Saturday morning 2/11/2006

Market Day

It's our last day in Mexico. Before exiting, however, we decide to try one last adventure: the downtown market! Perhaps we will find some of the beautiful Mexican crafts of which we've heard but nowhere yet seen.

Soon we're back near the Gran Plaza. Since we now know the area well, the driving is easy...especially since the Saturday morning traffic is no more than a fourth of last night's. A public parking deck comes up just where we need it, and we take a spot. It's a good thing we went to the caves yesterday; the temperature has dropped at least 30 degrees overnight and a stiff north wind has us shivering despite our jackets. We ask God to guide us to anything he wants us to find, and help us not to spend wastefully. Bundling up, we start our walk down a street converted to an outdoor walking mall. We've seen ones this nice in California and England.

It quickly becomes obvious that we've hit the most expensive place in town. Instead of quaint crafts, the stores carry a wide variety of upscale American goods. Any Mexican items are of the same class, though slightly less expensive.

Look! There's some adorable confirmation outfits; dresses for little girls and suits for little boys. At around $30 US each, the deals are almost too tempting to pass up. You'd think that our willpower would be stronger since none of our churches practices confirmation. But that doesn't help our resistance at all. We picture our adorable grandkids Brennah, Maggie, and Benjamin decorated like Christmas presents with festive wrappings and bows. Only at the last minute do we succeed at reining ourselves in: we're buying a new house and that doesn’t leave a lot of mad money. In the old days the grandkids would have had their new duds within the week. I guess we've reformed a little. We move on.

At the second-to-last store on the street, I’m ready to give up and go back. But Debbie sees belt buckles in the window just beyond. She says this is what she’s been looking for. In we go.

The shopkeeper speaks surprisingly good English. Would we be interested in these silver buckles? How about those hand-sewn leather buckles…very special! Debbie spots a type of buckle she’s never seen before: silver figures on a dark-colored mottled surface. Very understated and classy as big buckles go, yet very eye-catching. What are they?

He explains that they are unique…perhaps only five people in Mexico still do this craft. They are made of silver inlaid over the horn of a bull. The craftsman of these particular ones lives in a little village (which he names, but I cannot remember) in the state of Jalisco. His distributor buys them for his store.

We try to negotiate, but it is after all the most expensive street in town. We take them for the asking price of $32. Debbie will use them later to make belts (she is very gifted at working with leather).

On the way back to the car we feel happy to have accomplished something. Our only regret is not bringing back gifts for everyone, but we agree we'll get those on a later trip when we have time fo find the markets used by ordinary Mexicans.

OK, we'll leave; just let us out of here

Time to leave Monterrey. We are on the south side of town, and the autopista to Laredo is directly above city center to the north. Naturally we figure you can get there going straight through the big streets between.

Wrong! Each major road goes a few blocks and then peters out. Time after time this forces us to jog east or west till we bump into another northward route. Finally we’re on the right road, which soon becomes the autopista. Olé!

In about an hour we pay our respects to Magna the bull. Two hours later we reach the road to the Columbia border crossing, an alternative to Laredo that is a half hour’s drive west. We take the exit. Twenty-five minutes later we turn off at the sign for the “Columbia III Internacionale.” In five minutes we pass a parking lot full of cars and approach a row of booths like those through which we entered Mexico.

Another wrinkle. A guard with a gun walks out and starts shaking his head. Without knowing what he’s saying, anyone can see what he means: We can’t cross here. Come on…we can see the American flag on the other side! Not happening.

He points us back from where we came, so we turn around and leave. “One, two, three, four,” he says (it seems all Mexicans can count in English!), and I see a series of sideroads behind us. Another car is just leaving the parking lot, so we follow. When he takes the fourth exit, we figure we're good for the next leg. Though we started early today, I'm beginning to worry again about being stuck on Mexican roads after dark.

A mile or so back we hit the road marked “Columbia Internacionale,”and head further west. At last, a right choice! In five minutes we’re at the border, parking and walking into Mexican customs.

This time there are almost no written directions in Spanish or English; just a room full of hispanic people who from their bored looks appear to have been there most of the day already. Uh-oh. Then a kindly older Mexican man sees our confusion, walks up, and asks Debbie in English what we want. “To turn in our car permit.” He points us to a window with a line only one person deep. I'm skeptical; what in Mexico could be that easy?

A minute later someone is speaking to us--I can't believe it--in English. “Wait just a moment, and I’ll come out and get your permit.” Out we walk and wait, really not that long. After a couple of other cars, he walks with us to ours. His bar-code scanner and a sophisticated handheld computer make quick work of it. He scrapes off the sticker...well, a little of it.

He then says I have to turn in our personal forms to migracion. I make small talk about my little mistake on the forms, and how it angered the border official. He looks at me with an expression like “do you have a secret death wish?” and says very seriously “you don’t ever want to anger a border official.” But he is still friendly. Looks like I've narrowly avoided another Mexican etiquette bomb.

On re-entering the building he points us to an unmarked 2’ wide slit in a wall leading to the correct office. I get the documents and our passports stamped, and we are on our way!

Back in our car we roll to the American side and are met by a US border patrol lady. “Do you have anything to declare?” she asks in a friendly voice. I say “the only things we’ve brought back are these two belt buckles, $32 each. Does that count?” “You just declared them” she says, as she methodically taps along the wall of Debbie’s door and a dog lingers nearby. We make a little more chitchat, and she waves us on: “Have a great day!” We’re back on American soil, and it's still daylight. A load lifts and we breath a lot easier.

The final border stop is a customs check another fifteen minutes into the US. Ramshackle and a little reminiscent of Mexico, a travel trailer is sitting in the median beneath a metal carport roof. A handful of agents are standing around, all armed. One walks up to the car in front of us, while another walks up to us. “Bringing in any fruits, etc. etc.?” he asks in a friendly but no-nonsense way. “No, officer.” “Where have you been?” “Monterrey.” “Did you eat any goat?” “Yes.” “At the El Ray Del Cabrito?” Does everyone in the Western hemisphere besides ourselves already know about this place?

One more night in San Antonio, and the next afternoon we are home in Fort Worth. We have already begun working on our plans for another Mexican adventure…  ¶ 6:34 AM