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Chapter 6: Mexico City
The road to Mexico City had some rough spots and one section was commonly known for bandits and robbers. We tried to always travel by daylight and refrain from any night travel but this time it was not possible. Just past the town of Morelia, about half way from Lake Chapala to Mexico City, we encountered some of the most picturesque sites in all of Mexico. As the roadway snaked its way up into the mountains the flora and fauna changed dramatically.
The dusty, cactus-filled desert terrain that had been common from the jungles on the coast all the way to Lake Chapala, gave way to beautiful green mountains covered with pine tree forests and quaint villages. The highest section of mountains traversed an area called Mil Cumbres, or a thousand peaks. Mountain peaks, gorges, forests and waterfalls surprised us around every turn in the road. The highest peaks rose to just under 10,000 feet and after a 30 mile stretch the road quickly plunged into a tropical valley.
We reached Mil Cumbre in the late afternoon and in a very short time we were suddenly engulfed in a severe storm with unimaginable lightening and thunder. Navigating the roads was hard enough during perfect weather conditions. It became nothing short of a nightmare to pick our way through the mountains in the downpour, constantly aware that the buses and trucks traveling at 70 miles per hour had drivers tipsy with cervasa.
Soon, as we fought the elements, the light began to fade and we knew that to get to Mexico City we would have to drive into the night. 150 kilometers would get us into the City, which was about 90 miles and 2 hours of driving. So, we pressed on.
The mixture of emotion and discipline that rises at such times is very confusing. On the one hand is the beauty of the countryside filling our senses with spectacular views, the delight of adventure and the exhilaration of new exploration. At the same time there is a focused discipline as survival instincts kick in due to the realization that danger lurks at every turn.
Both of my hands would grip the steering wheel in the proper 10 and 2 positions with visibly white knuckles. I found myself sitting erect in the driver’s chair, leaning forward just a little with taught neck muscles. My eyes would be focused intently on the roadway with constant movement left and right depending on peripheral vision to alert me to any suspicious movement from the side of the roadway. As each oncoming vehicle approached the lights would form a blur of blinding streaks and I would swerve slightly to the outside of the road just in case there was any last second drift of the other vehicle into our lane. The road was narrow, fortunately paved, but with considerable potholes and broken sections at the side of the pavement. I knew that drifting to far to the right could also result in the tires leaving the pavement onto the shoulder. With the lack of smooth transition the sidewall of the tires could be instantly chewed to shreds by the sharp jagged edges of the broken asphalt and ruin two tires in one shot leaving us stranded. Add to these concerns the flashing lightning and fear that we could be either struck directly or that a nearby tree might be struck and come crashing into the side of the van. The two and one-half hours passed slowly with almost no conversation. Even the radio and tape deck sat silent as all of my faculties were focused on the roadway. The heightened sense of feel and hearing also took periodic readings of the movement of the van and the drone of the engine, testing whether any slight hiccup of the engine or out of the ordinary movement would signal impending disaster. Finally, my eyes would strain through the water beads and flapping wipers to detect any cracks in the asphalt on the outside of the roadway indicating the potential of landslide from the water soaked hillside. We had seen many such landslides where one whole section of the roadway would be washed down into a gorge as though some huge animal had taken a bite out of the road like the tooth marks after biting into a sandwich. Minute after minute, hour after hour, we pressed on with grueling concentration. These were exhausting times of driving and were particularly strenuous because of the darkness. We rarely drove after dark.
We finally arrived at the Salises’ house about 10:30 at night. This family was a long shot, but we had learned to bet on long shots by this time, especially when it came to safety, a bathroom and a hot shower. Sharlene’s parents had met this couple in Lisbon, Portugal, on a recent trip. It was one of those casual exchanges of names and addresses that tourists often do, never expecting that anyone would actually take them up on the offer to visit. Anyway, we searched out their house, it was in a fairly uppercrest neighborhood, and just barged in and introduced ourselves.
They seemed surprised to have unexpected guests but they maintained their civility and gave us welcomed hospitality. They sort of remembered the connection, but you could see in their eyes the faded look of polite confusion. We were naturally friendly and excited, and just forceful enough that even if they had not remembered Shar’s parents, they probably would have hosted us anyway.
