Day Eighteen: juarez, fearless, percolator

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. He spoke to Klaus in German 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.

“I'll keep it simple,” he stated, “and only give you three pieces of advice.”

Pointing to a section on the map he said, “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." He looked across the counter at us and I could see there was more meaning behind the words than he was willing to explain. And more than I wanted to know.

“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 the food preparation.

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 told him (my paraphrase): "YOU'RE GONNA GET KILLED!!"

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

From mark on a bike 08

After lunch, we made our way to the border, a short ten-minute walk from the hostel. Crossing into Mexico, no one asked us for our ID - nothing. Klaus asked if they needed to see it, and the guy just shrugged his shoulders. "But what if I decide I want to stay there?" Again, the guy just shrugged his shoulders and continued to look bored.

There was a lot of foot traffic between the two cities. The Rio Grande, which translates as The Great River, was a tiny trickle of dirty water so narrow you could step over it. It was lined with a thick concrete bed and graffiti-covered concrete banks, and flanked by a gauntlet of several tall chain-link fences topped with razor wire. Crossing it gave me the feeling I was walking into another country.

Odd, I never could figure out why I had that feeling.

Once across, about every thirty seconds we had someone asking us if we wanted a taxi. A couple of times a guy would simply ask, "What do you want?" As if anything in the world is available in Juarez. I don't know... maybe it is.

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. I know a lot of Americans come here to buy medications that are more expensive in the US.

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. Looking back, maybe we should've asked one of those guys who yelled, "What do you want?" "A detailed road map of the territory along the Rio Grande!"

We strayed off the main street, risking life and limb, but didn't go into the area that Joe warned us about. Along one of the side streets we found a bike shop:

From mark on a bike 08

Some random pictures:

From mark on a bike 08

From mark on a bike 08

From mark on a bike 08

After some wandering around 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. Her grandfather began making them when he started and several other bakeries have unsuccessfully tried to duplicate them.

From mark on a bike 08

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 stuff was.

As we walked around, Klaus bought some pastries from a street vendor.

From mark on a bike 08

<><><><><><><>

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

I am Fearless.

Yes, 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 #37 is?

I bicycled without a helmet, IN COOL WEATHER. Once.

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

And now, afraid of nothing, I stroll into the world's most dangerous city. I look around and find a Mexican man with a very sharp knife, look him in the eye and say, “Give me you best shot.” And yet, here I am writing about it.

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

From mark on a bike 08

From mark on a bike 08

Yes, I got a haircut and a shave in Juarez. This is what a $3.00 haircut and shave costs. Now I have a combover.

Pure, raw courage.

From mark on a bike 08

There were three prostitutes standing outside the barber shop when I left. I didn't ever 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.

From mark on a bike 08

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

From mark on a bike 08

We grabbed a bite to eat (not pizza) then headed back to the border. During the crossing, which was surprisingly easy, Klaus openly explained what he was trying to do. The Immigration Service 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. Of course, by that time he'll be in Alabama or Florida and not close to the Mexican border.

Back in the States, we found The Percolator, a coffee shop with one very old, very slow computer. If you bought something you could use it for free. I spent a frustrating two hours uploading a few pictures. My posts are all stored on my pocket PC but I couldn't get a wireless connection and was therefore unable to transfer them to the blog.

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 looked at maps and 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 in through our second-story window.

0 miles