At 5 am the bus reaches Tapachula, the border city of Mexico and Guatemala. Now originally I thought I was headed to Pachula. Pachula is a laid back sea side town where you can smoke pot with the locals and burn your buns on a nude beach. Personally, I love being nude in public and this seemed like an awesome excursion. In contrast, Tapachula is locked in a border war of drugs, guns, and human trafficking. Unfortunately, I was about to unwittingly become human cargo.
Already my heart bleeds for the señora who lovingly shared her disney princess blanket and laid her head on my shoulder for the long overnight ride. She made it worth while, even while mexican soldiers turned the bus upside down looking for drugs. Drugs that I was carrying. A fine sack of pot was lovingly tucked under my balls while my heart rate sped up to the beat of dub step remix. Luckily, no federates got frisky and I made it to the border just fine. With Guatemala only a few kilometers away, I figure I can save some money and reach the border on bike.
This was my first mistake.
I pass what's left of my pot to a local who I asked for directions. He drops it to the ground like I gave him an 8 ball of crack cocaine. Whatever, as long I don't break into the exciting world of trans-border narcotics smuggling, I'm happy. Peddling down the road I attempt to see some Mayan ruins. Unfortunately I never make it. I'm greeted by a pack of WILD CHIHUAUHAS!!!
These little ankle biters are relentless and while not scary in any real sense, I am afraid of crushing one under the wheel of my front tire in front of a bunch of Mexican kids. Looking back on it, I wish I had punted those little bastards into the river, but I digress. In shame, I turn back, thwarted by tiny little four legged jerks.
Peddling to the border down a steep road comprised mostly of loose gravel and toad guts another wild dog jumps in front of me like a kamikaze bombers. Slamming on the brakes, my bike with 40 pounds of gear flips like a 12 year old chinese gymnast. Like the Irish proverb says, the road rises up to meet me, and my right hand is sliced like cheap salami. This was witnessed by 23 mexican/guatemalan road workers who took the time, not to help me, but to point and laugh while I stitch myself up with road side surgery. I choose not to become an enraged tornado, based simply on the fact that I was optimistic about Guatemala. Why am I always wrong?
I make it to the border without any paraphernalia, going in completely legit. But plenty of Guatemalans keep jumping out and going, "Hey Amigo! Buddy! Friend!"
Quick note, if you are traveling and someone you don't know calls you amigo, take out whatever weapon you have and SHANK THAT MOTHER FUCKER LIKE YOU'RE IN RIKER'S PRISON!!!
So I peddle past them with a look that says, "You people must be kidding me." That is, until one jumps in front of me with a badge that says "immigration" on it. Being a stupid American, I still think that badges mean something. I respect badges. Show me a badge in the states and I turn into Mr. Rogers. This has kept me out of many well deserved trips to the county. Here though, it's a mistake like my conception.
Everyone who shouted amigo at me swarms like killer bees. They grab my passport. Another douchebag changes my 1500 pesos into chump change Quetzals. I don't know the exchange rate so they take advantage of me like the passed out girl at a frat party. 15 people are grabbing my shit, moving my bike, telling me to hurry up. Wait, where the fuck is my passport?
I start screaming. "GET THE FUCK OFF MY STUFF! WHERE'S MY PASSPORT?! FUCK, WHERE'S MY GOD DAMN MONEY!?" Three guys with two inch long coke nails say we got it and to jump in a cab. I'm so confused and disoriented that I jump in just to escape the vultures molesting my property. As I jump into the car the coke claw trio jumps into the back. Then another guy leans halfway into my window and demands cash for allegedly helping me move my bike. No freakin' way. I shout to the driver, "VAMOS!", and he burns out and through the border. No security checks, and the guys who just took every penny I have, as well as my passport, are in the back laughing their asses off.
Something doesn't seem right. The driver keeps hauling ass into on coming traffic with me nearly defecating myself in the front seat before they take me to a public mall. Holy christ, they're demanding more money. Then it hits me. Crap, that passport isn't stamped, this isn't immigration, and I'm fucked. At this point, all I can do is buy my passport back. 700 Quetzals to the coke trio. 150 to the driver. I basically had to buy all my stuff back. It could have been a fight, but they got numbers on me.
The triplets disappear leaving me with the driver. Completely bewildered and lost, I ask the smuggler which way to the bus station. He says he can take me. For another 400 Quetzals. However he's alone now, and my rage is driving me with the explosive power of Krakatoa. I get real close, real fucking close. Two inches from his face, and whisper with teeth bared, "I could kill you right now. I could fucking murder you in front of everyone here and they would just send me home. I'm an American, they would give me a god damn medal for ending you. Get. The. Fuck. Away."
This gets the point across and he jets outta there without another word. There I stood, smuggled in, nearly penniless, and no Idea of where to go.
And the day had just started.
No comments:
Post a Comment