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Tale
One - Into Mexico - by Malik
Sprawled over 3,200 km, the US-Mexican Border has 40 entry points.
For a large part a river, the Rio Bravo marks the boundary.
Usually, tourists go to Mexico by air. There are as many as
30 international airports within the country but airfare's are
prohibitive for many! For example Houston-Mexico City return
alone, would cost US$400. I'm not a bank robber or a gunrunner,
so for me the only way was to hack a 22-hour bus ride. With
one bag of potato chips and two bottles of water, I braced myself
for a long journey.
Leaving Houston, the bus turned south and continued without
turning again, seemingly on "A Road to Nowhere". It
was getting darker and darker, I was half-awake and half-asleep.
The bus stopped briefly at a few places and eventually came
to a grinding halt. Someone tapped my shoulder. I thought it
was Brownsville, the last town on the US side. When I got down
though, I encountered strange faces, dialects and signs. People
were shorter, slimmer and browner. Men were sporting moustaches,
wearing cowboy hats and jackets. Ladies were dressed up in pink,
tangerine and white colors. Many were munching on tacos and
tortillas. There was music in the air. I looked around and found
a few musicians in silver studded outfits with wide brimmed
hats. They were playing violins, guitars and trumpets . The
beat was fast and sounded like the musical score on "Drugs,
Guns and Guerrillas." Unlike dullness experienced at US
bus stations, the mood was quite festive here.
It took me sometime to realise that I was already in Mexico.
Perhaps due to my moustache and brown colour, I was taken as
a native returning home. No one bothered me for my passport
or papers though I had paid US$40 for a 30-day visa back in
my own country (the Mexicans are only subject to a random check).
It was past midnight. I bought a ticket for Mexico City coughing
up US$68. Showing the ticket to every second person, I located
the bus and occupied my seat. It was quite comfortable and had
air-conditioning, a restroom and audio and video facilities.
In a short while, a uniformed man entered and announced something
in Spanish. I didn't understand a word but my heart sank
when he occupied the driver's seat. He was rather short
for the job and had to spread his arms in full length to take
hold of the steering wheel. I recited some holy verses to ward
off any accident. Having satisfied myself, I reclined the seat
and went back to sleep.
Being the rainy season, it was pitch dark outside with occasional
lightning. The area was mountainous and barren. Cactus trees,
telephone lines and power poles provided some signs of life.
The bus stopped only at three stations. All were equally festive,
teeming with people. I got some hot soup and bread shying away
from fruit and drinks.
At midday, the bus approached Mexico City. The road became congested
with the flow of buses, cars, taxis and motorcycles. A pleasant
surprise were the green taxis (Volkswagen Beetles, the original
rear-engined ones), zigzagging on the wide road, oblivious to
the traffic signals or signs.
At long last, the bus stopped at Norte or North Terminal. I
got a gust of hot air upon stepping down. My legs cramped and
breathing became slightly difficult due to the high altitude
(2,300 m) and smog. However, the terminal was nice, clean and
huge. There were dozens of transport companies plying buses
of every class, colour and condition. This, coupled with endless
stalls and kiosks, was mind-boggling. I seemed lost in its vastness
and looked around for help. A western tourist came to my rescue
and pointed out towards two cabins: one for hotel and the other
for taxi. I got the address of a three-star hotel and a pre-paid
four-dollar voucher for a shared taxi ride.
I came out of the terminal and showed the voucher to a uniformed
attendant. She directed me to a taxi already occupied by a European
couple. I also squeezed in. The taxi moved out, turned onto
the main road and joined a mad race. We passed by markets, plazas,
green parks, colonial buildings and skyscrapers.
After dropping off the European couple, the cabbie studied the
address given by me. He drove a good length on the Paseo de
la Reforma, a major avenue in Mexico City, occasionally turning
onto side roads. Despite his best efforts, he could not locate
my hotel. Having paid for the taxi-fare at the bus terminal,
I was not the least worried and enjoyed the ride. Every half
a mile or so, there was a large traffic circle with some sort
of monument in the middle. Eventually, the cabbie dumped me
at another hotel, the Mayaland. It turned out to be a blessing
in disguise as it was cheaper and probably better. At long last,
I was able to stretch my legs and relax in a mega-city with
25 million people.
Hafeez ur Rahman Malik, Karachi-Pakistan.
Submitted: 20 August 2002
Next: Tale 2 - Mexico City |
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Malik
- Pakistan
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