Their house was immaculate and unique in design. It was obvious that they were people with money and resources. The house was shaped like a wheel with the hub as the living room, a corridor around the outside of the circular room and multiple rooms extending outward like the spokes. Fine Persian rugs and expensive oriental décor hinted at the travels they had obviously enjoyed. Their hospitality was gracious and abundant. After a sumptuous dinner and interesting conversation in their broken English, we retired to our van for the night in the safety of a closed and locked gate around the house grounds. The rain had cooled the temperature down and the safety of the gate allowed for a great night of rest after the long arduous drive.
Further conversation with our hosts the next morning revealed that he had once been a surgeon but that he had recently gone into business. Apparently, he was unable to make much money as a surgeon and had determined to make his fortune in business. Now he was the proprietor of several poker clubs and was raking in the money. It was quite a transition from surgeon to casino owner. In any event their hospitality to us was generous and appreciated. The task of this day was to call Esmeralda long distance so that she could come and join us in Mexico City.
Mr. Salise had early morning business in town so, at the crack of dawn, he led us to the telephone company where we could make our call. Following another car in Mexico City is a task that rates right up there with tightrope walking and trapeze aerials. Finally, we reached the phone company and our host spoke with the local police officer who escorted us to a private parking place right in front of the phone company building. It was still early so we opened our sliding door, set up our table and had a breakfast of cornflakes and fruit as the town came to life and the locals watched us with curious stares.
Our phone call was a success and we received instructions from Esmeralda where we could stay with relatives of hers and arrangements for meeting her the next day when she traveled to Mexico City. Sharlene then got the bright idea to check on our “sister city” contact.
We had heard about “sister cities” from other travelers and in our reading. Research revealed to us that Guadalajara, Mexico City and Acapulco had sister cities from Southern California. Apparently, the cities adopt each other with some official recognition from the city councils followed by attempts to interact with such things as student exchanges, hosting business groups, travel promotion, etc.
The sister city for Guadalajara is Downey, California. The sister city for Mexico City is Los Angeles. We actually brought a letter from the Mayor of Downey hoping to receive the royal treatment in Guadalajara. It was a complete bust! We contacted the man who was the official sister city contact and set up a meeting for 11:00 am. We got out our one dress up outfit and showed up right on time. He left us sitting in his lobby for about half an hour, then took us to see a couple of souvenir stores run by his two sons and then returned to his office. He talked a little and then handed us a five year old wrinkled and dirty brochure about the sights of the city and sent us on our way. What a disappointment.
Remembering that experience we were not expecting much from Mexico City either. We had the contact name of a Mr. Sentis who was, again, the official sister city host. This time we skipped the dress up clothes and just went to his office, which just happened to be in a building right next to the phone company building. Up we went to the 11th floor amidst stares of suspicion due to our dirty Levis and my scruffy beard, and introduced ourselves displaying our introduction letter from the Mayor of Los Angeles.
Well, it was the wrong Mr. Sentis. This office was now an attorney’s office and this Mr. Sentis was not the Mayor Sentis that we were supposed to contact. In any event, the lawyer was an influential man and he immediately sent us to the secretary of the Governor’s office for the Governor of Mexico State. We got in to see the secretary after a long wait, however, Miss Juarez couldn’t speak any English. But, she sort of got the gist of what we were trying to do so she made a few phone calls and set us up with the national tourist bureau. She gave us a short letter of recommendation and her business card with a note written on the back to assist these American travelers.
The office was across town so we navigated four or five huge traffic circles and arrived at the tourist bureau. When we introduced ourselves and presented the business card and letter, it was as if General Patton himself had arrived at boot camp. All of the staff people jumped to their feet, put on their suit jackets and most cordial business smile and immediately began to inquire as to what they could do for us. Apparently, Senorita Juarez was high enough in the government that her card and recommendation really carried some weight. Now we were getting somewhere.
We boldly pushed ahead with our own description of what we expected to receive by way of hospitality and they did their very best to comply. They gave us a fine and expensive travel book about the City, they tried to find someone to take us around the town to see the sights, and finally found some budget money to spring for two tickets to the famous folklorico performance that was taking place on the weekend. All in all, they were pretty disorganized and had no plan to host visitors. We were supposed to pick up tickets at the ticket office on the night of the performance, we were a little skeptical whether they would actually be there. The whole sister city thing was turning out to be a joke and I doubted that I would spend the time with any more wild goose chases in other cities.
