along to Sonoyta in 6. Three seemed about right and I'd never visited Mexicali. I chose Península Lines, Executive Class. The experience was pure luxury. The Península bus line provided a lounge with coffee, sofa chairs, and two free computers which were occupied, one guy just playing games. At 3:30 p.m. a smartly dressed hostess in a blue uniform called our group and offered us refreshments, water, beer, or soda as we boarded.  There were 8 rows of 3 across seating, 24 seats. An aisle split the seating into two on the left and one on the right. Each seat was ample enough for the comfort of a Sumo wrestler. All seats reclined and there were 4 TVs with drop down screens to entertain the riders. In the rear there was a telephone, a bathroom and a sink. Ironic I thought, "Bus comfort is like what the airlines used to offer, and today's air passenger is treated to the scrunched in seating that once was the bus." I felt embedded for the first stage of my bus journey across Mexico. The driver was the Captain. I asked if I could sit in the first row, which was vacant. He told me to sit in my assigned seat. This I learned was not unusual. The driver often used the first row as his storage locker. He was the authority. He was in charge and if he wanted the curtains drawn, you won't see daylight. The driver, well groomed, uniformed, professional, greeted us, closed the door, backed up the bus, then pulled out of the terminal and followed a sign pointed to Mexicali. He plugged in a movie staring Gene Hackman and Dustin Hoffman. The movie opened with whirlwind action and violence. Then the manufacturer of the guns used in the violence was put on trial. It was a polemic film with two great actors. I'd have preferred to forgo the movie and just watch the scenery as we drove through the Desert Mountains. I peeked out between the curtains. The hillside was dotted with wrecked cars. The bus driver shifted into a low gear and we climbed higher into the mountains along a cliff route. I saw at least 30 derelict cars that had gone over the side. I suspected these cars were stripped and dumped, not accidents. There weren't any roadside crosses. I chatted across the aisle with Josue, a young man, recently married. He lived with his wife in Mexicali but had just started 3 months of training for a management position with Carl's Jr. in Tijuana. He graduated from a university in Ensenada and raved about how beautiful it was. He mentioned that Margarita Thompson invented the Margarita at the Hotel Rivera in Ensenada. I had always assumed that the name Margarita, which means Daisy in English, was due to the white salt on the rim of the glass that represented symbolic Daisy petals. Península pulled into Mexicali at 5:45 p.m., a little ahead of schedule. In the terminal, not quite so new as the gleaming Tijuana depot, I looked over the schedules posted behind the counters for the next day. There were frequent departures. There was no need to make a reservation. I imagined I'd get an early start. I took a cab to town and asked for "La plaza central." That confused the driver, and me too. "Which center?" my driver asked. Always, in Mexico there is a central plaza. It's surrounded by the church and the City Hall, standard city planning. But it wasn't in Mexicali. So with confusion on both sides, the cab driver headed for the Old Town Center and recommended Hotel Del Norte, once favored by Mexican Presidents (as noted in photographs in the lobby). But the last Presidential visit was 1965.  The single room rate was 485 pesos, about $45. I asked for a discount, my standard routine, but all I received was a pleasant "No." I checked out the room after inquiring about "air conditioning." The clerk, Suyey, part Japanese on grandma's side, assured me that it was air-conditioned. I even asked, "Does that mean refrigeration?" "Sí, sí, hay refrigeración," she said. In Mexico air-conditioning can mean an open window in a ventilation shaft. In my room, I put my hand up in front of the air duct and there was circulation, but I felt no cool comfort. "It's probably set at 78," I thought. I hoped it wouldn't be too hot. If I kept asking, they'd insist it was cool. Electricity is expensive and cool is relative. It was still light out and I took a walk. Next door was a huge modern, concrete building. It looked like a first-class shopping mall. "What's that?" I asked a lady waiting for the red light to turn green. "Immigration," she said. I was back at the border. "Strange," I thought, "even when I get there, I don't know where I am." Two blocks east I found Chapultepec Park filled with tents displaying crafts and brightly painted Alejibres, phantasmagorical figures from Oaxaca, on exhibit and for sale. I meandered around the old section populated with Chinese restaurants on every block. The Chinese were among the first residents of Mexicali, which was founded in 1903. They came as farmers and the proverbial ditch diggers and became businessmen. There was a pagoda with a plaque stating that Nanking and Mexicali were sister cities. The cathedral, which was situated mid-block, was the plainest Catholic Church I'd seen in a long while. It was dedicated to the Virgin of Guadalupe. With walls as barren as an underground garage it seemed protestant, but there were stained glass windows depicting disciples and saints that broke the severity. By 11 p.m., though I was ready for bed, my neighbors in the adjacent room were lively. Their conversation piped in through the ventilation duct only added to the hot air. I read for a half hour, then put a pillow over my head and went to sleep. I had no real complaint. The room was adequate, not overly expensive, $45, and tastefully decorated in white with pink trim around the baseboards, doors and window. The shower was a power tool, like a finger massage. The plumbing at Hotel Del Norte was without water restrictors and delivered fire hose pressure. Expenses: Tourist Visa $21, hotel $45, bus $20, taxis $15, meal $7. Total: $108. |
| Last Updated on Tuesday, 31 March 2009 10:20 |