Sunday, July 9, 2006

Mexico


“Get your motor running
Head out on the highway
Looking for adventure
And whatever comes our way”

I don’t think Steppenwolf were thinking of an air-conditioned Chevy Malibu, but the sentiment’s the same. I know I’ve said this before, but put me in a car in Texas, find a good country radio station and a highway out of Dallas, and I’m a happy man. I have pictures of the landscape, but I’m not including them here, because my meagre photographic skills cannot possibly do justice to the awe-inspiring, indescribable, vastness. It is alternately ranch, arable, scrub and desert, but I never tire of it, even after hundreds of miles.

Black vultures
This weekend, I headed south-west to Mexico, but not to see Mexico – rather to see a border town (actually two border towns – one on the American side, the other Mexican).
So I headed south through Waco, Austin and San Antonio, and then west through Uvalde to Del Rio in Val Verde county. Apparently, in south Texas, they don’t have to bother collecting road-kill – the black vultures take care of it. This far south, there are few cattle ranches; they mostly breed deer and goats, which is interesting, because you rarely see either on the menu.

The trip is over 400 miles, but took about 7 hours. Since I’d hit the road at 7:30am, I arrived in plenty of time to cross the border (having first checked that I’d be able to get back ok – more on that later …) and spend a few hours in Acuna , Coahuila. You can’t take a rental car into Mexico without special arrangement, so I parked at a convenience store close to the border ($2 for the day!), and crossed the “International Bridge” on foot – it’s not that I’m too mean to pay for a taxi, but rather that I prefer to walk (for the same reasons that I prefer to drive rather than fly). It’s interesting that the toll to go to Mexico was 75c, and nobody bothered to check my passport, whereas the return toll was 30c, and US Immigration grilled me for 25 minutes (again – more on that later).

The bridge was about 1km long, but the temperature was in the mid-90s, so I was glad to have taken a bottle of water with me. Acuna was, I’m sure, not representative of Mexico, but more representative of a Mexican border town. I’d expected lots of cantinas where I could get something to eat – in fact, it was more tacky gift shops and “Ladies Bars”. Now, I’m not naĂŻve, but I really thought that “Ladies Bars”, because it’s not an expression I’ve come across before, might be some cultural thing where women could go to have a drink without being bothered by unwelcome attention. Again, more on that later.

Fruit stand on Acuna Street

Acuna Street
But I found a restaurant, and ordered the “Mexican Plate” – a sampler dish, not because I’m not familiar with Mexican food, but because I wanted to see how it compared with the Dallas versions. Later, I found a juice stand that had my favourite Mexican rice/fruit drink, horchata.

 I was expecting to encounter much more begging than I did – in fact there was very little, though the outlying areas are obviously very poor. As it got towards early evening, and bouncers started appearing outside the “Ladies Bars”, I realized what they were. And as guys started following me and asking: “Senor, are you looking for anything in particular? Perhaps a woman?”, I though it was time to head back Stateside.

On the US side, Immigration kept me in a waiting area (where I was the only white face) for close to half an hour (asking me how long I was going to be in the US, how often I came, who I worked for, the address of my hotel in Dallas, etc.) before they let me through. I think they’re getting a little out of control – especially since, after being on the road north the following day for about half an hour, there was a compulsory stop at a “Homeland Security” checkpoint where they once again checked my passport (and this is within the US – goodness knows what would have happened if I’d just been driving round the area without credentials) and check out the contents of the car.

Me on the border

The Rio Grande
Back at the hotel, the following morning, at breakfast, I asked one of the staff, Gabriella, if there were any local sights I should see before leaving. The hotel has only been open a couple of months (it’s part of the Hilton chain) but they evidently aren’t inundated with tourists, because, not only did she have to think a lot about this, but, after she was done, and I suggested they might consider providing a leaflet for visitors, she rushed off to share the idea with the manager. Anyway, she came up with quite a few, including the fact that the movie “Desperado”, starring Antonio Banderas (ok – I have female readers attention!) and Salma Hayek (oh – now the guys too!) was filmed downtown.