The rest of the day we looked at the sights of Mexico City, and there were a lot to take in. Mexico City sits in a shallow basin blocked on all sides but the north by high snow capped mountains. The basin runs east and west about 70 miles and north to south about 20 miles. The city basin is an ancient lakebed with little or no bedrock. The lowest part of the city is still over 7,000 feet in elevation and thus the climate and temperatures are quite mild all year round. The mountain wall surrounding the city causes the worst smog imaginable as all of the pollution is held captive over the city like a gray blanket stuffed into an oval washbasin. Many historians consider the city to be the oldest in North America. It is built upon the ruins of the primitive Aztec capital Tenochtitlan.
The sentinel-like chain of mountain peaks and extinct volcanoes sit like a necklace around the southern rim of the Mexico City basin. Toward the southeast of the city the two prominent pearls in the necklace are Mount Popocatepetl (17,887 feet) and Ixtaccihuatl (pronounced eetaseewatl at 17,343 feet). These two, highest of the volcanoes, were named for the Aztec warrior Popocatepetl and his beloved princess, Ixtaccihuatl, who legend says died rather than outlive him.
With nearly ten million people living in the city basin, one in every six inhabitants of all Mexico, the traffic is horrific. A hodge-podge of one way streets and alleys, numerous pedestrian only roadways, and the interminable traffic circles make driving in Mexico City an exercise in survival and steel nerves. The traffic circles, especially, are unbelievable. I counted no less than twenty large traffic circles throughout the city. Anywhere from five to twelve lines of traffic would all be moving in a counter-clockwise circle around some ornate fountain or statue. One third of the cars would be trying to move from the outer circle to the inner circle, one-third from the inner circle to the outer circle, and the rest dodging and weaving to get the best advantage to move through the gridlock to their destination. Every circle was sheer pandemonium and I faced each one with clenched fists on the steering wheel, a locked jaw muscle and a profusion of sweat running down my face. Arms would be stuck out windows signaling or just beating the air, heads would pop out and yell and scream at other drivers, police officers would blow their whistles incessantly, but no one paid any attention. Amazingly, in the goulash of traffic, there were very few if any accidents, even with pedestrians and bicycles darting in and out like irritating gnats flying in front of your face.
Departing from the telephone company parking lot, we drove east through the city on the main drag, Paseo de la Reforma, and then turned off close to the center of town on Avenida Juarez which paralleled Avenida Hedalgo. Six or seven long blocks later we came upon the Zocalo. It is a huge open square in the center of the city, used as a public gathering place and for political rallies, and second in size only to Red Square in Russia.
Every time we stopped for traffic lights, construction, or gridlock, we were deluged with vendors trying to gain our attention to hawk their wares. From children selling chicklet candies to elderly adults holding out scarfs, cooking utensils or wanting to wash you windshield, the aggressive push of these vendors disrupted our progress. After hours of yelling “No necessesita nada” (I don’t need anything) or “No hay denaro” (I don’t have any money) or simply “Go away”, we finally resorted to rolling the windows up and staring straight ahead so as to avoid any eye contact.
The smells of the city were pungent and colorful. As we passed the expansive green parks with flowers abounding, the fresh scent of nature would waft through the air, followed immediately by dusty smoke and body order of the pressing in vendors. Then from time to time an open sewer would flood our nostrils with the ugliest foul smell imaginable. Then the smell of tacos and burritos cooking in old grease from the street vendors and back to the smelly onion and hot pepper breath of the hawkers as they would press their faces against the window or try to speak through the windwing left open to keep from suffocating in the dense smog. The sheer size of the urban sprawl of Mexico City creates a veritable smorgasbord for the senses.
We finally found a parking place near the square, always a paid lot with a guard because of the rampant vandalism. Also, if you read the signs wrong and ended up in a no parking zone, the policia would take your license plate and then you were forced into an impossible treasure hunt to find it and pay a huge fine to reclaim it. The few pesos for the guarded lot was well worth it.
“I think the post office is right over there,” said Sharlene as she pointed back down the road we had just navigated. “I’m certain we will have mail from home. This was one of the largest contact points that we left with my mom and dad. I’m sure mom sent several letters over the last two weeks to the address we gave her for holding the mail at the main post office. I hope she remembered to write “Hold for Pickup” on the envelope. Do you suppose they can read English?”
“I hope so. OK, we’ll go over there right after we stop in at the American Express office,” I replied. “I saw the office just around that corner when we came past the sixth or seventh time looking for a parking spot.”
