My Mexico Vacation.

Bulls, Broads and Bullets.

Mexican Jail, or Worse

 

After a long week of technical business meetings and new product demonstrations for our boss, RCA, in San Antonio Texas, we had a Saturday off to tour the area. We had already seen all the main sites in our guest city and were anxious to literally get out of town. I was supposed to be the Super Tech. Don was my right hand assistant and long-time friend. Jerry had not been out of school very long but had become a valuable member of our design team so I conned my immediate boss into letting him get some true “Field Experience”. Little did we know how true that phrase would become. George was our local technical Rep. and Guide. Since he lived so close to Mexico he spoke some of the language. Again, little did we know how life saving his language skills would become. Well what shall we do on this sunny and really hot Saturday? George immediately recommended we take a short trip to Mexico. Don was not to excited about leaving the good old USA but said ok along with the rest of us.

 

No more than an hour or so, a short stop at the border, and we were welcomed with open arms. American and dollars are always welcome in Mexico. The Mexican countryside was mostly uneventful. The majority of it was desert but with it came an occasional beautiful oasis with trees and water caves. I later learned these are actually hot springs called balnerios and there are thousands of them scattered across Mexico.

We had already been typical American tourists in a small village just over the US, Mexico border.

When I saw them, we immediately fell in love. A long session of bartering until we finally agreed upon a price. I paid much less that I had expected but, in the end, we were both very satisfied. What I have always wanted but never had the courage to ask. Now mine. It was far from a small deal; in fact, it was a very large one. But how would I explain all this to my wife and children when we finally get back home to Indianapolis? They know it will be a bunch of Bull. But that’s another story.

 

After our shopping spree, our business associate and guide, George, said we had to visit another, well known, village called “Boystown”. After “touring” this very unusual local fun spot, and being chased by swarms of teen age ladies of the night, we chose to literally run ourselves out of town. Back in the car, Jerry could not stop saying “I can’t believe. I can’t believe it”. But that’s Really another story that I can only leave to your vivid imagination.

 

To get to our next tour site, not in any guide book, we really didn’t drive all that long, about an hour. Still in shock, we came across a Large building sitting on top of a hill. There was part of a rickety, old, white washed fence in front with a broken down gate that had fallen over. The building itself was whitish stucco with big chunks that had fallen off. Maybe at one time it was the home of a very rich man out here alone in the middle of nowhere. It was like something you would see in a movie. Clearly abandoned, it must have brought out the stupid little boy inside of each of us because without discussion we agreed it would be a great adventure to explore it.

 

We got out of the car and headed up what was left of the front stairs. Jerry was already inside the front door when we heard these pop, pop, pop sounds. What was happening? Was the floor or ceiling falling in? Was the porch collapsing? Did the sounds come from the car? Were they gunshots or firecrackers? Our answer came to us as quickly as the pops that came out of nowhere. Mexican guards were rushing at us with machine guns pulled. I say machine very large and very mean looking guns. I had been trained to use a rifle in the army, but I knew nothing about weapons. These things were no little 6 shooters out of the wild west. Who cares, they were pointed directly at us with their attached “soldiers” running toward us yelling. We instinctively raised our hands as if to surrender. I don’t know why we did that except for once again, that’s what we saw on television I guess, and besides that, it was not like there was anywhere to run and hide.

 

I don’t know about the other guys but the first thing that ran through my head was not that we were in danger of being shot, but that we were trespassing on some Mexican military operation. I had heard horror stories about people being arrested in foreign countries for something stupid like J-walking, then spending the rest of their lives in a foreign prison. After that thought flashed through my mind I remember thinking of my military training, struggling to find something that might help us at that moment… How to react… or not react. George - and I thank the Good Lord he spoke some Spanish - starting shouting “Americans, Americans, Americano, Americano!” One of the soldiers yelled something at the other then stopped, got down on one knee, and was in firing position aimed directly at us. The other went to George yelling and motioning with his gun. Jerry was out of the house by this time and joined Don and I while George with arms still in the air was directed aside. After what seemed like forever, the guard on us lowered his gun and joined the other with George.