But I decided on visiting Lake Amistad. Apparently this is fed by the Rio Grande, and the dam provides an alternate crossing point. I stopped at an Information Center on the way, discovering that the bridge didn’t open until 10am, so that I had an hour to kill. I spent it chatting to Kit and Eric, who were on duty there. I told them how I’d planned to travel back to Dallas via a different route, and Eric advised me of places to stop along the way. By 10am I was at the bridge, found that immigration is a lot less strict, and will let you, without unnecessary formality, stand in the middle and straddle the border. A passing cyclist helped me to capture the moment.

San Angelo
My journey back took me through Sonora and San Angelo, which has one of the most attractive Visitor Information Centers I’ve ever seen, with wonderful statues of the city’s founder’s wife, and her patron saint, Santa Angela, overlooking the Honcho River.

Beer and Feed!
Just after Sonora I stopped at the Sutton County Steakhouse, which, according to Eric, does the best Chicken Fried Steak he’s ever tasted. I should perhaps explain Chicken Fried Steak, since it’s a bit of a Texan thing – it’s steak, pounded to within an inch of its life, hand-rolled in breadcrumbs and batter, fried (like fried chicken) and served on a bed of gravy (that’s the white southern gravy, like you’d get for breakfast with “biscuits and gravy” – Texas has a bit of an identity crisis, in not being able to decide whether it’s really “south” or “west”). Confusingly, there is also Chicken Fried Chicken, which would elsewhere be simply Fried Chicken, were it not for Chicken Fried Steak. In any case, Eric was right – it was very good.

Oh, and I’ve included references to drive-in “beer barns” before, but this is the first one I’ve seen like this. Texans clearly take their farming and their drinking equally seriously! You gotta love it.  

Sunday, June 4, 2006

Santa Fe

"Dust bowl" country
72oz steak!
Cadillac Ranch
New Mexico!
650 miles is quite a long drive. Being British, of course, somehow mitigates this, and so Val (against her better judgment, but convinced by my arguments to the contrary) and I decided to drive from Irving, Texas to Santa Fe, New Mexico for a long weekend. 

We left early on Friday, through Wichita Falls and Amarillo into southern New Mexico. Somebody at work had told me we’d be passing through “dust bowl” country, and the terrain was certainly proof of this. At Amarillo, we stopped briefly at the Big Texan Steak House (yes, that’s Val’s face in the picture) (http://www.bigtexan.com/history.htm), home of the 72oz steak. If you can eat it, you get it free. Needless to say, we didn’t even try (we only really stopped so that Val could pick up an Amarillo fridge magnet!). 

Just beyond Amarillo, I pulled the car over to get some photographs of “Cadillac Ranch” (http://www.roadsideamerica.com/attract/TXAMAcadillac.html) – Val stayed in the car because it was pretty breezy out on the plains. Who knows – in a couple of thousand years, this could be the American Stonehenge (nobody said the druids didn’t have a sense of humour). 

From Amarillo, we continued west on I-40 into New Mexico. Something we hadn’t anticipated was crossing from Central time zone into Mountain – we gained an hour! Instead of following the road to Albuquerque and turning right, we took a “short cut” at Tucumcari, over the mountains. Santa Fe isn’t much further north than Dallas, and it had been hot in Dallas, which was why I told Val not to bother taking warm clothes. Bit of a mistake there, because it was snowing as we got close to Santa Fe – not unreasonable, if I’d done my homework, since we were at about 8,000ft. Fortunately, it warmed up a bit as we descended into Santa Fe (but not so much that we didn’t have to buy warm clothes the next day!). 

We stayed at a hotel in the middle of the “old town”, and went out for a meal that evening. The cuisine choice was mostly “south west” or “nouvelle south west”. We stuck with traditional, and (apart from the fact that Val doesn’t like beans, which come with pretty much everything) it was excellent. Maybe the Margaritas helped. 

A bluegrass band
The following (Saturday) morning, we headed to a small cafĂ© for breakfast (I had “huevos rancheros”, or “ranch-style eggs”, which are my particular weakness). We’d always wondered what happened to all the hippies from the 60’s. Some grew up, of course, and moved into jobs where they had to wear a suit and tie, commute an hour into work, and use company-supplied Luncheon Vouchers to get lunch at “selected” restaurants (not that I’m bitter); the rest, it seems, moved to New Mexico. After exploring the bijou downtown area, we found a farmers’ market which was much more interesting than the trendy shops. There was an “artisan” bread stall, fruit and vegetable stalls, craft stalls of every description, and numerous spontaneous “buskers”. 
An apologetic musician!