Mail stops were always a highlight of arriving at any new city. The American Express offices became our financial lifeline to home. We had researched and discovered that at any one American Express office an American traveler could cash a personal check for cash up to a maximum of $400.00 US in any 20-day period. We had put all of our cash into a savings account in California with an automatic transfer from savings to checking every month of about $500.00. In case we needed more for an emergency, we had given Shar’s mom and dad the necessary withdrawal and deposit slips to transfer whatever we needed. The system worked great most of the time, and American Express was very accommodating, although from time to time the office would have only $200.00 in cash or even some lesser amount. In any event, the system allowed us to get US cash in monthly increments so that we never worried about robbers or bandits wiping out all of our money.
With our new supply of cash we headed over to the post office only to be disappointed with no mail. What a heartbreak. I knew some ice cream and a little sightseeing would renew our spirits.
The whole of Mexico City has been declared by the government to be a National Monument. There are so many historic buildings, art galleries, monuments and gardens. It is interesting that the people’s love and respect for the land and nature has caused them, from the earliest times, to set aside grand parks and green belts that keep a fresh sense of nature throughout the city now teeming with skyscrapers and office complexes.
Since we were in an historic part of the city, there were numerous tourist groups crawling around like little ant colonies and tourist busses lined up along the Zocala like airplanes on the deck of an aircraft carrier. Most of the tours were being conducted in Spanish, but in our usual way, we were able to locate one being done in English. By tagging along for a few minutes, we were always able to get just enough flavor of the history to satisfy our desires for cultural enrichment without paying the fee for an all day ordeal. This particular group was gathered at one corner of the Zocala and the guide was describing the Aztec ruins on which the present city had been built with some fascinating insights as to how the Spanish explorer Cortes was able to conquer the fierce Aztec warriors.
“The Aztecs were originally a nomadic tribe coming to the Valley of Mexico from the north in about 1325. They were searching for a new place to settle based on a priestly prophecy regarding an eagle, carrying a serpent in its beak, and perched on a cactus. This very image is part of the Mexican National flag to this very day. According to legend such a picture was observed on an island in the middle of Lake Texcoco, the site of the now dry basin of Mexico City. In this way the great Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan was founded.”
The guide continued with a very knowledgeable presentation. “By the end of the 15th century Tenochtitlan was a beautiful and busy city of 300,000 people having fountains, gardens and canals dotting the many small islands in the great lake. Eventually, one large island was created by combining the small islands with numerous causeways connecting the great city to the mainland. At this time the city may have been the largest in the known world and was the center of the political empire of the Aztecs, ruled by Moctezuma II. Then the Spanish arrived.”
“On November 8, 1519, explorer Hernan Cortes became the first white man to enter Tenochtitlan’s ceremonial center, which was located at the very spot of our present day Zocala that you see before you.”
We gazed out over the huge plaza area as we continued to listen to the commentator.
“One of the great mysteries of world history is how an adventurer such as Cortes, with a small band of some 400 men, was able to conquer the most aggressively warrior nation in the New World. The secret is believed to lie in his heavy armament, his horses, and a coincidence of history and mistaken identity.”
“Aztec legend held that the fair-skinned, golden-haired, god of civilization, called Quetzalcoatl, was to return to the city in the Aztec year One Reed. On the Aztec calendar that year was the year 1519. Thus, Moctezuma II believed that Cortes was the fulfillment of the prophecy and met Cortes with rich gifts offering no resistance to the entry into the city. When conflict finally ensued, the sound of the Spanish cannons terrified the Aztecs, and the 16 horses that Cortes brought with him, which had never been seen by the Aztecs, were thought to be some kind of god-monsters.”
“Finally, Cortes took Moctezuma captive and stationed his troops in the city. Later, there was an uprising against the Spanish and Moctezuma was killed, although they regained their beloved capital city. Counter attacks by fortified Spanairds resulted in open warfare and after a long siege of the island, the acclaimed empire of the Aztecs came to an end with the final fall of Tenochtitlan on August 13, 1521.”
“The Spanish eventually built their own city on the ruins of the Aztecs and allowed the Aztecs to inhabit the periphery. Intermarriage of the Aztecs and the Spanish resulted in the mestizos, persons of mixed Aztec and Spanish blood who comprise the great majority of Mexico’s present day population. In time the lake was gradually filled and the city expanded to what we see here today.”
