Nuevo Progresso by Night, by Day, and by Unbelievably Shitty Weather.

"The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel." - William Gibson, Neuromancer 

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I've been here for two days and despite the close proximity to the border it is not what one would expect. Mexico is a marvelous place, but make no mistake, it is another country. Another culture, another planet. 

Though the border zone is a bit more approachable, a lot more tourist friendly, by design. Duty-free shops selling liquor, perfume, knock-off Versace handbags from China, expensive jewelry which would be sold by street vendors in Saudi Arabia as garbage, and all manner of shitty cigars which the merchants will swear to you in hushed tones are still-embargoed Cubans (hint, they are not). If you desire to cross the bridge on foot carrying pottery, wearing a cheap sombrero, reeking like someone who was thrown out of Paris Hilton's birthday party all the while confidently sucking on a smoldering chair leg then the foot bridge between the nations is the place for you.

[[How convenient!]]

Don't get me wrong, the tourist business does have its pluses. Chief among them one can drink on the street with no fear of any sort of danger. Except maybe getting hit my an immobile car or being slammed into by a delivery driver on a bike. Otherwise, it sort of reminded me of a place I dearly love, New Orleans. Only, frankly, NP smells a lot better.

[[The Rio Grande also smells a lot better than the Mississippi, but I still love New Orleans.]]

The days are filled with street vendors selling everything from wicker reindeer, to cheap Sombreros, wicker reindeer wearing cheap Sombreros, to elotes/Mexican street corn. The avenues are choked with cars coming and going across the border. Locals trying to get from point A to point B while avoiding the utterly maddening congestion of the main drag through town, which leads directly to the border crossing. As a result traffic moves at a pace which allows for one to grab a snack and catch a quick nap before any cars move in either direction. You have to head rather far away from the border, almost to the edge of the 'free trade zone', then turn around, take a side street, and hope that a pothole doesn't swallow your vehicle whole. My poor little VW, laden as it is with all the material possessions I have in this world was not happy about this turn of events. I can't say I was either.

Driving in Mexico is a total clusterfuck, but and astoundingly polite one.

[[The Main Drag through NP, during a rare moment of traffic at a total standstill.]]

American old folks with trunks filled with discount pills and kitschy pottery, Mexicans attempting to cross to work or visit relatives, the odd smuggler going in either direction hoping to capitalize on America's endless thirst for drugs or supply the gangs and cartels with the latest American made semi automatics. You know, depending on the direction you travel and the company you keep. More than 90% of the illegal guns in Mexico are said to come acress the border from the US, so its not exactly hard to imagine why their guards are on high alert with vehicles coming in from Texas. A state noted for its obsessive love of the second amendment. The kind of place where children learn the ends and outs of a 30.06 before they learn how to spell.

On that last bit, in the spirit of journalistic integrity, I should point out that I am the holder of a concealed carry permit and the owner of several lovely firearms. Not in Mexico, obviously. I have no axe to grind with guns, just the assholes who own them who make the rest of us look like assholes. Wayne LaPierre of the NRA comes to mind, but, I digress.

In the midst of all this tourism focused squalor is a small population of hard working people just doing their damnedest to stay alive. To make a living. To maybe, just maybe, make enough money hawking everything from handmade crafts to grey-market pharmaceuticals so that their children will have better lives than they do. That their kids might go to a better school, get better healthcare, eat healthier and more plentiful meals, do better than their parents in both finance and life expectancy. On the other side of the border we call that 'The American Dream' (tm).

[A view from my motel.]

[Another view from the motel, you can see our lovely courtyard and everything!]

Tessa, my marvelous and far too intelligent for her own good, feline friend has adapted well to our new, temporary, environment. She seems to have taken well to our tiny, cheap hotel room, and I have as well. It has a certain coziness to it, a certain charm. For one it includes a mini fridge at no extra cost, something you would be hard pressed to find in major chains in places like LA, New Orleans, or Las Vegas. 

Should the ancient gods governing the Mexican DMV see fit to allow me to import my car beyond the border zone we will be leaving Nuevo Progresso and all its varied color, it's polite, hardworking people, its amazing food (I can't stress that part enough), its cheap and plentiful liquor, it's wealth of pharmacies that don't really ask a lot of questions far behind us as we make a break for the Yucatan and further financially challenged adventures.

[The Main Drag, around 11pm. 99% of the tourists flee as the sun goes down.]

[So far NP is far less dangerous than places in South Florida where I grew up.]

[In the US people would not dream of leaving quality merchandise on the street overnight.]

[]Despite the shady appearance, the locals seemed perfectly at ease at night, despite the lack of police.]]


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This post and its original content copyright James Radcliff, and has been brought to you by Mexico, tequila, and generally poor decision making. If you would like to donate to support this bizarre little travelogue, feel free to do so via Patreon or PayPal. As always, this strange and debaucherous adventure has been brought to your screen by viewers like you. Thank you.

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