One of the musicians I took a photo of demanded a “donation” first. I gave him a bollocking, explaining that I was disappointed that he should say that (remember telling your children that you were “disappointed” with their behaviour – that’s just about the worst thing you can say to a child). Anyway, it seemed to work – I’d always intended to donate anyway – and he was very apologetic and insisted on having his photo taken with Val. 

Tesuque Pueblo flea market
Cowboy?
It is quite stunning to stand in the middle of Santa Fe, and be able to see a mountainous backdrop that almost completely encircles the city.
From Santa Fe, we headed north to Taos, which is a ski resort in the winter. It’s only about 70 miles, but the views, as always, are wonderful, especially while we followed the river valley. It’s fairly sleepy at this time of year, for which we were grateful. Just north of Santa Fe, we found a native flea market in Tesuque Pueblo (this might be a convenient point at which to explain the difference between an “adobe”, which is a native style house – very distinctive, primitive and square-block architecture – and a “pueblo”, which is a native village). It was so hot that I had to relent and buy a “cowboy hat” to protect my face. 

After checking into the hotel, we drove the “Enchanted Circle”, a circular drive around Taos, and saw our first elk and mountain sheep. When we got back, after inevitably getting lost, we found the Adobe Inn for supper and the mandatory Margarita, where there was live music in the form of a classical Spanish guitarist and singer, and a crazy lady who came in and started sketching them. Of course, I had to start up a conversation, and it took us almost half an hour to extricate ourselves. If it’s possible, Taos is even “hippier” than Santa Fe, but, off season, it’s small, quiet (but not too much so) and very pleasant. 
Elk

Mountain sheep













The Adobe Inn
Desert landscape













The Four Winds Dine
New Mexico landscape
In order to return via a different route, we decided (well, Val would say that it was me who decided, and that it probably wasn’t one of my better decisions) to visit Roswell – the site of numerous alien visitations, and where the aliens seem to have integrated very well with the local population. We went south to Albuquerque, then on past the Rio Salado sand dunes to Socorro. At Socorro we turned left onto a desolate Route 380 that went the whole 160 miles to Roswell. Going this way took us through some stupendous New Mexico desert, through numerous small towns (including Carrizozo, which claimed to be “the crossroads to everywhere” – though it’s not what it used to be), and instilled in me the value of never letting the fuel gauge fall below half-full. At Carrizozo, just after passing through the “Valley of Fires” (http://www.geo.utep.edu/loca/Volcanos/VALLEY.HTML) we stopped for lunch at the Four Winds Diner which seemed to have been lifted directly from a Hollywood movie set. The food was exactly as you’d expect – plain but perfectly edible. The attached “gift shop” sold mostly plastic trash that had probably been gathering dust for years (but, who knows – when you’re a few hundred miles from the nearest Walmart, you probably buy whatever you can get). The roads were empty, endless and absolutely fascinating – at least, until it got to the point when darkness descended and I had to break the news to Val that we still had 300 miles to go. To be fair, she was a trooper, and didn’t hit me once. 

But it was still light when we got to Roswell, and we had to visit the Roswell International UFO Museum and Research Center (http://www.iufomrc.org/). Interestingly, there was a large display on crop circles in England. I tend to scoff at this sort of thing, but, in the back of my mind, I wonder if we won’t all look pretty silly when one day they turn out to be right! To be fair to Roswell, it’s not as tacky as I was expecting – true, they’ve cashed in on their notoriety, with street lamps in the shape of alien heads and other such paraphernalia, but it’s not Blackpool. 

Roswell International UFO Museum
Shortly after leaving Roswell, with over 300 miles to go, it began to get dark. Darkness adds a whole new dimension to the drive, because not only is it bleak, it’s dangerous. But not in the way you think. At dusk, there are deer and all sorts of wildlife who wander the roadways indiscriminately. It’s probably a good idea (and not just for the deer) not to hit a deer in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night. Towns are few and far between, and, contrary to the popular belief that America is open 24 hours a day, that only applies to the cities. One-horse towns close early, just like anywhere else, and it’s difficult to get food and gas if you’re not on a major highway. 

We were not well-prepared for misadventure this time. Next time, we will be.