 

We could hear and see George was doing his best to communicate with them probably trying to tell them we were just stupid, lost American’s, most likely saying over and over we’re sorry, we want no trouble, etc. etc. etc. He later told us he can’t remember exactly what he said but it was along those lines. He had his back to us and at one point, put his arm behind him and started slowly waving it side to side. He was directing us to go back to the car. Don, Jerry and I took his cue and very slowly started moving in that direction. Shortly after that George started walking backwards towards the car still talking and waving at the guards with one hand as if saying adios, goodbye, gracias, thank you. When he reached the car he said “get in slowly.” After the three of us were inside he slowly eases himself into the driver’s seat, swings around, starts the car, and then shuts his door. We drive away slowly at first with George still waving at them. When we neared that broken down fence and gate he sternly said “hold on” and he floored it. Dirt and gravel were flying and the car was fishtailing, again like something out of the movies. George drove as fast as he could on that narrow dirt road until we started shouting at him to slow down. He did, and at that point we once again just rode in silence. I think we were all in shock and/or processing what just happened, or still praying, I don’t know. The silence was finally broken by George saying, “wow, that was close. Where do we go from here?” Don yelled “HOME!” Again silence until Jerry was heard saying to himself over and over again, “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it.” The drive back to the U.S. border was only another hour or so but it seemed like forever. We just wanted to get home.

 

Now, I feel compelled to tell you that the version of the story I just told you may be a little exaggerated. It might not be. I really don’t know. I haven’t told that story in years. Most stories tend to get exaggerated over time no matter how good they are to start with. It is just human nature I guess, but one thing I can tell you for certain. I was scared… really scared. And here is another tidbit. We don’t really know who those “soldiers” were or why they were there. In this day and time, I would be more inclined to think they were not military at all but instead we stumbled across some drug lord’s hideout, or with all the illegal immigration, people traffickers. You know the ones that smuggle Mexicans across the border. Back then I don’t know what was going on in Mexico all I know for sure is that it was only by the Grace of God that we made it out of there… whoever they were.

 

Back to the Border!

 

I wake up as our car stops at the border. I was so grateful to be there and remember thinking how nice it will be to see a U.S. “American” police official for a change. My mini dream thought was quickly removed by a heavy Mexican accent saying something like waTing daakli? - HUH? - Dekla wataa? - What? - Well that’s what it sounded like to half asleep me. Again, thank goodness George understood. The officer was just asking if we had anything to declare. Were we bringing anything back from Mexico? OK, now, I understand having Mexican officers when you are traveling into Mexico, but why didn’t we have an English speaking officer when we were coming back into the United States? Especially after all we had been through. Anyway, George tells him we have bullhorns. The officer says “Bull?” NO. BullHORNS. Bull? NO BullH O R N S! Of course I thought, here we go again. The officer then finally says with a big smile, “AAAHHH, BullHorns!” George replies… with a smile… Si! (yes).

 

Now the officer wants to see them. We get out of the car and George opens the trunk. Right next to the bullhorns a bottle of Kahlua Jerry bought. Yet again I thought, oh no. Here we go again, expecting the worst. George did not declare the alcohol. The officer sees it, smiles and says, “AH, Kahlua…Good.” He picks up the bottle and from under the bullhorns rolls a bottle of Tequila! At that moment I could have shot Jerry for buying it and George for not declaring it! Anyway, George says something to him in Spanish and the guard starts laughing and making a funny face. They were talking about the lucky one who gets to swallow the worm at the bottom of the Tequila bottle. We all shake hands, smile, and we are through the gate. Home sweet home! Well, at least back in our own country.

 

What a day. We still had to drive back to San Antonio and had to be at the airport the next morning to head home. Don was already asleep and I was trying to get some sleep. I was trying to stop reliving the events of the day by thinking of my family and what they would think of my gift from Mexico. But each time I was about to doze off, I would hear Jerry saying, half under his breath, “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it”. I just kept thinking “Thank you good old USA for being my home”.

 

Is this The End?

 

To quote the Prime Minister of Great Briton, Sir Winston Churchill,

during the Worst Bombings of London in World War Two:

 

“This is Not the End.

This is Not Even the Beginning of the End.

This may Not Even Be the End of the Beginning”

 

More Secret Scenes to come from

“The Man with More Lives than a Cat”™

 

W.D.Evans

In Collaboration with

David Evans

 

 

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