Days 1-3 (or, Why the U.S. State Department's Travel Warnings Should Be Ignored)

As I write this, Chuck and I are sitting approximately 10 yards from the ocean at a low, tiled stone table under a thatched shade structure in La Peñita de Jaltemba. 

Not exactly roughing it.

Lena is sleeping, happy and beyond exhausted, in the driver's seat of the rattlevan.  We've just finished dinner, the temperature is perfect, and all is well.  In fact, pretty much the only difficult thing about our entire trip so far has been finding the time, inclination, and wifi to update the spanking new blog. Now I have all three.

Let's start at the beginning.  We were, for whatever reason (ahem:

http://travel.state.gov/travel/cis_pa_tw/tw/tw_5440.html), a little apprehensive about driving through the border region of Mexico. So when we got up Friday morning in Nogales at the crack of dawn, ready to cross the border just after sunrise, it was with a sense of jumping into the unknown, of entering perhaps dangerous territory, of doing something dozens of people advised us not to do.  And all that apprehension was, of course, totally absurd, at least with respect to driving in this first part of Mexico.

We breezed through the border crossing reserved for "trucks" (yeah, rattlevan!) and were on the highway alone almost immediately. (Apparently getting stuck on a speedbump and laughing about it is a good way to convince customs you mean no harm.) No sign of the hectic urban sprawl into which I somehow expected we would emerge on the other side of the border. We went a few kilometers through cactus and brush, spent 45 minutes at immigration (including 20 minutes convincing a really incredibly nice immigration official to put a probably unnecessary stamp on Lena's "passport") and were on our way.

Miles of well-paved highways and cactus later--and after only one military inspection point where we didn't even have to stop the van (weirdly, a couple of broke-looking Americans in an even broker-looking RV didn't fit the profile of drug smugglers, although a police officer the following day did pose the question to us of whether we were, or were not, in fact carrying guns and drugs in our beater van)--we arrived at our destination for the night. The town was Guaymas or, more specifically, Miramar, and the lodging was the yard outside a grand old hotel that clearly, and wonderfully, had seen better days.

The hotel was devoid of guests save two RV people (Canadian, surely) stationed at the other end of the long parking lot. The hundreds of guest rooms and bungalows stood empty, and there was no sign of activity on the grounds save two quinceañeras getting photographed in their finest. But behind the grand old place stairs led down to the deserted beach, from which we could see a bunch of good-looking islands. Lena had no complaints.

The next morning, I went for a run on the beach after light fell but before the sun had technically risen.  It was spectacular.  

Coconut-fetchin' Fool

And then we hit the road again, not stopping until we literally saw the smoke rising from the pollo asado place next to the road.  Lunch.  

Note Chuck's death grip on his leftover pollo asado.

Toward the afternoon, we headed inland at Los Mochis, stopping at a few roadside vegetable stalls and a fruit stall or two.  The rattlevan survived the insane "topes," or speedbumps, which, as promised, really do sometimes appear entirely without warning.  (Apparently roadside vendors create topes in pursuit of new business.  This tactic probably worked on us.)  We landed near El Fuerte in the yard of a motel, made an awesome dinner composed entirely of things we bought from stands we passed while driving -- the aforementioned vegetables, some super fresh gulf shrimp -- and crashed embarrassingly early.

In the morning, we faced the first actual rattlevan casualty:

That thing is supposed to be attached.

Not good.

Chuck handimanned it up and we set out early for the town of El Fuerte, where we lucked upon a parade/festival for the Revolución Mexicana.  It was only 7 a.m. and the place was packed.

She loves parties.

And then we hit the road again.  (Chuck will probably explain later, but the reason we're hightailing it through Mexico is that we're trying to get across the Belize border within some number of days after our vet and the USDA certified Lena as healthy.  We'll probably spend some serious time here on the way back up.)

All drives should end like that one did: at a campsite literally on the beach.  A deserted beach with miles of sand.   

A swim and a quick drive to the village for aguaschiles, and we wrapped up day three.

Next up: Mazatlan, Tepic, Travel Warnings, Beaches, and Hotsprings (or, Why We Overplanned Our Mexican Roadtrip Because the U.S. Media Told Us To)