Meeting Mechanics In Mexico

“I’m A Driver. I’m A Winner. Things Are Gonna Change. I Can Feel It.” - Beck

Ah cities - The smell of open sewers and unregulated car exhaust. That taste in your mouth is Third World overpopulation brought to you by our sponsors: poverty and poor urban planning.  And so I drove right thru Guadalajara. Turns out Steely Dan was correct: “Guadalajara won’t do”. My next stop was San Miguel El Alto.

Looking thru a church in Mascota

Then I hit a car. Those damn boxes love to clip things and these little streets were built for donkey carts in the 1500’s. I put a nice long gash in this man’s front quarter panel. I waited for the monetary gouge while his neighbor ran off to get him. Two men came into view. One bigger than the next. Come on, they don’t even make Mexican’s that big. Could my luck get any worse? Turns out the bigger of the two was the owner. He grimaced at me for a while in between glances at the damage. Then ushered me across the street to sit in the shade of a restaurant to discuss reparations. “De donde eres?” “California”. Long pause. His eyes diverted to the horizon. Lost in thought. 2 deep breaths and he was back. A slow encroaching smile. “Man do I miss California.” Turns out he lived in Costa Mesa for 10 years and thinks the Americans are the best people on earth. Could I get any luckier! I hit his car, and he ends up buying me dinner and drinks (it was his restaurant he sat me in). He refused any compensation and helped me find a flat safe spot to park for the night. I befriended his son-in-law and gave him 2 expensive bottles of Don Julio for him to hand over once I was gone the next day.

Thank You Sir, May I Have Another

I killed the fridge in Guanajuato. It’s an ammonia fridge and it dies a quick death when you run it on an incline. I didn’t know that. It should be the first thing everyone should tell you when you buy one of these campers. I’ve since made it my mission to tell everyone I meet and I’m surprised that to date, no one knew the damage they could inflict.

Here are some pictures of Guanajuato. I think it might be one of my favorite places ever. You look at these while I try to forget that I’ve lost my ability to cool my food and drink without ice. It can’t be fixed. Only replaced and not only can’t you find one in Mexico I would never know how to install it anyway. There is no RV industry here and there won’t be as I head south. We live with our mistakes.

What I've been reduced to 

There is an enormous subterranean aspect to this city

Teotihuacan

Teotihuacan. Every letter gets pronounced, like you are at a Tahitian spelling bee. It was an overcast morning and I had decided to walk. After 3 kms on an exhaust choked road I rounded the bend and there it was: the 3^rd largest pyramid in the world. I’m glad I walked. It helped build the drama.

Then it was time to have the mount for my airbag repaired before I destroyed my over weighted suspension. Isn’t this fun? When in Teotihuacan, don’t ever use a mechanic named Chancho.

Sick Of Reading About The Road Conditions Yet? Yea, Me Too.

The dappled sunlight thru the jungle leaves is like camouflage for speed bumps. There is no way you can see these unpainted bastards. They got me again. I was on the road to Palenque. I immediately pulled over at the first clearing and realized I was in the driveway of a mechanics shop. I had previously promised myself that if I cracked the weld one more time I was going to cut them off forever. “Amigo – tu quitar estas cajas por gratis y tu puedes tener por gratis. Justo?”. He thought that was fair. I came back 2 days later and he paired me up with my buddy for the day. (I have no idea why the formatting has changed. I am about done with these goddamn blogs. If you only knew how many hours of frustration I have put into this)

Free. Free at last.

See how low they are hanging?

The first name he gave me was unrecognizable and unpronounceable with my tongue. I’m guessing if it could be spelled it would start with an “X” and then a “T”. These little Mayans have my full respect. He quickly changed it to William when he heard me struggling. We shared the grinding duties. I harangued him about refusing to wear eye protection. When Elsie was finally free of the boxes we further bonded over a beer sitting in front of the tienda sharing a parking block for a seat. While covered in dirt and sweat we silently watched some other guys shovel rocks. Men.

