A Golden Afternoon in the Belly of the Beast

This line in the sand simultaneously divides two nations and sews them together. A Frankenstein creature emerges with American arms and Mexican legs. We stand here at its monstrous belly and walk south. The fence is linear and distinct but I know that the border is fat and laden. Pushing through the revolving metal door it kicks up dust as it drags against the cement. A listless camouflaged guard, automatic firearm slung casually over his shoulder, flips through a gossip magazine at a folding card table to my right. Welcome to Mexico.

Two hours later the bus deposits us on the side of a desolate road. We've supposedly reached “kilometer 81”, however, there is no official bus stop, no building, no people, not even a bench to mark the spot - only a tiny white house, no higher than our waists, filled with flowers. With a 12 mile hike to our hostel and nothing but the packs on our backs, our intense isolation is augmented by anticipation of the unknown. It’s gleeful and terrifying. I carefully place one foot in front of the other, noticing each individual pebble press through the soles of my shoes, and vaguely wonder if moving slower will make the day last longer.

In no time a small blue Toyota pickup materializes. It winds up the lonely road behind us. “Para el hostel? Venga.” Gratefully we clamber into the bed of the truck. Everything makes communicating hard, our broken Spanish, the cold wind, the jostling, wild ride. But we press our bodies against the side of the small vehicle and grin at our new companions.

It’s one of those sunny but cool post-rain days where all colors are more vibrant and saturated. I grip the side of the truck to keep from toppling over as our driver swerves around the muddy craters that pock the road. My fingers turn white and feel prickly at the tips from holding onto the cold metal. My sister’s hair whips across her face and sticks to her lips. Our eyes are watering. We learn about where to find some dinner in town.

The unknown for this trip came only in glimmers, but it presented the possibility of something more authentic and carefree. Hunkered down in the bed of the truck we witnessed a special slice of life that managed to escape from the rest. It escaped from reservations, from planning, and mostly from fear. It was Friday afternoon.