The following is a recap of Day Seven of our surfboard run from Houston, Texas to Sayulita, Mexico. If you missed Day Six you can catch up on that here.
We kept a fire going all night long and stayed nice and toasty under our wool blankets. In the morning we got a tour of the rest of the property from one of the employees. Simon and his two children walked us down to the rope bridge, which Kevin had told us about in our previous visit. This time, we had a demonstration. Simon carefully climbed on the rope to show us how it was done… slowly working his way across the water and to the other shore. It looked very challenging, and Simon clearly did not expect any of us to even attempt it, but Edgar decided to give it a try.
No one else was feeling strong enough to jump at that challenge, so we thanked Simon and packed up our rig to head down the road for a tank of gas and a bite to eat.
Breakfast!
Edgar and Marie had tacos from a roadside stand, while I visited the horses in a nearby field. My stomach wasn’t quite ready for tacos, but I am always ready for a little neck scratching. Our morning complete, we headed on to Monterrey. The traffic in this city is ridiculous! It took some fancy navigating and map searching, but we finally found a hotel at a reasonable rate and checked in. We thought we’d order pizza instead of venturing out again, but didn’t think our limited Spanish vocabulary would cut it over the phone. We went back to the desk to ask the clerk for help. She was happy to call it in, and we enjoyed the veggie and meat lovers options.
We brought the leftovers to our new friend at the desk.
Our road trip across Mexico was nearly complete. Day eight would see us head for the border crossing, where all manner of items are on sale, from sombreros to Virgin Marys, and on to a new project on the gulf.
The following is a recap of Day Six of our surfboard run from Houston, Texas to Sayulita, Mexico. If you missed Day Five you can catch up on that here.
Marie and I had good yoga intentions, but I was up all night with some wicked food poisoning and finally got some sleep around 6am. Marie accompanied Edgar to the beach instead while I rested. After the morning surf session we met back up for coffee at Chocobanana, a Sayulita staple. The tables were busy and a local musician entertained everyone with a few Coldplay and Pearl Jam tunes.
Actual musician not pictured, but I bet these two are phenomenal.
It was time to hit the road for the long drive home, so we returned the board Edgar had been using, back to Casa Aves. The drive back toward El Salto was peppered with multiple tolls, some official and some not, and we repeatedly dug into our cuota stash, tucked into a plastic cup in the console.
Here’s another interesting thing about the Mexican roads: vehicles pass in the middle. Really. In a lot of spots, there are two lanes, one in each direction, and huge trucks will pass in the middle. This is as normal as getting leche in your coffee. Other drivers will do their best to scoot over and let them by.
One of my favorite things to do on road trips is to try the local snacks, so wherever we stopped we purchased a few things with little knowledge as to what they were. Most were very good…. and we snacked on candy, nuts, cookies and all sorts of things as we traveled.
We weren’t sure how the timing would work out, but it ended up just perfect for us to stop by to see Kevin again, and to rent one of his big cabins, which had all the comforts of home, including a kitchen and cozy fireplace. (Cabañas “El Arroyo del Agua” on Facebook.) He helped us gather firewood and we got enough to last the night. The temperature difference between the beach in Sayulita and the air up in the mountains was dramatic. We were grateful to see a large stack of wool blankets in each room.
Once we dropped off our things, we headed into the city to find a cash machine and a restaurant. The latter was no problem, but the cash was tricky. We finally spotted an ATM but it had a line outside. Sayulita folks are used to seeing Americans, but in this town, not so much. We drew some curious looks as we waited our turn, and then again when we entered a small family restaurant for a bite. The manager or owner’s kids were all helping to wait tables while doing homework, and they kept looking over and giggling at us. I felt like we were the talk of El Salto.
This super-sized Sprite tasted amazing.
Back at the cabin we settled in to do our own giggling at an Adam Sandler movie dubbed over in Spanish, and eventually turned in.
On day seven, it was time for the feats of strength! Who among us would be brave enough to try the bridge made of rope, and would they make it to the other side?
This is the story of our surfboard run down to Mexico. If you missed day one you can read about it here.
Our hotel had free breakfast, so we dined on biscuits, eggs, sausage and potatoes and then hit the road for the border. The line was long coming out of Mexico, but going in was a breeze. We cruised right through and were so pleased with our progress we missed the turn for car permits, a critical stop before going on into the country.