Look Ma - no boxes

Storage Units

Does your country have storage units that individuals can rent? Mine does. If yours does too, congrats, you probably live in the First World. Those boxes I cut off the back of Elsie were a great lesson in how to be less of a First Worlder. We have so much crap that we have to rent storage units, which are just additional remote boxes that hold the stuff that we can’t fit in our homes. Isn’t that a little embarrassing? And that stuff that we put in storage is so meaningless that we can stick it in a box miles from us and look at it once a year but still we pay to horde it and go on collecting more. I had so much stuff that I was sure I couldn’t live without that I had 2 extra boxes welded onto my class 5 hitch. That was 2 months of work, $4,000 and lots of energy down the drain. Let’s face it; I only exist to create stupid stories for you to read about.

Palenque

Howler monkeys sound exactly like the monster from your worst nightmare. And when do they scream? All night long, when you are having your nightmares. The next day you can go to pyramids and walk back in time.

Merida

More truck work. Gets boring. But at least it’s a lot easier to separate the camper from the truck without the boxes.

Izamal / One-Up-Man-Ship

It looks like a perfect example of jealousy building. The Spaniards showed up on the scene in the 1500s and must have been impressed by these pyramids. Of course they had to top them. Literally. They disassembled the pyramid except for the base and rebuilt the stones as a church. They did it all over Mexico.

Uxmal

It took hundreds of years to build these things and I’m sure that during the laboring the men who built them must have known that they would stand for many millenniums. They are well over a thousand years old now and they haven’t even approached their “half-life”.

The Skin Gets Thick, And Yet, The Callouses Have Disappeared

We stop reaching out. We trim our own branches. Don’t do that. Stop excising adventure from your lives. Those scars are stories. Comfort is dangerous.

You owe it to yourself to challenge the man you think you might be. I’ll wager that you are capable of far more than you might admit. You’re a goddamn hero. I’ll bet you can wring more out of this rag called life.  Just push yourself. Ask a little bit more, and the payoffs you’ll reap in those milliseconds, are worth lifetimes.

Your man on point,

Bobby Freedom

The Cruel Roads of Mexico

4 Months in Mexico

You never want to drive at night in Mexico. Never. Just accept that and don’t make me go into a full chapter on how to scare my mom. Having adopted that as a maxim, I always start before noon. About 5 hours of driving Elsie on the roads of Mexico is all one can stand. It’s exhausting. No one would ever call driving a Ford F 250 with an oversized cab over camper plus these 2 ridiculous boxes (they add 3 feet of length and love to clip buildings and cars and anything else that is in my “turning radius of destruction”); RELAXING. 

The Mexican driving experience is an exercise in non-stop vigilance. I am constantly scanning for pot holes, low hanging wires or trees, other drivers, “whoopty-doos” and topes (Speed bumps. They love to keep them unpainted so the suspension expert in town can feed his family). At the end of my 5 hours my neck is killing me and my eyes are about to bleed. I don’t think I even blink. My range is about 150 miles per day. Bad things happen when I drive over 30 mph. The roads are so bad that my reaction time isn't safe over 30 mph. Stupid huh? 5 hours at 30 mph = a range of 150 miles.

The Toothpick of Destiny

I have a toothpick that fits the scale of my map perfectly and I roll it around looking for my next town. Yea, I'm complaining, But I can take it. I've got plenty of time and I like the challenge.

Borracho means drunk

I like almost everything about Mexico. Almost everything. I do take issue with their lack of sensitivity to peace and quiet. Trucks drive around all day blasting pre-taped sales pitches from loud speakers on the cab rooftop. Purified water, or seafood, or propane - It’s nice that they still make home delivers for nearly everything, but it can get irritating. In Indo it was the mosques with the loud speakers. Here it’s the churches with their early bells. Both will wake you before 6am. Religion is bad for my sleep. And then there is Norteno. Do you know what Norteno music is? – It’s the 3^rd worst music in the world behind Gamelan of Bali and anything you hear in Viet Nam. It abuses an accordion and a tuba. Click here for the 3rd Worst Music In The World Sounds like German Oom-pa-pa, but even more ridiculous. I keep waiting for the clown with the huge shoes to appear and start blowing up balloons. It’s unbearable. Even if you like riding carousels with calliope music this Mexican polka crap is a crime against humanity, which is made even worse by their blown out speakers turned up to 11.  But that’s it. I’m only complaining about the auditory assaults. I like everything else.

Except the roads.

If I reported only the pleasantries you would quickly flush me out as a fraud. Please know that although there are plenty of gorgeous sunsets with warm water lapping at my toes and a cold drink in my hand, I pay for these memories with hard miles, ripped knuckles and lots of back aches from crawling under Elsie.

