Adventures in Mexico

Before my retirement at the end of 1991, I was the Executive Director of the Housing Authority of the County of San Bernardino in southern California. Our agency was involved in providing rental housing for low-income families in twenty-plus cities and an area of some 20,000 square miles. Needless to say, my job involved interacting with the county board of supervisors, as well as mayors and council members from the various cities. Since we contracted with the federal department of housing and urban development and the State of California for funding to provide these services, I had more than my share of dealing with politicians, bureaucracies, and personnel--including those problems in our own agency.

During the 10 years prior to my retirement, had enjoyed spending time south of the border in Baja California--Mexicali and San Felipe, but especially in a place called Estero Beach, about seven miles south of Ensenada and 70 miles south of the border. However, I had always yearned for the adventure of traveling and experiencing the real old Mexico, or mainland Mexico as it is called by most gringos.

My first venture into old Mexico after retirement was flying to Manzanillo with my wife, Rosalie. We later took trips by bus to Guadalajara and Barra de Navidad, and then flew on to Puerto Vallarta. Since I am not a city person, Guadalajara did not make a good impression on me even with its grand and ancient architecture. There was a maze of traffic jams just getting into the city, which reminded me of a Mexican version of New York City or Los Angeles. Manzanillo and Puerto Vallarta were “touristy,” and in my view were just a couple of cuts up from any other Mexican town on the coast. Barra de Navidad was just another small, quaint coastal town between Manzanillo and Puerto Vallarta.

My next trip, in April 1992, gets to the core of our Mexican adventures. We crossed the border at Tijuana and drove about 850 miles to our Baja destination of La Paz, which is on the gulf of California. En route to La Paz, we passed through numerous small, quaint towns, stoppiong at a selected few. There are probably two dozen of these towns between the border and La Paz that are worthy of driving through or spending some time. We stayed several days in La Paz enjoying the scenery and making arrangements to take the ferry across the gulf to mainland Mexico.

Before going any further, I need to share the experience of getting a car permit and the tickets in La Paz to cross on the ferry. Any tourist book you read tells you to get a cabin on the ferry since it is about a nine hour trip. The book also suggests that they may tell you there is no cabin space, but to be persistent and go back the next day and ask again--which I did. To make a long story short, this ferry--the only ferry that day--did not have a single cabin. Before loading on the ferry at nine o’clock that evening, the five passenger cars that were waiting to load had to wait for the commercial trucks to load. For about an hour we watched a hundred trucks drive on the ferry, all backing up the ramp and parking in long lines a foot apart, from side to side and end to end. I’m not talking about pickup trucks--I’m talking about 18-wheelers! Anyone who has ever experienced backing up a large truck can appreciate the difficulty and art involved in this loading task.

When we were finally loaded, we were directed to our accommodations for the evening. Our accommodations amounted to about 200 seats in a small, cheap movie-type atmosphere. There was a 19-inch Mexican channel television to watch until about 11 p.m., at which time was was turned off. I forgot to tell you that there were about 500 people for the 200 seats. We happened to be lucky enough to get a seat. The other 300 people stood, sat, laid down, or crouched in the theatre aisles, between the seats, on the ferry walk-ways, or any other place they could find quasi-suitable and unoccupied.f I want to assure you that by midnight, you heard every kind of sound imaginable, and then a few more thrown in for good measure. Can you imagine the magic of 500 people snoring, belching, groaning, moaning, turning, twisting, and pushing simultaneously all through the night! I will not bore you with some of the other sounds that you had no earthly clue as to where they came from. All through the night you could only venture a guess as to whether it was your partner or someone else’s partner that you were leaning on or had your arm around.

When we reached the other side of the gulf at Topolobampo at about six the next morning, we disembarked with a host of memories that we can laugh and joke about for a life-time. We spent the night in nearby Los Mochis, which was close to the train station for our trip to the Copper Canyon the next morning.

