Great margaritas though.
Anyway, those are the border towns. But I went to a very different sort of border town in the summer of 2001, right before my freshman year in college, that I'd wager that .0001 of the population has been to. Probably less. It's a tiny little town called Boquillas in Chihuahuan desert.
Here's a picture of the thriving metropolis that is downtown Boquillas...
As a precursor, I'm going to tell you something you already know. From the ages of 18-24, I thought the greatest thing in life was to grab up a few friends and drank. Not drink. Drank. There's a difference between drink and drank that you may not know about.
Example: Let's go grab a drink.
Drank, on the other hand, is different. I could call you and say....
"Oh my gosh whozits...."
"It's been the (insert literally any word here) DAY EVER. Let's go drank!"
....which leads to
You understand.
Now, this takes place the summer after my senior year...and as such, I was ready to get to college and live it up like Animal House styles. However, an entire summer had to be spent prior to living the dream, and I spent most of mine in Alpine, Texas with my dad and step mother. My dad, at the time, was the editor for the Alpine Avalanche - the local paper. And it just so happened that there was a rather exciting story that he wanted to report on, but unfortunately didn't have the man power (ie, reporters). Or did he?
Eventually dad thought "Hey, why not send Mary? This will be a great life experience for her." Well, he was right. And when he broke mention of it to me, I was like "Oh I'm gonna get mah drank on, because I can. In Mexico you don't have to be 21 to drank." Actually, I'm pretty sure in this little patch of Mexico you don't even have to have started teething to drink. (of course I didn't ACTUALLY say this to him... because that would be a guarantee on being pulled from the project immediately)
Anyway, the story I would be working on, in my opinion, was nothing short of fabulous. A conservation biology (me) nerd's dream. Mexico had decided to set aside some land in the Chihuahuan desert to use as a wilderness preserve in order to restore the area to it's natural state. Flora, fauna. All would be kept in pristene condition in order to maintain the integrity of the indeginous majesty. The story would be full of exciting facts...and oh the photograph potential!
So two days before the dedication of the preserve, Christina (a bilingual Avalanche employee) and I loaded up in the company suburban (like.. a suburban ala 1990) and headed aft through Big Bend National Park to the border for Boquillas. On the way down, Christina filled me in on some deets.
1) The only place remotely close to where this dedication is taking place is Boquillas, which describes not only a small town, but rather an area of Mexico that is largely uninhabited.
2) Boquillas is a town of less than 100 and has no running water or electricity.
3) We'll be staying at an "American" bed and breakfast that has access to natural hot springs for bathing. I put American in quotes because it this place was run by expatriates and because usually American implies 'safe' in other countries as well. This is what I assumed she meant.
When we arrived at the border, we had to cross the Rio Grande. This is how we were transported:
Then, we got to the B&B. Bed and Breakfast was a very... complimentary way of describing this place. Or at least my experience of it. For starters, because the town had no phone lines (or cell service) you couldn't call to make a reservation. And of course, due to the dedication, the place was full. This translated to me and Christina having to sleep on cots on their screened in porch. I don't think I need to remind you that this was the middle of summer...in a Mexican desert...
The next morning we woke up and bathe in the hot springs. Thank GOD no one was there but us. Then, we treked out into the desert with the other folks attending the dedication via 1970s SUVs. If the cars had broken down, I swear I'd just be a pile of bones being used as a perch by buzzards. But finally, after an hour and a half of travel in the blinding white scorching sands, we arrived and...
IT WAS AWESOME.
There were all sorts of dignitaries, biologists, Mexico City socialites and the like. I felt very under-dressed, but suddenly all of that melted away when I saw about ten troughs full of corona. I excused myself post haste from Christina and raided the troughs. Then, I set out with my camera. In the misty haze of fabulous Mexican beer, I found many things to photograph. OH LOOK (said I) A SPIDER'S WEB! NeVer hAAAve EYE seeeen SuCh a glorious MajEstic Web!! AND LOOOOOOOK tHiS yucCa! Nature thou arT FuLLLl of SpLenDOR!
Midway through my photographic reverie, Christina tracked me down because the dedication was beginning. I giggled the whole way through because the translator, I kid you not, sounded exactly like Cheech Marin.
THEN - ADVENTURE TIME!!!!!!!! Helicopter tours, front-mounted seating range rover tours.... we had a grand old time. I felt like I was in Mexican Jurassic Park!
...and I slept the whole way back to Boquillas.
The next morning, a lovely Sunday morning, we prepared to depart for Alpine. Again whe hit the hot springs. Then? We hit the bar while the town's church service was being announced over the town's loud speaker - a giant speaker mounted on a pole. (you know, in case you were working... or drinking... (which I guess is pretty common for Boquillians) you could hear the service.) Yay!
This is where Christina introduced me to the wondrous world of Mezcal. Here's some history on Mezcal:
Mezcal, or mescal, is a distilled alcoholic beverage made from the maguey plant (a form of agave, Agave americana) native to Mexico. The word mezcal comes from Nahuatl melt and ixcalli which both mean 'oven cooked agave.'
The maguey grows in many parts of Mexico, though most mezcal is made in Oaxaca. There is a saying attributed to Oaxaca regarding the drink: "para todo mal, mezcal, y para todo bien también" (for everything bad, mezcal, and for everything good, too.)
Despite the similar name, mezcal does not contain mescaline or other psychedelic substances.
And oh yeah. It has a worm in it.
The worm: It is a misconception that some tequilas contain a 'worm' in the bottle. Only certain mezcals, usually from the state of Oaxaca, are ever sold con gusano, and that only began as a marketing gimmick in the 1940s. The worm is actually the larval form of the moth Hypopta agavis that lives on the agave plant. Finding one in the plant during processing indicates an infestation and, correspondingly, a lower quality product. However this misconception continues, and even with all the effort and marketing to represent tequila as a premium—similar to the way cognac is viewed in relation to brandy—there are some opportunist producers for the shooters-and-fun market who blur these boundaries.
Recently a company had the idea to put a scorpion in the bottle instead of the traditional worm. They do not recommend eating the scorpion, but the stingers are removed for those willing to try.
No thanks. The worm was enough!
Christina handled the stuff like a well-oiled machine... but after two shots of worm tequila, I was toast. I didn't even want to make the 15 minute walk back to the lovely canoe awaiting us at the Rio Grande. So Christina, forlorn and no doubt very frustrated, found an alternative option to waiting. She left the bar for a quarter of an hour, and came back gesturing for me to step outside. When I went outside, I found my chariot awaiting...
That's right. Christina hauled my ass back to the Rio Grande on a donkey.
...then we crossed the river....
Once we reached our 'burb, I reclined my seat to the lovely white noise of Christina repeating the phrase "don't tell your dad" about a hundred times. And once again, I slept the whole way back.
I wish I had a copy of the story Christina and I wrote for the Avalanche about the trip, but unfortunately I don't. And apparently the Avalanche doesn't keep stories dating back to 2001 on their website. Needless to say, quite a bit was omitted.... but I know in my heart of hearts that it was a GLORIOUS story based in fact with a few patches sewn in to cover spots where our memories were slightly fuzzy... or our handwriting was too difficult, even for us, to read.
You may be like "hey, that sounds... pretty dangerous actually...."
Yeah, well, you have no idea. I left out the part that the Mexican Militia was out, in great numbers, everywhere we went. EVERYWHERE! And one militia man told me "Maria, you are the most beautiful Maria...I have evah seen." (you have to say that in an Antonio Banderas accent)
But you know what? Keep calm and carry on. And then judge. And then embrace.
