Entering Mexico

1. Entering Mexico

We crossed into Mexico on a Sunday morning, using the Pharr bridge near McAllen, Texas and Reynosa, Mexico. We thought that would be a quiet time and place, but other people had the same thought, and we came in behind an American phenomenon: a caravan of some 25 couples in large motorhomes with tow cars or trucks hauling trailers. Despite being near the southern tip of Texas, there was a bitter bite to the wind that was blowing on that January day.

It took us over two hours to get through the lines that would normally take much less. But it turned out to be a nice introduction to our Mexican trip, chatting with Mexicans before being encased in our motorhome, nicknamed Cando.

As we talked with Mexicans, we were beginning the process of listening, listening, listening to Spanish, letting the musical sounds just be a flow at times, while at other times, many of the words would stand out.

Several of the people we chatted with were Mexicans who lived in the U.S. and were on their way to visit family. One woman spoke Spanish quite slowly for me, and then as she saw that I understood, she picked up speed. We were in line behind the last people in the caravan. A woman from that group, directly in front of us, farted. My new friend lowered her voice and said something to me about it not smelling like apples. I wondered if that was an expression in Mexico for that occasion or if it was her own phrase.

The line was moving very slowly, and the Mexicans around me were grumbling just as Americans would.

"They say Mexicans have more patience," I ventured.

The Mexicans laughed and said no.

Someone who helped the time pass quickly was a jovial fellow who had come to the U.S. at 16 and moved in with his brother and the brother's American wife in Houston. They spoke English at home and he was young enough to pick it up well. I would have assumed it was his first language. He was on his way to visit his mother in Zacatecas. Entering Mexico was quite normal for him.