Category Mexico

That’s right, we just spent eight days in Cancun. While I did originally think that Cancun would be a ghost town in summer (100-degree weather and high humidity) it was packed. Cancun was lovely and temperate and exactly the tropical vacation I was hoping it would be.

This was my first time to the Caribbean (not associated with a cruise ship, anyway) and I was impressed with every aspect of the pre-fab vaca. We stayed at the RIU palace las Americas on the hotel strip. One interesting factoid about the Cancun hotel strip is that in the 70’s there was nothing out there. It was a bit too swampy to build on.  A local told us that some Las Vegas investor came down, saw the land and had the idea to buy it, develop it for plumbing, wiring, etc and then sell plots to high-end hotels. I guess this guy is a multi-millionare now for having the vision.  Anyways, it was neat to imagine it untouched. The RIU Palace where we stayed was out on a point and, after walking much of the beach from end-to-end, we found it had about the nicest swimming area and a stunning outcrop of rocks where exotic, tropical fish liked to linger. I’d recommend the RIU. It was all-inclusive for 180 a person per day, which made it expensive for us but worth it because restaurants in the area are about USD30 a person per meal. The front-desk staff are horrible but everyone else on staff were fantastic.

After three days at the all-inclusive we rented a condo for the remaining 5 days in downtown Cancun. The condo was 70USD a day and slept ten people (we only had four). This is what I’d do in the future as it was cheap and closer to cheap food and real Cancun.

From the condo we headed out to see chichen itza, a Myan city-center worshiping the snake, whom they saw as the go-between for the underworld (where we all came from) and earth (where we temporarily live). The tower itself is a fantastic display of human engineering and had a lot of neat features, like the number of steps equaled stuff on their calendar, etc. When we arrived it started to thunder and soon lightening appeared over the tower. This hit home the idea of how many people were sacrificed there.

We also went to one of the famous sink holes. Reportedly, they would throw people into these as sacrifices as well. The snake (and all life) issued from these holes so it made sense to toss in sacrifices to please the origin of life. Anyways, we swam in them and it was hard not imagine hundreds of bodies trapped 150-feet down just reaching up at your toes.

We also stopped at a replica Mayan village (read: tourist trap). This was one of those annoying things tour groups do and is one of the main reasons I always avoid tours. This time we decided to go with a tour only because the roads were reportedly unsafe to drive on. They were fine. Next time, we’ll drive!

Now that you have the overview of our trip, I’ll post more in-depth blogs about each day!

There is something very strange about the way humans approach booze, and how each nation address alcohol both politically and culturally in extremely unique ways. For example, in America we make it illegal for anyone under 21 to buy alcohol. However, when you do reach that age there is a massive party wherein your first introduction to the drink is compounded by the fact that everyone you know comes out to the bar to get you intoxicated. It is a right of passage, a coming of age ritual and a test of one’s man or womanhood. After that fateful night, drinking in America takes on a purely social atmosphere, and no real gathering is complete without it and every gathering with liquor is somewhat more casual because of the addition. Our time in Europe showed the same to be true, though with a bit less of an adherence to drinking ages. Not so elsewhere.

In China, where we’ve spent quite a bit of time, there seems to be no legal age (although officially it is 18-19). You can often find youths drinking at the bars who appear to be quite young. And in fact no one is ever ‘carded’ in China. Contrary to what most people might assume, this does not breed an atmosphere ripe for degradation. Chinese youths hardly ever take their lax drinking rules for granted, nor do they abuse the booze at a young age, as would be expected if we suddenly made the drinking age 18 in the USA. There is, however, a similar ‘right of passage’ for most Chinese males that involves alcohol. At banquets (which are the preferred method of congregation) everyone sits around a round table, and the person of honor goes around the table and does a small glass of beer  or rice wine with every guest. This makes the guest of honor extremely drunk, and this is something to be quite proud of and admired (on special occasions, only). This often prompts Chinese men to approach Mike and ask, “How many beers can you drink?” Which, of course, Mike did not know the answer to at first. Now it appears this is a staple of maleness, though I cannot stress enough that it seems to happen only in large groups. By the way, the Chinese way of saying ‘cheers’ is “gan-bei” which literally means ’empty glass’ or ‘bottoms up.’ which they take literally when drinking beer. Another interesting bit of drinking culture in China– the person of more status should always have their glass slightly higher when clinking it with someone glasses. So, if you are not the guest of honor, your goal is to touch the top of your glass with the bottom of theirs. This results in fun games where people try to show honor to each other by putting their glasses lower. I saw one group of men putting their glasses on the floor to clink them, showing no one was higher than the other. Here is an example from a Chinese TV show:

In Central Asia we found drinking to be somewhat deplorable. Even worse than a man drinking is a woman drinking, and on the rare occasions I ordered a beer in public I could sense eyes judging me. However, we did notice quite a few drunk people on the streets at night, which means it is an underbelly sort of activity reserved for underbelly types. This obviously wasn’t the case in the major cities we visited in Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan, but definitely in smaller towns drinking seemed to be a big no-no!

In Mongolia, drinking is a large part of life. We stayed with a family in their ger for three days and nights, and the husband attempted to get us intoxicated on a nightly basis. He would drink after dinner and smoke Pal Mall unfiltered outside his ger as he looked up at the stars. This cowboy lifestyle works well for them and they are extremely happy. Meanwhile, their drinking culture is very inclusive, they pull in everyone and the goal is to have as much fun as possible. There was little segregation because of my gender, and contrary to what I assumed, they welcomed me into their poker game almost immediately. When we left to get on the bus on our final day, our host bought us a round of beers which we all chugged before climbing aboard for a 3 hour ride (big mistake!). Alcohol is used as a social tool to make people happy, include more people into the gathering, and draw everyone into one ger for warmth, entertainment (no TVs out on the steppe) and hours of story telling and card playing.

We’re not experts on these cultures or their drinking habits, but that is what we observed while traveling around from place to place and trying to experience these cultures in the ways they exist when no one is watching.

Palo Alto Battlefield

If you live or vacation in Southern – Central Texas, this is especially important to all the winter Texans, take a short drive North of Brownsville to visit the Palo Alto Battlefield.  Easy to find and only taking an hour or so see, the Palo Alto Museum was a refreshing overview of sometimes forgotten American, and Mexican, history.  The quaint museum displays artifacts from the battlefield as well as detailed information regarding political debate on the subject before, during, and after the war.  There are uniforms, guns, cannon balls, maps, and pictures, but if you museumed’ out, you can watch the PBS video on the battle of Palo Alto, which gives a great overview of the battle as well as the museum.

The museum argued that the first battle of the Mexican – American War (Palo Alto) was provoked by President Polk, who had his mind set on the acquisition and extension of the United States to the Western seaboard.  According to what we saw at the Palo Alto Museum, after skirmishes and heated debate over Texas, the United States, and the Mexican border was ongoing in congress.  Polk himself declared the Rio Grand as the border, although it was not recognized as the official border by either side.  When Mexican General Mariano Arista crossed the river with his 3,400 troops, it was portrayed as an invasion by Polk politicians and Zachary Taylor, sent by President Polk earlier to further stir up Mexican fear of a U.S. invasion, moved towards ‘Fort Texas.’  The front line, still visible today, stretched over one mile.  The terrain made any type of charge suicide so Taylor used new artillery tactics called ‘flying artillery’ to fire once and relocate the artillery to fire against any flanking attempts by the enemy.  The U.S. was unaware of their artillery’s devastation until morning when they discovered that General Arista had pulled out and left over 100 casualties behind in the field.   The American artillery used newer explosive cannon balls which shot shards of shrapnel all around the impact area.  The Mexican army, on the other hand, used older (non- impact – explosive) weapons and artillery.

General Taylor was ordered to push forward and invaded Fort Brown (modern day Brownsville) and Matamoros before pushing deep into Mexican territory, eventually all the way to Mexico city.  In two short years, Polk had negotiated the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo with Mexico in which Mexico lost over half its land to the United States and the US pushed its borders down to the Rio Grand in Texas as well as purchased what is now California, New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah for 15 million USD (about 370 million in 2009).  You can walk through the snake infested trails of Palo Alto in amazement at the epicenter of what would eventually lead to the the largest expansion of the United States since the Louisiana Purchase.  A highly worthwhile and recommended visit for anyone who appreciates history, especially the less well known aspects.

Progreso

Having visited Progreso several times this winter, and Matamoros only once, it is safe to say I’m a bit skewed towards the former destination. Nevertheless, I have rational reasons for enjoying Progreso more than Matamoros. For anyone living along the East Coast of Texas, this will be vital information for you if you are planning on visiting Mexico anytime soon, for everyone else, its a bit of a tale of our visit to Matamoros, where days later there was a shoot out and US customs confiscated several pounds of illicit drugs.