The commentator stopped and there was a kind of verbal silence for several minutes with only the dull roar of the city accompanying our thoughts as we each one of us envisioned all that had taken place at this location called the Zocala, where we were standing and gazing.
Sharlene tugged at my arm as she whispered, “I’ve heard enough, let’s get going.” “What? Er um OK,” I fumbled with words as I drifted back into reality from my ancient mind travels. Sharlene always wanted to get going, move ahead, get on to the next thing. She was sort of like a perpetual motion machine and driven to always move forward, never back.
As we walked toward our car, we saw a large crowd gathered at the entrance to the fancy modern Sheraton Hotel. After a little inquiry we discovered that the President of Mexico was about to emerge from the hotel following a news conference of some type. Sharlene was always excited to meet famous people, sometime later it would be to meet and touch a gorilla in the African jungles, so she begged me to run to the car and get the camera while she positioned herself to get right in front of the celebrity.
I didn’t like the idea of separating in the city, with that mass of humanity we could get lost from each other forever. As I charged off to get the camera I yelled back, “Just remember, if we get lost from each other, listen for my loud whistle and come toward it. Got it!” I had developed the ability to whistle really loud using two fingers and the strength of my diaphragm from playing trumpet. In fact, it was so loud people within twenty feet of me would plug their ears from the physical pain of the shrill sound. It was a valuable safety alarm and could be heard for blocks, even amidst the roar of the city.
“Yeah, yeah, I remember the emergency procedures,” she answered with urgency in her voice. “Now get going and get the camera.” I was off at a run.
I returned just as the Mexican secret service and police were clearing a pathway through the crowd for the President of Mexico to escape the throng. As they pressed forward and down the hotel steps, who did I see emerge from the back right? It was Sharlene! Short cropped blond hair, blue levis, and a gold macramé top, there she was standing right next to the President. At that instant someone in the crowd tried to hand a bouquet of flowers to the President and the secret service pushed them away in such a way that it appears in the picture I snapped that the President is handing them to Sharlene. What a shot. We laughed so hard all the way back to the car that we couldn’t contain the tears. My sides ached with laughter. Shar was always able to get done what she wanted to get done. Her creativity and boldness would astonish me again and again as we continued our travels. It was time to write some mail and find the friends that Esmeralda had given us an address for so that we had a secure place to stay the night.
We tried to find Esmeralda’s niece from the directions she had given us. After four hours driving and asking and driving some more, we finally decided to go to the mother’s house. When we found it the maid told us that the mother had gone over to her daughter’s house, which is where we were supposed to be. We phoned the niece’s husband downtown where he runs a bar at night in a respected hotel and finally got correct information to find the house. The neighborhood appeared new and fairly upscale. They had a one month old little girl and we talked into the night until the husband got home. The house was very small so we stayed in our camper. The problem was the driveway. It was about a sixty degree angle and very short. It was illegal in that neighborhood to park on the street so we tried our best to make due in the driveway. All the blood kept rushing to our head and there was just no way to get comfortable, no matter which direction we placed our head and feet. The angled driveway and the high altitude made for a very sleepless night.
Next morning we met Esmeralda who had traveled all night on the bus from Guadalajara to Mexico City just to see us and spend more time together. After two hours of playing hide and seek with her we finally connected and she began showing us around the city. She surprised us with a 2 o’clock luncheon meeting with her boyfriend Alberto. He was a German transplant and lived in the town of Cuernavaca, a city about fifty miles southwest of Mexico City, but he had driven into the city to meet us. He was tall and blond with a good physique. It was obvious that Esmeralda was quite interested in him and we got the impression that they were more than just friends. After a great lunch in a vegetarian restaurant that reminded us of one we had frequented in Westwood when I was attending UCLA called Alice’s Restaurant, Alberto took us to a famous garden spot known as the Venice of Mexico.
Xochimilco (pronounced so-chi-mil-co) is a floating garden with a maze of canals like a miniature Venice. Small flat boats, called punts, are pushed along with poles, very much like a gondola, and along each side of the canals are beautiful gardens with a rainbow of color and fragrance. We rented a punt and the four of us floated for hours through the canals, Sharlene and I on a little white bench sitting in front of Esmeralda and Alberto with our pilot and pole master in the back. The punts are gloriously decorated with flowers and green vines and with brightly painted decorations on the sides and posts of the shade shelter covering the benches. Flower girls float up to the side of the boat and offer flowers, some for free, others for a price. Fruit vendors are in abundance both in their floating shops and along the banks of the canals. Other mini-barges had mariachi groups or Spanish guitar performers that played as they floated by. It was very romantic to float through the gardens with the delicious fragrances and soft soothing music as the sun began to set and the stillness of dusk quieted us from the hectic day. As darkness began to fall, we followed Alberto in his little VW bug to his home outside of town, stopping along the way at a little store for some cheese, fruit and a little white wine that we shared by candlelight on Alberto’s veranda.