Copper Canyon, or la Barranca del Cobre, is the Mexican version of our Grand Canyon. The train ride twisted around the mountain sides, went through numerous long tunnels to an elevation of 9,000 feet, and was scenic and worth the entire trip in itself. While the Copper Canyon may be larger than the Grand Canyon, it does not have its allure or vivid colors. The Tarahumara Indians live at this high elevation and more specifically on the sides of the cliffs in half dug-out caves with flat yards that seem not to exceed five paces square in any direction. The Tarahumara are called “the runners,” and are said to be the greatest runners in the world. I befriended a little Indian boy at the top of the Copper Canyon. When I asked him where he lived, he pointed over the side of the cliff. We had the pleasure to meet his family and to see the meager dwelling that they lived in. They seemed very happy and content, as this had been their way of life for many generations. There are a number of quaint hotels at Creel, a town near the Canyon, and a way of life that is consumed in simplicity. Watching the people and how they live takes one back in time. This is a relatively inexpensive trip that I would recommend to anyone that anticipates being in the vicinity of Los Mochis, which is on Route #15, the main highway from Arizona to Mexico City.

When planning this trip, I had leafed through the pages of the AAA book on Mexico to identify towns and places that attracted my attention. At the very top was the old colonial town of Álamos in the state of Sonora. Álamos is about 32 miles east of Navojoa on Highway #15 and about 415 miles southeast of Nogales, Arizona’s border crossing. The road is a divided four-lane highway and relatively easy to drive at 65 miles per hour. There is occasional work going on to keep the road repaired, and toll stations which charge an average of $4 U.S. each. There are only two cities from Los Mochis to Nogales which require any navigational concentration: Hermosillo and Obregón.

When driving east from Navojoa, the town of Álamos, nestled in a small valley surrounded by hills and mountains, is found at the end of a good two-lane road. Álamos is literally at the end of road, as there are no other towns or villages of any size on the dirt roads beyond it. I have been in about 20 Mexican cities and towns, but Álamos reaches out and grabs you like no other Mexican town I have visited. It is much cleaner than most, and there is a certain amount of charm that exudes from the architecture, the people, and especially from the children. It makes you want to become a part of the town right from the beginning. The family values, and the friendliness of the people seem to draw you to them. Everyone waves and says Buenos días to one another. What you notice the most is that everyone seems to be happy in spite of the apparent poverty that exists outside the central area of this town, and many others throughout Mexico. Álamos has been designated as a historical town because of its silver mining fame and the colonial architecture, dating from the late 17th Century.

I seriously doubt if there is a more peaceful, laid-back, or tranquil city of town in all of Mexico. The city is said to have about 5,000 people in the city boundary and about 25,000 in the city district. When you go beyond the city limits, people are few and far between. There are approximately 300 Americans and Canadians who have restored old colonial homes or bought them already restored, but I suspect that fewer than 10 percent of the “foreigners” live full time in Álamos. Most of them elect to take advantage of the mild winter weather from October through April, then head to their primary homes to avoid the hot, muggy, and rainy season from June through September. One of the important attractions of Álamos is the way the Americans and Mexicans co-exist; there seems to be respect for each other that people do not experience anymore in the States. The North Americans contribute substantially to the local economy, but they need Mexican labor to maintain these homes--and the Mexicans need the jobs. As a result of this interdependence, both groups take pride in their little town.

Álamos exists because of the massive amounts of silver that was mined from the area, although the silver output peaked in the first quarter of the 19th Century. During its peak, Álamos was a wealthy and refined city; by the beginning of the 20th Century, when silver production decreased dramatically, the families who had supported the town for three centuries abandoned their large homes and barely 2,000 people remained. These aging structures, the large mansions which once housed wealthy mine owners, were discovered by North Americans in the 1950s, and the town has once again regained its historic beauty.

When you are in Álamos, you almost inherently find yourself going back in time, simply by walking down the streets and seeing buildings that are three centuries old. After two visits in 1992, I was so captured by Álamos, its atmosphere, and its people, that I purchased a home. The home is at least 200 years old and faces a wide arroyo, or stream bed. The place I bought has Mexican families on three sides, with other native families living across the arroyo from me, and it had been restored by Americans 22 years before.