Goodbye Sayulita

I caught an epic right, just as twilight bullied its way into the blackened blue of day. I rode it all the way to the sand. It was a perfect dismount - highest life form at the beach. Some days, if I packed my headlamp in my beach chair, I’d stay well past the sun drowning in Old Salty and I’d read my book knowing that I’d lived another perfect day.

Sayulita has everything going for it. Surprisingly, its saving grace is probably the dirt and the dust. It’s a beach frontier town wallowing in its final years before the death throes of gentrification. Once it gets vacuumed out and hermetically sealed its soul will die and you’ll pass it by just like Mazatlán.

David and Carrie

Chris and Ingy

I left the rig in the Placentia’s driveway and flew back to California for 18 days to attend the weddings of my friends Chris Miller and David Leppert. I was fortunate enough that they were on back to back Saturdays.

Leveling is always an issue

I got back to Sayulita, and Elsie on June 16^th and my buddy and neighbor from S’Mish; Nate Ihm, flew down for a visit 3 days later. We surfed and drank. It was a great ending to my time in Sayulita as it made me appreciate it anew through his first time eyes. 

Check out the hats! What a guy....

I Got Some Air On That One!

Nate and I left Sayulita on June 23^rd. I launched the truck on the road to Punta Mita. There is almost no engineering to their highways. Speed bumps are hidden and the “whoopty doos” they build into a freeway would be hilarious if only it would happen to you instead of me. I scream in anger and lose days and lots of money. I bucked the whole camper off its pallet that it is supposed to sit on in the bed of my truck. Giant problem. I couldn’t fix it for a week.

The Crack

Nate flew out that day and I contracted with a welder in La Cruz to fix a crack that was threatening to rip my hitch in half.

Half ass welders

My work started at 7:30 the next morning.

It would have been impossible to have packed more dirt under my fingernails. There wasn’t one square inch of my clothing that wasn’t drenched with sweat and sticking to my body. It was both 95 in temp and humidity. I had sped past exhaustion an hour before and it was only 2pm. I had another 7 hours of work. We got it done but it was a crap job completed with incorrect tools and every shortcut taken when I looked the other way. The reprieve from this horrible day was the coldest shower I could get (not that cold) and a couple hours in my air conditioned rig. Saved. I was revived enough to fight another day.

I Don’t Particularly Care for Puerto Vallarta

That' s the "Happi-Jack" extended on the cinder block

I left La Cruz, drove the 30 minutes into Puerto Vallarta, stocked up on groceries, propane, and tools at Home Depot, and parked Elsie at a deserted rv park near the beach. I had an electrical problem with the “Happi-Jacks” that lift the camper. I hired a rip-off artist named Abraham. He ripped me off but I learned something and the “Happi-Jacks” barely work again.

Then I got sick. Nothing new. It was the #1 killer in the Middle Ages but Cipro saved me from disappearing, and though I lost a week, I am now just fine.

Arturo And His Angels

Once I got my strength back it was time to re-position the camper correctly on the pallet in the bed of the truck. I had spotted a Goodyear tire shop on the way to the rv park. I walked back to it and explained my plan to Arturo the manager. It was quite ambitious and required me plus 3 men separating the camper from the truck and then lifting and shoving the 9000 lb truck in order to re-seat the camper. After 2 attempts we got it done.

Arturo's Angels Saved Me

Changing Course

“That ocean is an awesome giant -- and the beach makes a wonderful curb.” – Jere Mae Friedman (AKA: The Momma). 

When I was a sailor, I used to say: “keep the land on my left.” Now I say: “keep the water on my right.”

My original plan was to take highway 200 all the way down to Hualtuco. That's the coastal road that takes one from beach town to resort mecca to surf pueblo. However, I was warned about dangers in the states of Michoacán and Guerrero. The real clincher was the heat. It's atrociously hot at sea level and I had just done 3 months at the beach surfing. After some further research I changed plans and decided to head to altitude and culture. I’m glad I did. I’m writing this from Guanajuato, but I’ll save this place for the next dispatch.

On the Road Again

The nice thing about sitting still is you learn all the strong wifi spots, where the clean toilets are, the best restaurants and how to play that wave like a local. What sitting still lacks is the daily new sensation of exploration and adventure.

