Big Bend National Park lies along the Rio Grande River in Texas. In the old days (pre 9/11), you could cross the river and walk right into Mexico, into a quaint town called Boquillas del Carmen.
The people of Boquillas thrived on all of the park’s tourist activity.
But then our government in all its infinite wisdom, decided that it wasn’t safe for us to mingle with the Mexicans, and outlawed this favorite activity of Big Bend tourists.
Today, Boquillas is dying a slow death. Each day, the locals risk arrest by crossing over to the park, placing their handmade trinkets for sale onto rocks where tourists gather, like at the hot springs.
Then the Mexicans run back over and sit all day long, underneath a canopy of shade, hoping something will sell. They were easy to spot along the banks of the river.
Whenever we soaked in the springs, I felt like such a schmucky American. I kept wondering; why are some of us born into such better circumstances than others? Not that I’m complaining, but still. . .
I’m so fortunate that my grandparents came over from Mexico at a time when immigration was not the issue it is today. In this era, Mexicans will risk their lives just for a few dollars a day to feed their kids. My own family had it’s hardships in the early days, but I’m betting they weren’t quite on the same level as today’s.
At 23 years and going strong, the Alpine Cowboy Poetry Gathering is the second oldest in America, just one year behind the much larger Elko, Nevada festival. I’ve always wanted to make it to Elko, but it takes place in January, and being in an RV during Elko’s frozen winter isn’t my idea of a good time. Guess that makes me a real city slicker.
Alpine’s vaqueros though, they know when, and how, to hold a festival for wimps like me. While much smaller than Elko’s, Alpine’s is better in my book. The weather’s awesome, the overall price of attending is more affordable, the performers are accessible, and to me, the atmosphere feels a lot more authentic than Elko, which isn’t the nicest town in the world.
The only bummer is that the poetry and music sessions are held on a college campus, and we wish they would’ve had some in bars or in a campfire setting.
Jim isn’t a huge fan of cowboy poetry like I am, but he patiently endured the festival so he could get a good dinner or two out of it (and he did!).
We both fell in love with the town of Alpine itself. It’s small but not too small, real estate is affordable, and the high desert scenery can’t be beat. We plan on heading back there to look for our winter Texas property in the fall.
We are quickly approaching our two year anniversary of being on the road, and we have no intention of stopping. We’ll keep traveling and working seasonally around the country, but we’d still like to park occasionally on our own piece of land.
Our plan is to buy a small parcel in Colorado, and another one somewhere in Texas. Still, we’re keeping our options open as far as locations go. On our way to Texas, we stopped in three towns I’ve heard a lot of good things about.
After leaving Slab City, it was a revelation to think that we’d been back in California since November. I couldn’t believe we’d been there for so long. But when you come from a big Mexican family like I do, it takes about that long to make the rounds and see everyone!
We blew through Arizona, because familiarity breeds contempt. I used to live there in the early ’90s, and I don’t know what it is about the Grand Canyon State, but I just don’t like it. Maybe that’s because when my Dad lived in Jerome (about 100 miles north of Phoenix) in the 1930s, he was forced to attend a segregated “Mexicans only” school while my grandfather worked as a miner.
Headed east, we stopped in Douglas, Arizona along the Mexican border. On a whim, we parked our rig at the border crossing and walked into Mexico, just to be able to say we’ve now been to three countries in our rig.
The contrast between the U.S. side and the Mexican side is obvious. On our side, there’s shiny new strip malls and Wallyworld. On their side, just a half mile away, there are potholed streets and zero evidence of building codes.
We walked around, got some great pan dulces and a jugo de pina. Took some photos and felt sorry for some skinny Mexican dogs. Then we turned around, and walked back over. Just. Like. That. Our five dollar Mexican vacation was over in a couple of hours.
Upon our return, I thought about how my family set down U.S. roots in the 1930s. Both sets of my Grandparents hopped the fence before “illegal immigration” was an issue. All they wanted was for their kids to have a better life, and we’ve managed to accomplish that, and then some.
Three generations later, there I was, returning to the Other Side like it was no big deal. That’s America for you.
Wow. The response to Nature’s Why We Love Cats and Dogs is beyond our wildest dreams. Jerry’s website has been smokin’. We typically average about 900 unique visits a day. Yesterday alone we had more than 6,000 visitors!
We can’t thank PBS and WNET enough for sharing Jerry’s story. If you missed it, no worries. You can still watch the full episode online.
We must give a special shout-out to producer Ellen Goosenberg Kent and her crew. Since they first followed us around Santa Fe last March, we’ve wondered what would come of the hours of footage they shot.
Well, Ellen did a simply amazing job telling Jerry’s story! We have now seen it about a dozen times and still cry every time.
We are just astounded to think that our story has touched so many people, in such profound ways. If the response here and on the Nature website is any indication, Ellen is sure to be nominated for another Emmy!
Big Bend National Park lies along the Rio Grande River in Texas. In the old days (pre 9/11), you could cross the river and walk right into Mexico, into a quaint town called Boquillas del Carmen.
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