The turn was tricky. We knew we needed to be in the far left lane, but it appeared to have traffic going only in the other direction, away from the car permit place. We made the turn and found ourselves on the wrong path, headed to the checkpoint back into the United States, and right into the lanes jammed with traffic. A concrete wall was to our right, so we couldn’t swerve over into the appropriate lane. We slowed as we considered our options, and saw a man in a yellow vest motioning to us on the side of the road. Our official position is that Edgar and I don’t speak Spanish, but I must say I was considerably impressed when after a quick back and forth with the man Edgar said, “This guy will let us in for twenty bucks.” I did understand when the man shrugged in that “what can you do” sort of way, and explained it wasn’t his doing, it was the jefe. Uh huh.
We were in no mood to argue, having seen the line to go back into the states. We knew $20 was worth it, so we gladly paid our first mordida (“the bite” – i.e., everyone gets one) of the trip, and followed our new friend as he moved some orange barriers and let us cross an empty lot, and merge into the appropriate lane. The alleged “jefe” was a very quiet, older man, who didn’t give off the jefe vibe exactly, but hey, we were across, and headed to get our vehicle permit, so we got over it in a hurry.
The process of getting a car permit involves a number of steps, but if you plan ahead and have the right documents, you can follow the procedure and get it done. Part of that procedure is checking in when you leave the country, to cancel the permit. We had not done that when the Land Cruiser cruised on out of Mexico last year, so we were sent back outside, to go into another line to cancel our vehicle permit. Thankfully, that was a little drive-through area that came with no charge, and we ticked that box, peeled off our old sticker and got back in line. We showed our registration and title, and got our new sticker, good for 180 days in Mexico.
After a few minutes on the road, we had a need for a bathroom and a craving for a diet coke. Even though we knew better, we stopped at a gas station not too far from the border. As soon as we did, we were reminded why it’s not a good practice. A car pulled in next to us, and the passenger was making aggressive gestures before we even shut off the vehicle. He made an exaggerated motion to roll down the window. I didn’t see it at first, as I was busy counting out pesos for the diet coke. He made the motion again and Edgar gave him a hard look. The driver made a more gentle motion, and Edgar rolled down the window.
Passenger: (in English) “Where are you from?”
Edgar: “Where are YOU from?”
Passenger: “We’re from the cartel around here.”
It’s at this point that I made slow motion moves to slyly place the money I’d been counting under my seat.
I don’t know if you’re from the cartel, if you actually say you’re from the cartel, but clearly they had some sort of ill will in mind. Edgar didn’t say a word – just gave them another look like, “and..?” and the driver decided this wasn’t going to be worth the trouble. They tossed it in reverse and took off. A few seconds later we did the same. There was no sense sticking around at the border, when there were such nice places inside Mex to explore, and they were likely to have diet cokes as well.
We ticked off happy miles and not so happy tolls. You have two choices for most routes across Mexico: the toll road, or cuota, or the libre, the free road. The toll road has just that, tolls every so often. But it gets you to your destination a lot faster than the free road, and it’s better maintained, so if you’re not familiar with the area the toll road is the way to go. Just resign yourself to the fact that the tolls do add up. The amounts very from 30 to 270 pesos at each stop, so by the end of the trip we’d paid more than $200 USD in tolls.
Now, here’s another interesting note. Most of the toll plazas are manned by official-looking men and women in uniform, collecting a set amount listed on signs and digital displays. But in a few places, there are no uniformed staff, and the booth is manned by what appears to be locals from a nearby village. Dozens of people stand at the gate, and one is designated as the one to push out an orange barrel, usually on a rope, to stop the approaching vehicle. Another, usually a young girl, is enlisted to step forward and ask for the toll. The amount seemed a little arbitrary. At one stop the girl asked for cincuenta pesos – 50. When Edgar asked again how much, she said ciento – 100. He corrected her that she had just said 50, and she looked back at the group, unsure. An older man stepped forward and immediately showed off his conversational English, “What’s the problem, man?” Edgar explained there was a discrepancy with where we landed on the toll amount. He told the girl that 50 would be fine and we paid and went on our way.
More miles, more tolls. Beautiful country. We snacked on oranges from our pack, and offered some to the attendant when we got gas. All the gas stations are full service, so we learned and practiced the words for “fill it up!”
At one of the stops I had to visit the bano, and was about to let the attendant know they were out of toilet paper, when I remembered the fee. A lot of places charge you to use the restroom, and I found this contraption at the entrance. I gladly put in my 5 pesos and hurried back inside.