It feels good to hit the road again: July 2nd – PV, July 3rd - Mascota, July 5^th - San Miguel El Alto, July 6^th – Guanajuato. That windshield is like a big movie screen. I love watching the landscape unfold before me. I can do the miles. They aren’t easy, but I just eat ‘em up.

In Summation 

I’m not mastering my surroundings. That was the colonial mentality of 400 years ago. I’m not assimilating either. Yea, I’m darker, I move slower, and I siesta, but I’m conscious enough to realize that I will always be an outsider. I’m okay with that. I’m trying to live in some semblance of harmony with my host country, while soaking up the cultural differences that make travel wonderful. It’s working. I've made a commitment to inconvenience and hardship, but it's worth it. 

Your man on point,

Blacktop Bobby

Stationary in a Seaside Mexican Surf Village

SWEET and SOUR

Drinking vodka straight, just felt a little too Slavic. I splashed in Midori to change the color and throw a blanket over the bitter taste of chemical potatoes. Then it was too sweet, so I crushed in a lime. Life is a balancing act. And so began my new chapter, and life in Sayulita, Mexico. One dominated by surfing and drinking, yet going to school 5 days a week. Sweet and sour was the drink that I celebrated with when I parked my rig for the next 3 months in a stranger’s driveway.

My 5' 10" Mini Simmons

LA CRUZ HUANACAXTLE

True to my promise after bidding bon voyage to Dan and Ashley of S/V Coyote fame (they made it safely across the largest expanse of saltwater on the planet and are now in the Marquesas Islands) I drove the few miles to La Cruz.

I stayed a week and watched the carnival roll into town to help the locals celebrate Semana Santa. These gypsies in the jalopy that I parked next to in the plaza lifted the manhole in the sidewalk, disappeared into the sewer below and reemerged with a live electrical cable that they spliced into, and voila, they had power. I watched another man climb a telephone pole and do the same trick. It was ingenious, but dangerous. I guess the cops look the other way so their kids can enjoy the merry-go–round.

SAYULITA

A friend invited me to dinner just 20 minutes away at another beach town. The minute I drove into Sayulita I knew I would be leaving La Cruz as soon as possible. There are places around the globe that are immediate magnets for expats. Examples include Chiang Mai in northern Thailand, Bali in Indonesia, Da Nang in Vietnam, to name just 3. But if you look a little closer; Pai just north of Chang Mai, Limbongan just east of Bali, and Hoi An near Danang All beat their neighbors easily. Why? They have infrastructure without being ruined by resort or big city mentality. They’ve achieved the critical mass of foreign visitors, that it takes to attract investment to build further infrastructure; to attract more westerners. This eventually cycles into an unattractive ruination of the place, but if you can catch it after they bring in an espresso machine and get out before the “all inclusive” is built, it’s a traveler’s sanctuary. Compare Zihuatanejo to Ixtapa. They are so close they share the same airport but once the 30 foot building rule is deleted from the law books the town gets ruined by the corporate resorts. But until then – they are wonderful because I can get reuben sandwiches and there are white chicks traveling there without boyfriends. My friend and classmate Jan, who has been coming here for 10 years says Sayulita is going to be ruined soon. He knows this because this is the first year he’s seen women walking with baby strollers. An ominous portend of doom. “Too much infrastructure and the clientele changes”. But this year – I rejoice.

MOVING TO MY NEW TOWN

I took the bus to Sayulita from La Cruz and spent 4 hours searching for a place to park Elsie. I could have gone to the rv park but I dislike rv parks and this one cost $28 per night. My requirements are pretty simple: flat, shady, affordable, and within walking distance to the sea. I came up empty handed. My new friend Ricardo who owns a restaurant offered to call his friend and help me find a place. Cristobal drove me all around and introduced me to different people until I found a family that for only 500 pesos a week ($33, or $4.75 per night) would allow me to park on their property.

Included in my low price rent was water, sewage hook up and most importantly; electricity. For the first week their 20 amp breaker would pop when I turned on my air conditioning if theirs was already running. I paid to upgrade their electrical panel and gave them some extra money to offset their electric bill increase and now I have unlimited air con. Life quality soaring. I know my European friends will mock this. Smirk all you want. You’re a Luddite and I also unapologetically enjoy ice cubes.