Matamoros inspires looks of fear and awe in Winter Texans, who for so long have heard horror stories of drug deals, border wars and shoot outs occurring at this crossing. Call it naivety, but we wanted to check out the city and see what the market had to offer. We drove to the border and parked the car on the US side before walking gaily across the bridge into Mexico. As soon as we stepped on foreign soil we heard an old familiar sound– taxi drivers whispering discount promises in one ear and steering you quickly towards his patched up vehicle. We saw chickens and other farm life wandering around aimlessly in tiny, makeshift pens, and we saw several people looking at us with disbelief. It seemed more like our recent trip to Uzbekistan, than across a mere 100 yard river from America.

We held up our printed map of Matamoros and decided to walk to the market, a 2 mile stroll following the train tracks before veering into a slum that jetted into the market and bazaar area. Along the walk, people paused to give us strange looks or point the way to the market and shake their head. Perhaps our tiny group of American should not have been there, but hey– we made it through Azerbaijan without incident, why not Mexico?

Matamoros

Finally at the market, we didn’t see a single other American. A mile long street of tiny shops selling Chinese-made shoes, clothes and plastic flowers stretched before us, and we perused the items, snapping pictures, looking at our map frequently, and generally playing the role of retarded tourist quite well. On the walk back to the border, a cab drive hollared out his window, “50 cents a person!” and we jumped in without a second thought. He chatted kindly with us in broken English while we sat bashful and ashamed that we didn’t already speak Spanish. We walked back across the border and the dichotomy was so shocking that suddenly people risking their lives to swim across the river made sense. Hell, I’d do it if I lived in Matamoros.

Progreso, on the other hand, is a town made for tourists. After you park on the US side, you walk across a wheel-chair friendly bridge to Mexico, where several tanks and armed guards keep watch. The streets are lined with liquor shops, souvenir shops, bars and restaurants, as well as cheap dentists and optometrists. We did not encounter a single other tourist under the age of sixty, and the elderly retirees and snow birds were having an amazing time getting drunk on cheap margaritas, dancing to polka and buying up hand-woven baskets and rugs. Its a great place to visit if you want two mustachioed men to play mariachi music to you while simultaneously chugging beer.

SPI Welcome!

For the past month we have been sheltering ourselves away from the massive cold front that has left the Midwest covered in snow and ice. We journeyed south, like the Winter Texan snow birds, to South Padre Island, TX, a tiny sliver of land only three blocks wide and roughly 15 blocks long, surrounded by the water of the Gulf of Mexico.

South Padre Island, or SPI as locals call it, is a strange place. The island’s southern half is flush with hotels, rental properties, and a plethora of shops selling swimsuits and surfboards and of course a variety of restaurants. The northern half is undeveloped beach and swamp land, even the island’s main road doesn’t venture all the way to the end of the island. During the winter, northerners flood the island and at any given time you’ll find dozens of retirees enjoying the moderate weather on the beach, or flooding the Denny’s for their senior coffee. During the spring, the island is swarmed with spring breakers, who leave a wake of red keg cups behind them when they depart. The summer sees family vacationers while the fall witnesses the return of property owners come to see the year’s damage to their rental houses and condos. Thus, the island can be a different experience depending on when you travel there.

SPI Map

South Padre Island has a lot to offer in terms of sight seeing, take for example, the world’s largest fishing pole, which is houses in Port Isabel, directly across the bridge from SPI. You’ll find a local chainmaille designer, Michael DeVeny, hard at work at the port’s busiest restaurant and bar, Pirates Landing. He spends his time hand weaving necklaces, armor, weapons and vases out of chainmaille and boasts an impressive catalogue of crafts. Additionally, SPI had its own treasure story, a tale of woe, romance and loss wherein the Singer family (yes, of the sewing machine company) buried all of their jewelry and money between two palm trees along the beach when the civil war broke out. Later, they returned but the trees were gone, the sand dunes had shifted, and the treasure was never recovered. A similar event happened earlier, which leads me to think that if the Singer family had read their history, they could have avoided the same fate. In 1521 and 1553 Spanish galleons were smashed against the island and the crew of sailors and explorers were either killed by the harsh environment or by the natives who defended the land. All of their treasure was lost and the ships were never found. Alas, all of my personal attempts at finding either treasure have proved fruitless.

