joe's advice, juarez, fearless, percolator

October 9, 2008

Day Eighteen

"The guy who takes a chance, who walks the line between the known and the unknown, who is unafraid of failure, will succeed.
- Gordon Parks -

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We slept late, and when I woke up I stayed in bed and blogged for a while. Last night we decided to take a day off and explore Juarez.

Downstairs at the desk, we paid for another night and talked to Joe, the Manager. He was big and round, and reminded me of Wilfred Brimley. When he learned Klaus was German, he switched languages and they spoke for a minute or so, I think just because he could. Joe was really helpful with our plans to go to Juarez, and gave us a map of the city.

He then put his palms flat on the counter, leaned forward, and looked each of us in the eye as if we were about to receive the most important information of our lives. “I'll keep it simple,” he stated matter-of-factly, “and only give you three pieces of advice.” Clearly, we were men of meager intelligence.

Pointing to a section on the map he stressed,

“Number one: Stay out of this area. It's for 'sportsmen,' and unless you want to get 'mated' you don't want to go there, if you know what I mean."

I had an idea about what he meant, but didn't want clarification and instead just nodded solemnly.

“Number two: Don't get into a taxi - the taxi drivers are professional thieves.”

He ended his three-point lesson plan on navigating Juarez with,

“Number three: Don't eat food from the street vendors.” Apparently, the street vendors don't always practice the best hygiene during their food preparation. Think: diarrhea and/or hepatitis A.

We thanked him for the tips and Klaus asked him if he knew of a place to buy a map of the area where he wanted to pedal. Upon hearing Klaus was considering riding parallel to the Rio Grande on the Mexican side, he exclaimed, spittle practically spraying from his mouth (my paraphrase): "YOU'RE GONNA GET KILLED!!"

a dust-covered antique in the hotel lobby

We had lunch at the Big Bun, right next to the hotel.

After lunch, we made our way to the border. Crossing, no one asked us for any kind of identification... not a passport, not a driver's license, not even a library card or a tattoo of an American flag..... Nothing.

When Klaus asked if they needed to see his passport, the uniformed Border Patrol agent responded with a bored shoulder shrug and made a "pfffff" sound. "But what if I decide I want to stay there?" The officer looked like he'd rather be sitting on a lawn chair in his garage drinking a beer than having to answer such a difficult question and again just shrugged his shoulders.

There was a lot of foot traffic between the two cities. We walked over the Rio Grande river, which at that point was merely a small amount of brown water trickling over a thick concrete bed. Its concrete, graffiti-covered banks were topped by a gauntlet of wire fencing with enough razor wire to ensure no animal larger than a rodent was able to slip through. I felt like I was walking into a war zone, not another country.

Once across, at least every thirty seconds someone yelled at us, "Taxi?!?!? Taxi?!?!?" or "Do you want a taxi???" A couple of guys simply asked, "What do you want??" as if all my childhood fantasies were available right there in Juarez.

We laughed at a conversation we overheard. A guy was talking on a cellphone and said, "You don't need a prescription. I've got one."

It seemed like every fourth store was a pharmacy, probably because so many Americans come here to buy medications that are too expensive in the US, usually purchased for frivolous recreational use like cancer therapy.

We went into three or four bookstores looking for a more detailed map of the area where Klaus wants to bike, but no one had what we were looking for. In retrospect, when one of those guys yelled, "What do you want?!?" we should've responded with, "How about a detailed road map of the territory along the Rio Grande!" then maybe added "And reasonably-priced medications in America!" “And also world peace!”

Risking life and limb, we strayed off the main street but, not wanting to get "mated," didn't go into the area Joe had warned us about. Along one of the side streets we found a bike shop.

Some random pictures:

After some pleasant random exploring we stopped in La Nueva Central, a bakery. We ended up meeting the owner, Mynette, whose grandfather started the shop exactly fifty years ago. She was one of those people who genuinely loves what she does, and told us we needed to try one of the ojos de panchas (translation: “pancake eyes”). Her grandfather began making them when he started the shop, and several other bakeries have unsuccessfully tried to duplicate them.

Mynette was the only person who didn't think it was too dangerous for Klaus to ride along the border. She simply suggested that he ride in the daytime and use the toll road instead of the regular road. Outside, she also showed us where the authentic Mexican items were and where the Chinese knockoffs were.

We continued exploring, looking into windows and wandering into random shops. Klaus bought some pastries from a street vendor, breaking Joe's Rule Number Three. When the shops started repeating themselves it was time for a new adventure.

Most of you know me as mild-mannered Mark Bingham, the quiet introvert. However, even those of you who know me may not realize that…

I am Fearless.

It's true, I am without fear. What? Still unconvinced? Then, take a look at some of these facts:

I've been known to back all the way out of my driveway and into the street BEFORE putting on my seatbelt. Risky, yes, but that's just who I am.

I've had multiple tattoos…. Sure, they're the stick-on kind, BUT DO YOU REALIZE HOW DANGEROUS RED DYE #40 IS?!?!?!?

I bicycled without a helmet, IN COOL WEATHER. Yes, it was only once and, well... okay, it was on a stationary bike…. BUT… my head was just as far away from the ground as if I’d been moving!

Yep, Mark “Livin' on the Edge” Bingham.

And now, afraid of nothing, I stroll into Juarez, literally the world's most dangerous city. I search, and eventually find, a Mexican man with a very sharp knife. I look him straight in the eyes, and say,

“Let's do this.”

I’ll jump to the end of the story and tell you that by the time we were done I was on my back, and he was holding the knife over my throat.

And yet, here I am writing about it.

That's right.... I finally got that haircut. And a shave with a straight razor.

Yes, I got a haircut and a shave in Juarez. This is what a $3.00 haircut and shave looks like. Although I’m not bald, I now have a combover.

Pure. Raw. Courage.

Mark… still alive, and still afraid of nothing

There were three prostitutes standing outside the barber shop when I left. I didn't even know they were prostitutes until, as we were leaving, Klaus told me he had been chatting with them. In fact, when I took a picture of the stripes on the building to signify it was a barber shop, I intentionally cut them out of the picture.

When glancing at some of the prices, I would sometimes do a double take.

We grabbed a bite to eat (not pizza) then headed back to the border. During the crossing, which was again surprisingly easy, Klaus openly explained that he'd like to stay in America for longer than ninety days, and was therefore hoping to go to Mexico for a few days so he could restart the ninety days upon his return. The Immigration Service official was unable to help him, and told him that he would need to be closer to the end of his visa to be able to do that. Unfortunately, by that time he'll be in Alabama or Florida and no longer close to the Mexican border.

Back in the States, we found The Percolator, a coffee shop with one very old, very slow computer where I spent a frustrating two hours uploading a few pictures. My posts are all on my pocket PC but I couldn't get a wireless connection so was unable to post anything.

We had heard that the Mexican food downtown wasn't very good because it's all owned by Chinese people. So, on the way back to the hostel we stopped at a Chinese food place. From the way it tasted, I would've guessed it was owned by some Mexican people.

I did some laundry, while Klaus mulled over his options. At 10:00 he decided to ride in the US instead of Mexico.

For the second night in a row, we fell asleep as the music, cigarette smoke, and conversation drifted through our second-story window.

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distance: 0 miles

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