MY EPIPHANY

Until I can proficiently speak Spanish I am relegated to speaking only with English speakers. That one fact will brand me an eternal tourist for my entire 3 year journey. That can’t happen. One of the pillars that I stood my reasoning on for choosing this trip is the following: Nowhere else in the world can one cover so much land with only one language. Mexico, Central America, and all of South America (except Brazil and the Guyanas) speak Spanish. That’s 380 million people. The truth is, you can’t really penetrate a culture unless you speak the language. I currently speak Tarzan Spanish, and I no longer find that acceptable. I want real meaningful conversations in Spanish, and I will have it. I have enrolled myself in the language course here in Sayulita. 5 days a week I report to class and most weeks I do private lessons with my teacher Erika after our classes are over.  My world is now overrun with direct and indirect object pronouns which are incredibly difficult. The reflexive pronouns and imperfect tenses scramble my brains, and the “la and “el” guessing game is a spirit breaker.  One morning I caught myself thinking: "I didn't drink last night & I ate a good breakfast this morning so I have no reason to believe it is ever going to get easier." I get so frustrated with Spanish that I want to go in search of a Spaniard & punch him in the face. Then I realize I should really go in search of a Brit and punch him in the face for not doing a better job of dominating the new world. I believe I have earned my USA tattoo with those last 2 sentences.

I’ve constructed the dialogue that I believe occurred during the formalizing of the Spanish language. I will now translate it into English for you:

“No! That’s too easy. Let’s make them work for it. What if we assign genders to each word at random so they have to memorize one more thing?”

“Oh that’s good. I like that. And we can also add accent marks to change the meanings. At first glance it will look like a word you know but the barely visible dash that we can hide in the dot of the letter “i” can change it.”

“That is devious. I love it! Let’s also have 6 different ways to say each verb and let’s make some regular and some irregular conjugations so that just when they think they see a pattern we can dash their hope.”

“Perfect. You are good at this Don Francisco. Maybe we should also make some unpronounceable words like: “caminabamos”, or “estacionamiento”, or “arriesgarse”, or “desperdiciar”, or my current favorite: “tortilleria”

“Yes! That is smart. I think we have done good work here today. My final thought is to also add one more layer of difficulty by making a familiar & a formal version of the language based on with whom one is speaking”

“Brilliant. That should inspire the will to quit!”

SPEAKING OF TORTILLERIAS

Tortillas are so important in this culture that I walk past 3 tortillerias every day. In the morning I get up before the sun to go exercise or surf and they are the only places that are open. “Time to make the tortillas”. Is it the perfect food? It’s a wrapper, it’s a chip, it’s heavy in calories, it’s delicious. It’s the tortilla. It’s the foundation of Mexican cuisine. Never forsake the tortilla.

I STUCK MYSELF IN A RUT, AND I LOVE IT

It’s nice to build a routine. I surf every day. I’ll do dawn patrol at daybreak for a week and then switch to sunset the next week. It's the only way to beat the crowds. During my morning surfs, I tuck 200 pesos in my leash pocket and spend it at breakfast while soaking wet just after I get out of the water. Lifestyle. The sea is my hair stylist. I never wash the salt out. Debutants in New York City are paying top dollar for salt additives to make their hair fuller. Mines free and I wear it all day. 

The mornings are cool until about 10. You can be in full sun until then. If you hide in the shade you can extend that till 11. I get out of class at 13:00 and it’s scorching. I quickly seek relief in the air conditioning of my rig. I call it “Mandatory Siesta”. I set it to the warmest setting and it gets so cold I have to put a hoody on or get under the covers. I’ll nap, read, write, watch a movie or study Spanish. These hot climate people have it figured out. Why fight it? Once the shadows get a little longer and the day begins to cool I venture back out. My afternoons usually look something like this: More surfing, chores, a Spanish intercambio with the jewelry sales force and a nice meal with some cold beers. The sun doesn’t set until 8:30. I’m usually in bed by 11 ready to fight Spanish again the next day. She has bloodied me and blackened my eyes but I can see that the rounds are slowly turning in my favor. I will persevere.  

IN CONCLUSION:

Spanish is a bitch but I will own her. Reuben sandos good. Baby strollers bad. Sweet and sour is the flavor of life. Balance your act, and drink it in.

Salud!

Bobby (Freedom Machine) Friedman

P.S. / I’ll be back in California for 2 weddings from May 28^th to June 16th