Álamos is separated by the the Arroyo La Aduana, which usually has water running in it during the summer rainy season. Daily the arroyo becomes a thorough-fare as a means of circumventing the narrow maze of streets in the town. The arroyo is used by the buses, 18-wheelers, cars, bicycles, and men riding horses and donkeys, but mainly by the laborers going to and from work. I have seen herds of cattle being driven down the arroyo. When I bought my house, I did not fully realize the significance of the arroyo--that it splits the town in terms of population and wealth. I knew that Americans almost exclusively lived on the “town side” of the arroyo, yet it was not my desire to live in a predominately American community. I wanted to live in the barrio.

From the arroyo, it seems that the daily pattern of life has changed little in the past three centuries. I enjoy standing on my front porch, sipping a cup of coffee, and watching Álamos come to life every morning and put itself to sleep every night. This can be readily observed by watching the ebb and flow of activity that goes up and down the arroyo like clockwork.

For anyone planning to drive to Mexico to popular places like Mazatlán of Puerto Vallarta, Álamos, only 32 miles out of your way, is well worth your time. The people of Álamos are friendly and helpful, and they go about their daily business in a relaxed way--knowing there will always be mañana to complete the chores left undone today. Most of the children are well dressed despite the economic status of many families, and they always have a smile on their faces. Material goods--fancy homes, nice cars, large bank accounts--seem unimportant to most of the people. For generations they have learned to survive economically and emotionally from one day to her next. I doubt if many families in Mexico sit down on a weekly or monthly basis to make a budget or think about their problems; I don’t think many families are suffering from stress. The children may not have the fancy toys of American children, but they are innovative in their recreation and know how to enjoy idle time with their friends.

What you sense after being in a place like Álamos is that people in the states have and require too many material things. The more we have, the more we want. The adults have too many adult toys, and our children are showered with gifts and presents that are soon forgotten and take up space in a closet. While “keeping up with the Joneses” may be a national obsession in the U.S., the people here seem content. In Álamos, simplicity is the only way of life, and it is comforting to know how relaxing it can be, and how unimportant frills and fancy things really are.

Most Mexican residents in Álamos are laborers for someone else, and these laborers accept this simple way of life. After all, this is how life has been for a majority of these families for over 300 years! Occasionally you will find a young student who talks about his aspirations to break the cycle and rise to the top. While I wish them well, I also hope that others will continue to enjoy the simplicity of life in the barrio.

Most of the Mexican families in Álamos live on the outskirts of town. If they own property, it is not uncommon to see three or four small houses, consisting of several generations of the extended family, on a quarter acre of land. Other families live in small houses crowded closely together, while the very poor live in make-shift shanties scattered even further from the town center. Virtually all of these homes are made of brick and mortar, with the bricks being made and fired locally in crude kilns. The houses are built by family members and friends over a period of years, buying materials when they can afford them. Only a handful of Mexican families have the kinds of jobs that would qualify them for mortgage loans. There are wealthy Mexican families who live in large houses in central Álamos, but only a few.

The majority of the poor people still live from day to day; they live, dress, eat, and go about their daily routines much the same as their ancestors have for centuries. Furthermore, their children and grandchildren are likely to do the same for generations to come. The machete is still the “jack of all trades” tool, sandals without socks continue to be fashionable, and homemade tortillas and beans are still their main source of food. Walking or riding a mule or donkey is still the primary means of transportation, and, finally, “family” continues to be the center of attention and from which they get their physical and emotional energy to continue the struggle from day to day.

Álamos in Sonora, Mexico, is worth a visit, whether you stay a day, rent a house for a month, or buy a home. If you want to experience the adventure of “real” Mexico, do it in Álamos.