We made good time to Torreón so decided to push on to Durango. We arrived in town around 8pm, or what we thought was the town, but we more on the outskirts. We found a gated hotel and got checked in. The place next door served us a delicious meal of shrimp and boneless wings, and we saved room for an incredible apple crisp dessert. There were turtles at the restaurant, and I’m assuming they feed the turtles instead of feeding the turtles to guests, by the way they all swam over to me when I visited.
On day three we left Durango in search of El Salto, and the tales of a world-class bass fishing village. You don’t want to miss our efforts to communicate this to random gas station attendants and customers.
When I told my friends and coworkers I was going to vacation in Mexico, they nodded in an understanding way and asked, “Where in Mexico? Cancun?” Well, not exactly.
This was a vacation with a mission. A misscation. Edgar has some… let’s call them “extra” surfboards that he wanted to take to his rental house in Mexico, where guests could use them. The airline wanted $150 per board to fly them down there. We did the math and a new plan emerged… drive the boards down to Sayulita.
Houston to Sayulita is about 1,139 miles give or take, so about 21 hours of driving. That’s an average, but we were going to take Edgar’s 1992 Land Cruiser, and although it’s very reliable and roomy, it’s no speed demon. It’s a cruiser. We planned for three days down and three days back. We wanted our trip to be tranquillo, so we loosely planned out the stops without making a firm booking. After all, this wasn’t our first Mexico road trip. Edgar and I drove a baja bug down from California to Baja Mexico and across on the ferry to the mainland last year. (You can read about that journey here.) Edgar took his motorcycle down on one journey and back on another, and the Land Cruiser spent some time there over Thanksgiving a couple years ago. This wasn’t new territory, and what’s more, it sounded like fun to us, so we packed up a backpack each, and filled the rig with boards.
We left Houston on a Saturday morning, planning to spend the bulk of the day in Rockport, Texas, working on Edgar’s boat. He recently purchased a 40-foot trawler, and it’s been pulled out of the water for some TLC.
We spent a few hours working in the engine room and driving around town for parts. We paused for lunch at a place on the water serving chips and queso and oysters. (not combined) In the early evening, it was time to make our way to Laredo, which feels as much like Mexico as any city can, without the visit with the federal agents. We’ve done our research over the years, and always cross the border at daylight. We found a place to stay and a restaurant down the street. The order of mango habanerowings looked great, but when I took a bite I shot hot chicken habanero sauce directly into my eye, and it burned like fire. I had to rush to the restroom to rinse out my eyeball before I could get back to my meal.
After dinner we settled in for a good night’s sleep, our last one for a while on this side of the border.
On Day Two, we cross the border, hand out our first mordida of the trip, and run into a couple of dudes who claim they’re with the cartel.
Note: We’re celebrating our contributors with a double dose of fun today! If you’ve ever traveled with young ones in the car, you might think they’ve been coached by Jules, a young writer who knows just what (not) to do on a road trip with your family.
During a road trip:
Ask “How much longer?” right as the car starts. Repeat question every five minutes the entire trip or until threatened by parent. When your sibling says they’re hot, instantly state that you’re cold. Continually poke said sibling, and when they smack you, cry. Whine that you’re starving, and when your parents stop and get you food, take exactly one bite and proceed to drop the rest in the car. Remember to stash the trash in every available cup holder. Immediately afterwards, announce that you don’t feel good. Promptly roll the windows down on the highway. When the car is on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere, suddenly have to use the bathroom.
At night:
Have boundless energy. Bounce around, talk loudly, and kick the back of your mom’s seat. While your dad pumps gas, don’t forget to try your very best to slide open the minivan door. Make sure to point and shout every time you see a plane. When you arrive to your destination, become suspiciously tired and have to be carried inside.
On the way back from the beach:
Be sure to track sand into the car. Once inside, shake your wet hair like a dog, splattering the windows. Then, start off the trip back by crying about your sunburn while stubbornly ignoring the fact that your mother told you wear sunscreen. Make sure the fish you smuggled in is still in its bucket of water. When the car turns, spill the water out of the bucket. Cry about the death of the fish. When you reach your house, notice that you left your towel at the beach.
On the way to an important event:
Slowly crawl into the car because you want everyone to be late for no reason whatsoever. Once inside, violently squirm in your seat because you are uncomfortable in your fancy clothing, resulting in you spilling juice on your sister’s white lace dress. After being yelled at by parents, sit quietly the rest of the way. Then, right as the car is pulling up to your destination, realize you aren’t wearing shoes.
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