Today was a crazy, scary, day.  I took what they call a "combi" or a "colectivo" in Mexico which is just basically a cramped mini-van that takes people places, and I rode it back to the border.  It was 13 pesos for about an hour ride which isn't bad at all.  After finally finding a position where my legs wouldn't cramp up or fall asleep I arrived at Ciudad Hidalgo.  As soon as I got off, an fairly old man rushed up to me and offered me a ride on his "tricycle", which is basically a bicycle rickshaw with three wheels I'm embarrased to say.  Against my better judgement I rode with him, because I had planned earlier that it would probably be the best way to see where the goods passed freely accross the border without calling an inordinate amount of attention to myself. 

His name was Ernesto Gonzales, the¨"Gato Volador", he said, with the phrase painted on the front of his tricycle.  He was definitely a wylie old guy, started chumming up to me right away, figuring that I would be ignorant enough to pay him a huge amount.  I told him to take me to see where they cross things on the river, where all the contraband goes.  He was reluctant but he finally agreed, and then took me to the official entry, where there's a bridge and all.  So I egged him on and he ended up taking me to another place, where there was like two people crossing the river.  Finally I was able to convince him to take me to the right place which was opposite where he took me in the first place.  I think these manuevers were a combination of making me pay him more but there was also a definite reluctance to take me there, because he knew I was going to take pictures, which for reasons that will become clear later was the big problem.

Finally, I got to the place, and Ernesto told me to just be quiet and observe.  There was so many boxes of stuff being unloaded, and a lot of people working to get it from one side of the border to the other.  He took me right to the waters edge and right away people asked me if I wanted to cross.  I told them I just wanted to observe and just chatted with Ernesto for a while.  To my right there was a very nervous person in a military outfit that kept looking over.  Soon though I became sort of an anomaly and people started talking to me about where I was from.  I was wearing a Guatemalan soccer team shirt with the faces of everyone, and someone was quick to comment that they didn't have anything to show that kind of pride in Mexico.  Ya, I said, but at least Mexico's going to the world cup, and then everybody lit up to talk about soccer.  Trinidad and Tobago this, and Mexico and the U.S.A. that, it was perfect because it made the military guy chill out and start looking the other way.  When things calmed down I snapped a few quick pictures and got one of the military man on my right.  And then I decided to go to other side, and cross the border, gasp!, ILLEGALY.

I told Estaban I was going to cross and again he showed reluctance, but I just got on in one of the rafts that a lot of other people were getting on and paid 10 pesos.  I got in a conversation with the guy that was taking me accross and he immediately told me of his desire to go to the States.  He said he didn't know if there was work there though, and I told him ya it's hard, especially if you don't have a family member there to help you out, and how once you go everyone really starts missing home and they can't come back, etc.  Part of the reason Esteban didn't want me to go to other side was because he said it was really dangerous, and poor on the Guatemalan side.  From what little I saw there was definitely a huge difference.

One the mexican side there was tons of boxes and goods, and paved roads, and decent houses, but on the Guatemalan side it was dirt road, dusty, and houses were scrapped together with aluminum siding.  From what I could see Guatemala was just taking the goods in, but I hear they do send vegetables to the other side.  It kinda made me sad to see all that so I went back as soon as I could, but not before snapping a picture of a Guatemalan policeman watching all of the illegal trade, lol.

I got taken back to a totally different area, and it was then that I got scared because there were four gaurds on the two exits.  I tried to walk by but they called me over as soon as I was close.  They asked me what I was doing here, and if I had taken any pictures.  Then they got kinda of loud and asked me why I was nervous, why I was trembling, started crowding around me a little.  I told them I wasn't, and that I wasn't doing anything wrong.  They all stopped and asked me to hold out my arm (thank god it wasn't shaking).  So then they asked to see my passport and thumbed through everything.  They obviously didn't know what they were doing since they didn't look for the Mexican visa.  They just went through all the stamps and asked if I had been to these places.  When they got to the Chinese one they asked if I had been there, and when I said yes, they started asking me about the women and if they were any good, bastards.

That made me a little angry so I got a little tougher and asked them why I couldn't take pictures.  Then they were all "ahuevado", o you can take pictures, they said, but only of the people not of the gaurds, cuz you know then it can be a big problem with the newspapers.  Ha, now their published on the web.

I don't think that the gaurds are paid for every single trip of goods that crosses I just think that is sanctioned because it's probably in the interests of some powerful poeple that it keeps going.  I'll bet anything that they get a "mordida" when the drugs pass though, at least that's what people say.  The other thing that's really sad about this crossing is that there is a lot of people trafficking.  The person I'm staying with here says that it's a frequent occurence that girls are found after running away from essentially sexual slavery.

As always there's so much I want to say, but I'm going to leave it at that for now.  I've typed way to much and my political perceptions probably don't mean very much to people as that's when tempers flair up.  Who knows when the next time I'll be able to write will be.