El Barrio Nuevo: July 2012

It's been two weeks since we arrived in our new home in Mexico, three weeks since we drove across the U.S./Mexico border at Nogales, and four weeks since we drove away from our house in Salt Lake City. So much has happened it seems like...a minute ago. Or a year, already. We've sent a few emails to a few people, but it's high time we shared a few of our adventures so far. Please excuse us if you've heard any of these anecdotes before (and if you note any new and suspect embellishments). Hopefully the new visuals will appeal.

So, from the top!

Preparing to leave SLC was overwhelming, exhausting, and humbling. So many people helped! And as much as I loathe quoting myself, here's what we wrote in an email that didn't get sent to all of the people it should have been: "When we drove out of town on Friday afternoon (van riding low on the weight of all the stuff we crammed in there), we had a lengthy and emotional group meditation on our very deep gratitude for all of you." We couldn't have made this move without such support, help, friendship.

Artfully lit by the pink light of a road flare, choked by the vapors,
we are smiling bravely for photographer Barb
as we prepare to climb in the van to begin our journey.
Note the overstuffed garbage cans.

The van, almost all packed. Visibility: poor.

We spent a wonderful week hanging with friends in Moab and Tucson....

In scorchingly hot Moab, keeping it cool
with the Ryan-Brundin family.

Chillaxin' with the Mills in Tucson! They call their
guest bedroom "the Hitler room" --
but don't worry, they're historians. It makes sense,
if you see their bookshelves.

...And speaking of Hitler, here's a sign on a lamppost in Tucson.
(Oscar gasped when he saw it.) Gosh.

Our cats, newly rechristened MexiCowjie and Guapa Goldie, struggled to orient themselves to new locations and car travel. Not that there was any point in that: their journey was just about to begin in earnest. For reals.

Cats on the verge.

On July 5, we drove across the border from Arizona into Sonora, Mexico.

The border crossing wasn't what we expected (or feared, for that matter). It would have been a bit of a letdown if we hadn't been so pleased. Earlier via email we reported thus: "After months of assembling documents (visas, veterinary certificates, letters explaining why we have boxes of medical supplies, automobile permits, etc. etc.), we were slightly let down to discover that NO ONE CARED to see any part of our impressive dossier. We stopped three places along the Nogales border station (arranged in a confusing serpentine maze dotted with trailers featuring signage inviting travelers to stop and declare...something or other), and at each point the official seemed surprised to see us, then after bemusedly listening to our confessions (we have cats!! computers!! children!!) merely asked if we had all our papers (si!) before waving us on. We even tried to show the guy in the highway toll booth our visas, and although he kindly showed an interest in our destination (Chiapas, he said, is the most important part of Mexico and, it so happens, his home state), he also demurred."

So began our couple-thousand-mile drive through Mexico, top to bottom. We were amazed by its beauty. (It's GREEN green green, people! Verdad.)

Compare to Arizona. Más VERDE.

It's always nice to see her.

We spent our first night in Guaymas, Sonora, at a beautiful hotel on the beach.

Despite our assurances to the hotel staff, our gatos were not well behaved.

The first night, Cowjie destroyed the bottom of the bathroom door.
Sean and the kids endeavored to fix it.

Before repair: the hotel bathroom door is weeping blood!
Like a martyr.

During repair: Sean has been at work
with his tube of super glue. Be prepared!

After repair: As a last step, the kids went to work
with black and brown Sharpie pens.
Result is miraculous; we get our room deposit back.

One night, we accidentally checked in to a "love motel."

Painted an innocent shade of white...but available by the hour.

Ms. Lisa smiles ambiguously down on the (mirrored) bed
on which we engage in a wholesome family activity.
(Because the TV features "Pleyboy" and other canales adultos.)

We didn't order any sex toys that night.

Nor did we request any special medication. We did order tamales though.
They were delivered anonymously, through a rotating canister in the wall.
No one needed to know.

We experienced some exciting storms along the way. I could imagine what it felt like to be inside inside a snare drum--our van was battered in rhythmic waves of rain and hail. We had to pull over and try not to take it too personally.

The cats began to accept the things they could not change, but they still weren't particularly happy.

We often wondered what we were looking at, what we had eaten, who had died, where we were. We were almost always a LITTLE lost, in one way or another.