South of the Border

Have you ever wondered how two countries and its people can be so different when only a fine line separates them from one another? This thought comes to mind when you leave beautiful San Diego and 15 miles later cross into the border town of Tijuana, or when you leave picturesque Tucson, AZ, and an hour later find yourself in Nogales, Sonora. Probably every border town leaves the same impression, that Mexico is an unattractive, depressed country. Most people that I meet, and even members of my own family, refuse to cross the border into Mexico. They all have negative thoughts based on newspaper and television publicity. These people don’t realize that when you travel past the border towns and into the interior, Mexico is a very different place.

I have tried to analyze why our countries are so vastly different and why people have negative views of Mexico. Part of the reason is that our histories are so different. The United States has never looked back in its process of development. As a nation, we have been innovative, made use of technology, profited from our mistakes, and always moved forward. Our aspirations have been for improvement--more opportunities, a larger house, a higher paying job, and having “more” for our families. As a country, these goals have been achievable through positive thinking and hard work.

Mexico, since its conquest by Spain in 1521, has an entirely different history. Its population was conquered and never given the opportunities American acquired in our country. Only a minute portion of the population has had wealth and power, with the bulk of the population, the Indians and the mestizos, living in poverty. These groups have been relegated to little education, meager living conditions, and few job opportunities.

For the past 300 years the vast majority of Indians and mestizos have lived their lives serving others as maids, gardeners, and laborers of all types. The “pure Indians” have fared the worst, but generally the Indians and mestizos will be working for others. It is a way of life that most have accepted. The typical Mexican is not motivated to find a better job or build a larger house: he has accepted that this is his position, and this is where he will remain.

I have always liked Mexican people. One of my first friends when I was about six-years-old was Alan Preciado. At the time his parents and grandparents were the only minority families living in Harlem Springs, CA. Later, when I was 13, we moved to San Bernardino where I had a number of black and brown friends. At that time I learned to like Mexican food and have always been fascinated with the language, culture, and the extended family ties of the Mexican people.

I have either lived around or worked with Mexican people for more than 30 years of my life. I have found them to be friendly, loyal, good workers,and good employees. I have socialized with Mexican people, dated Mexican ladies, and have gone to their fiestas, weddings, and funerals. I think most Americans have much to learn from Mexicans: the meanings of their celebrations, their commitment, dedication, and devotion to their faith, and the strength of their family ties. What concerns me is that a good number of people condemn all Mexicans in general for the wrongful acts of a few.

Mexicans pay a high price for the negative perceptions against them. Many Americans forget that for decades we have actively sought their cheap labor for factories and farm work, and in many cases our motives have been less than honorable. Businesses and politicians, who have profited from illegal Mexican labor, are suddenly pointing the finger at Mexico to solve the problem of illegal immigration.

I have found that the people of Mexico are unbelievably honest. I have had a number of situations where I misunderstood the amount to be paid, and invariably I was handed back the excess pesos. I paid a Mexican painter to paint my house, and an hour later he came back to my house and found me gone. He finally tracked me to the local basketball court in the plaza, pedaling his bicycle at least a mile to return 50 pesos--a lot of money to a Mexican worker. He had found two 50-peso notes stuck together, which he called “twins.”

In another incident I placed a $50 travelers’ check in my check book one morning on the way to play tennis. I discovered when I went to the bank that the check was missing. Since my check book and credit cards were still in my car, I was certain it was not stolen, but assumed that it fell out of the car when I opened the door. Three days later the check was returned to me by the lady who owned the tennis court; a man found it and assumed that it belonged to an American who played tennis, and turned it in. These acts of honesty are not isolated--they are part of the Mexican character. I wonder what percentage of people in the United States would be as honest?

It is my hope that Americans not stereotype the Mexican people, and also that the leaders of Mexico will solve the many economic and political problems gripping Mexico. Percentage-wise, only a handful of politicians and a small group of the very wealthy control the destiny of Mexico. The “haves” want to keep what they have at the expense of the poor, who have been poor since the Conquest.

It is my hope that Mexicans will stay in their country and solve the problems they face, easing the fears Americans have of crossing the border. During my lifetime, I would like to see this happen, for Americans and Mexicans to become better neighbors.