South Padre Island is indeed a sub-tropical paradise off the Texan coast with something for everyone, from treasure seekers to chainmaille enthusiasts to spring breakers and retirees.

Progreso

I suppose reading the blog might have been confusing recently for some of our more attentive readers. We posted blogs from Canada and Chicago nearly simultaneously, one praising the Olympic ski runs at Whistler, the other lauding a drive from North Carolina to Chicago. Meanwhile, posts from Mexico and Texas are also popping up. If you’ve been confused, you’re probably not the only one. Here’s what has happened since ATC returned to America:

We arrived in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida- a beautiful and warm place complete with scenic palm trees and overpriced taxi rides – in early November, 2009. From Florida, we traveled by Amtrak to Columbia, South Carolina where our train arrived at the ungodly hour of 4:00am. We walked through the last of the hurricane season in Columbia while finding a hotel, and in the morning we booked it north….to North Carolina. We spent several days in the Carolinas visiting relatives and reacquainting ourselves with Krispy Kreame doughnuts and Starbucks coffee—two things sorely lacking in Serbia. No joke, the Serbians could use a few tasty treats to cheer them up a bit.

After our family time in NC, we rented a car and drove to Rockford, IL for some more family time before ATC was split as Lauren went to Minnesota and then Washington (and Canada) while Mike went to New Hampshire. Thus, the blog has postings from the slopes of Whistler, BC and the hills of New Hampshire almost simultaneously.

With the holidays safely behind us, Lauren and Mike have reunited and even managed to drive from Illinois down to Texas, where they were lucky enough to meet up with some Old China Hands (friends from Shanghai) who currently reside in Austin. Continuing on, they traveled south to find warmer weather and calmer skies on the gulf coast of Texas, where they launch mini-trips into Mexico weekly.

So, here I write from a windy but beautiful beach on South Padre Island, TX as the gulf waves crash before me and the salty sand and wind blow my hair into my eyes. The gin and tonics flow freely here, and while little on South Padre Island remains open past 4pm (this being a retirement community) I’m happy to report that this writer has finally found a quiet place to write, reflect and detangle.

Border Crossing

Having always loved Latin music, food, clothing and culture, my first trip to Mexico was dreamt about for years before it actually occurred. Last week I was able to live that dream when we crossed into Progreso from Texas. This was supposed to be a time of intense joy as a lifelong dream of visiting Mexico was finally achieved. However, the experience was sorely spoiled by the government on our side of the border. Here’s why:

I’ve crossed some 20 borders in my day, and not one of them has required me to pay for the privilege of exiting and re-entering the country. But, believe it or not, this is exactly what happens when you cross the land border between Texas and Mexico. In order to pass you must deposit a shiny quarter into the waiting mouth of a machine before it will grant passage into Mexico. Roughly 19,750 million American visit Mexico each year. This number times .25 = $4,937,500. That’s four million bucks the US government makes on American cross-border transportation. While I completely understand that the US-Mexico border needs funds in order to operate, I have a small problem understanding why this is the only border in the world that requires this payment. Side note: the Mexican side charges .35 cents to each person exiting the country for America. They make over 6 million a year.

Many people, Texans mostly, travel to Mexico to buy cheap goods. Cheaper liquor is one such item folks will traverse the borders in search of. While in Mexico we did what many other gringos around us were doing– we shopped, ate enchiladas, had a few margaritas and then bought a bottle of booze to carry across the border to America. While in 2009 the laws stipulated that each citizen could bring back a bottle a month, untaxed, something has changed. We were stopped by rude and rough border guards who demanded $1.25 per liter of liquor. There was no explanation, just a demanding voice, a gloved palm reaching through bars and a continued barking of the order to pay up. There was no willingness to explain, no literature on why the tax was suddenly applies to each bottle entering the country. Sigh.

I don’t want it to seem like the trip to Mexico wasn’t amazing—because it was! A small mariachi band played while we sat on a balcony overlooking the main street having margaritas, children rode their bikes up and down the main drag while adults sold a sundry of baskets, rugs and other items to passing tourists. The food was good, the people were friendly and not pushy, and despite being within spiting distance of the USA, the culture was unique to Mexico and very vibrant. Hotel Del Arco Los Cabos is a great place to stay while traveling through the Cabo San Lucas area.