Hey, my friends, feel free to spend some time at my place in Mexico, sure, anytime I'm not there. This is what's known as a bullshit invitation as it's not easy to get to and you'll probably never go. But don't I get points for inviting you? Well, if you're determined to go here's a roadmap to paradise:
Just fly into Austin or San Antonio from Alaska, or wherever, and maybe I could get a friend to pick you up at the airport or invite you to taxi over to rest for a few hours before the all-night bus to Matehuala. If she had time she could take you to a store to get some dinner to take on your trip or make you a sandwich and call for the taxi to take you to the bus or take you down to the bus later herself.
She could also let you crash for the night and you could explore Austin or San Antonio the next day, perhaps with a friendly chauffeur to show you around. If you hit it off with my friends, fun single women of a certain age, you might never catch that bus or one of them may decide to drive you all the way down to Matehuala. (If none of my friends want to meet or deal with you then head right from the airport to the bus station as per the instructions.)
When you get to the border after four or five hours on the express bus everyone will get out in the middle of the night and wait in line for visas, better take all your stuff into the customs office in case they want to go through your bags. After a couple hours you'll have your papers, maybe some pesos you can buy at the bank kiosk for a bad rate, and you will all re-board the bus to ride deeper into Mexico.
(Sometimes, or maybe always, when you're ready to leave the border, there's an unofficial secondary visit from some bureaucrat, often accompanied by armed soldiers in on the scam, and they will request ten or twenty dollars from each passenger. The bus does not move until everyone pays “la Mordida.” When you think of the hundreds of buses passing through the multiple border crossings every day it probably adds up to millions of dollars a day or month or year—you can do the math.)
When you get to Matehuala the next morning after your twelve hour trip they'll let you off at their little station by the highway. (There are several of these private bus companies, the most popular being “The Tornado.”) Take a taxi to the nearby Walmart a mile or so away and buy yourself a cell phone for ten bucks or whatever burners are going for down there. You might also pick up some supplies, food or other necessities, before heading to the main bus station on the south end of town to get your tickets to Real de Catorce.
If you're lucky maybe I could get one of my friends to come down off the mountain to get you in Matehuala but they're so busy and into their own scene you would have to have something they really want or need in order for them to come. Then again, everyone does come to town once a week so there's a chance that they're already there, just don't count on it.
Once you find the bus station (all this info will be mailed to you before you embark as I am a consummate host, as well as happy purveyor of bullshit invitations) buy your ticket and keep in mind the last bus leaves Matehuala at six pm. Feel free to wander or taxi downtown to the central market to see what life was like before Walmart where you have to find the juice stand called “El Penguino” which I've been visiting and imbibing liquados for forty-five years. You can enjoy a taste of fresh Mexico: orange and carrot juice, platano con leche, and many other variety of fruit juices, from mango to papaya.
You can also get a torta there, a little sandwich to munch on the plaza while you wait for the bus. People, especially men, old and young, will look at you weird as if hostile, though if you strike up a conversation with any of them they will probably be friendly. (I don't know, I've never tried.)
There is also a money exchange with competitive rates right there on the plaza where in exchange for showing your passport they will trade you pesos for dollars. When you get the pesos look them over, pretend to count them like you know what you're doing, and quickly stash them away. You can then take your coins and go about the plaza handing them out to children or others who may seem needy. If you see a policeman the custom is to go up to him and bow.
If you don't want to go through the extra bother of stopping in Texas and taking the all-night Tornado you can fly directly into Monterrey, Mexico and rent a car for $80 a day, about $50 per day of that is the insurance you really should buy. Then off you go onto the confusing Mexico highway bound for Matehuala three or four hours away, unless you mistakenly exit into Saltillo by mistake, like I did last time and have an hour detour.
You could get your rental car, settle into your motel room near the airport, and then go downstairs for your first experience in a Mexican restaurant. Order the beans and tortillas and pray for mercy, I mean enjoy your nice meal! Well rested you can begin your road trip bright and early the next day after a breakfast of huevos a la Mexicana, delicious scrambled eggs with tomato, onion, hot peppers, and garlic, with a side of beans and hot tortillas. (I had that for breakfast my first morning in Mexico fifty years ago and it's still as greasily delicious today.)
If you don't want to rent a car then take a taxi from the airport downtown to the bus station and try to find the express to Matehuala. I used to do that, lugged my suitcase (before wheels) around the crowded Monterrey bus station speaking little Spanish and got lost, confused, upset, frustrated, and angry as I searched out the right bus. (One time I was so frazzled I stood in the middle of the station and shouted out, “I hate your country!)
Once you're riding down the highway in the bus you'll probably figure out soon that you're on the local instead of the express which will stop at every town along the way, exiting the road and going downtown to pick up passengers as well as stopping for everyone hailing the bus from the side of the road. (That was sheer hell for me but you might actually get into the adventure of it all.)
You're in Mexico! You did it! You got out of Alaska, or wherever, and waiting for you in a sweet house beyond a mile-long tunnel with an amazing view is beer, wine, whisky, tequila, mezcal and at least eight strains of good weed reverse-smuggled into Mexico by yours truly the year before. There are also cupboards full of many kinds of food and a water purifier if booze is not your thing. (Keep thinking about that glass of wine and joint waiting for you, and you might have a smile on your face even on that very slow Mexico bus.)
If you get in a jam in Matehuala I do have a bi-lingual friend there who could help you out, and if you miss the last bus you can get a cheap hotel and leave in the morning. The bus to Real will roll through the desert then climb to 9000 feet on a hand-paved road, you will all get out at the tunnel entrance with your luggage, then wait for a smaller bus to come to take you through as you watch the long line of cars growing longer, full of city people waiting to get into this beautiful little crowded and overrun tourist town.
Once through the tunnel (in the movie “The Mexican” you can see Brad Pitt making the same trip) you carry or pull on wheels your suitcase or backpack into town to my caretaker's cafe and she'll give you directions to my place, or take the time to walk you there. (I will have already mailed you the keys before you leave home.)
If her cafe is closed you can try calling her on your new cell phone if you can figure out how it works. Down there you use different prefixes to call a local cell phone, a cell phone out of state, another for a land line, and one more for long distance. (If you really get confused try to call me.) If you're feeling totally lost or abandoned ask where the Hotel Amor y Paz is, trundle up the steep hill, and throw yourself on the mercy of the sisters who run it, my life-long friends, but they probably won't be there either, sorry!
So you're on your own and got the adventure you wanted. Walk down to the jardin (the central square), hang out on a bench and watch the world go by. After this sight-seeing and people-watching, if you're hungry you could try one of the many restaurants nearby (“El Meson” is the best and most expensive), and after that there's nothing left to do but try to find my house.
On one side of the jardin is Calle Zaragoza upon which you will start walking up the hill and when you get to the top, go down another small one. There will be a tourist stall just past the bridge where my friend Chelo might be there waiting for a sale. Say you're my friend and she'll tell you where my house is further down the road, and might even walk you down. She can also help you call my caretaker on that confusing Mexican burner.
The keys I sent will be one to the main door into the property, one to the sliding metal door covering the front of the house door, and the one to get into the house. If you have good luck figuring out the weird Mexico-style locks you can let yourself into the compound, walk down the steps, and then into the house.
Once inside please no shoes or tobacco-smoking. You can take a seat, relax, have a beer or glass of wine, light up the waiting joint, and look out at the magnificent view. You started out from Alaska, or wherever, the day before and now you're home! What next compadre?
(PS: I was just kidding about bowing to the policemen.)
Isn’t Catorce home of the peyote people?
Yes, it’s where the peyote grows, and where the Huichol Indians come from the Western side of Mexico to harvest it and do ceremonies at their holy site Wiricuta…
Ale
I had been in town nearly three months when I had my first extended conversations with some visitors. Three attractive thirty-something women from Zacatecas were sitting under the umbrella one table over, at the outside cafe downtown on Saturday, as I watched the tourists go by on the street.
One of them spoke good English and we started talking, she and her friends were going down to the desert to eat peyote. I sublimated my judgments about people, drug tourists, depleting the desert’s supply of the magic cactus, and asked, “Do you go out and find it or do they give it to you?”
“Yes we go out to look for it,” Ale said. They were waiting for a man from Wadley who was going to drive them down.
“Do you eat it out in the desert or take it back to your friend’s house?” I asked.
“We take it back to the house. We put our tents up in the yard or stay in the house.”
When I found out she was 25% Huichol, her great-grandfather was Huichol, my judgments eased. At least she was 25% less guilty of taking the peyote from the Indians.
Ale told me about the Temozcal ceremonies they do outside Zacatecas, she goes a couple times a month. They work on themselves to leave behind parts of their personalities. When I pressed her to give an example which aspect of herself, she said the need to be liked.
“In the Warrior Way there are the Black, Yellow, Red, and White people. The first door is pray to God. The second door—blood family. The third door—lovers and everyone who left you. The forth door—ancient wisdom and pray for wisdom. The stones represent the fire,” she said.
She told me about a vision quest she went on: She was alone in the mountains for four days with no food or water. She just prayed. Down the mountain a mile away was her friend Favi, who prayed and drank water for her.
I found it all fascinating and later thought, “God, if I had an ounce of romance or adventure left I would have asked to come along to the desert.” But I am soft and lazy, don’t have a tent or sleeping bag, and just want to sleep in my own comfortable bed.
Mexico Justice
When walking down the street in the states if I stuck my foot in a hole in the sidewalk I would nurse my broken ankle, sue the bastards, and settle for a couple hundred grand for my bills plus pain and suffering.
If I stepped in a hole here in Mexico they would laugh me out of court. “Didn’t you see the hole?” the judge would say. “You have two eyes, right? Maybe you need a new prescription for your glasses?”
If I were walking down the sidewalk in the states and a low-hanging piece of rebar put my eye out I would go to court, sue and settle for half a million dollars. Here in Mexico the judge would say. “What, you again? Didn’t you see that piece of rebar? Get outta here and watch where you’re going!”
You’re Mexico
you’re a bell ringer
you’re a goat dinner
you’re Mexico
a million TV antennas
you’re Mexico
a thousand right wing winners
you’re Mexico
a smiling nina sinner
yer Mexico!
A new years eve singer
yer Mexico
a turkey on the bus now
yer Mexico
a white cloud on the horizon
yer Mexico
two hundred unrepentant bus drivers
yer Mexico
need I say it again?
yer Mexico
five hundred bells are ringing
yer Mexico
the tables turned on justice
yer Mexico
a craven saint upon us
Moctezuma and Cortez
one day Cortez said to Moctezuma
hey Monty man, why don’t you
try some of this
and Moctezuma didn’t know
what Cortez had was some Peru snow
here old man, c’mon have a blow
just call me uncle Corty, Joe…
stand up on the pyramid
here comes the great white wonder
well, Moctezuma never saw
it snow in Mexico till
old Cortez came along
hey Monty man, come try this shit
and Monty man he took a sniff
and saw it snow in Mexico
that was the last thing he did
Cortez rolled him like a drunk at dawn
Monty’s mind just a snowy song