The next day we were robbed by thieves. The day started out normal enough. We were parked inside of Alberto’s compound. He has a high wall around his half acre residence with a large iron gate and a big German Sheppard dog. The night before we had pulled into his driveway right next to the house and closed and locked the gates behind us. In the morning we ate a leisurely breakfast and discussed what we might do together since both he and Esmeralda had the day off of work. We finally decided to drive up Mount Popo, as it is called, and take some pictures and hike.
Alberto is the head foreman for the largest honey manufacturer in Mexico City. So, after breakfast we went to his company where the bees are raised so he could switch cars to use his powerful pickup truck to travel up the mountain. With all four of us sitting across the one bench seat in the pickup we headed up the 17,000 foot mountain. The road took us up to about 12,000 feet where we lucked out as the clouds cleared and gave us fantastic pictures of the white topped mountain peak. We hiked a little, talked with some other travelers who had just come down from climbing to the summit of Popocatepetl at 17,887 feet. On the way home we stopped for some traditional Mexican food, it was hotter than blazes. Then at about sunset, we arrived back at the compound to find a disaster.
We had locked up everything as tight as possible, even checked the gate lock two or three times. As we drove up in the truck Alberto immediately noticed that the gate was unlocked and unlatched, sitting partially open. As he slammed on the brakes, I lept out of the cab and ran inside to where our camper was parked. The right front window was rolled all the way down. Meanwhile Alberto had raced into his house and let out a yell. He had been burglarized.
The robbers had beaten the dog and forced him into a closet in the house. They took Alberto’s clothes, a new stereo, several good quality jackets, portable AM/FM radio, suitcases, and much more. The loss was doubly painful because he had recently separated from his wife and just two weeks prior she had come to the house with a truck while he was at work and had made off with all of their furniture and household belongings. Now the robbers had lifted almost everything else.
As for our camper, we were both outraged and delighted at the same time. Outraged at the feeling of violation and loss of our personal possessions, but delighted that our security system worked. We pieced together the clues to reconstruct what had happened. The windwing on the passenger side had been forced open, fortunately not broken. Then the robber reached in and rolled the passenger window down. Then they must have tried to open the passenger door but they were unable to open it because of the special Zeiss Ikon locks that we had installed. These were heavy duty dead bolt locks with a round key having four blades on the end like a Phillips screw driver. Each blade was a different set of lock tumblers. We had decided to install the locks with no inside latch so that they would only be used when we were away from the vehicle.
I noticed that after numerous attempts to get the door opened, the robbers used a screw driver or crowbar to try to pry the door open right next to where the small round hole opening was located where the round key would be inserted. The dead bolt consists of two round dead bolts of case hardened steel and a face plate of the same. They would have had more luck opening the entire top of the camper with a can opener than having any chance of getting past those Zeiss Ikon locks.
We had been told that robbers will rarely get into a vehicle to rob it unless they can get a door open for quick escape if the owner were to show up. The idea of the locks was to preclude anyone from being able to get any of the doors open from outside the vehicle. That is exactly what happened in this case.
The only loss was some of our camera equipment that had been set down between the two front bucket seats just as we were leaving that morning. We had also learned that it was best to arrange the inside of the camper so that nothing was visible from outside the van that would entice vandalism or robbery. So, we had devised a system so that every bit of personal property was put away and out of sight. Nothing could be seen from outside the vehicle, except the camera case.
The robbers were unable to get any doors open and saw only the camera case so they reached in and grabbed the cameras and made off. It was frightening to think of all the things we would have lost if they had been able to get into the camper. Fortunately, I had planned on taking pictures up on the mountain so I had more than half of our camera equipment with me at the time of the robbery. The part that was gone was still a grievous loss for us. We had purchased two 35mm Nikon camera bodies and a full set of 35mm lenses. One camera body was used to take black and white photos for magazine and publication use and the other was color slides. Then we had a 24mm wide angle lens, a normal 35mm 1.4 f stop lens, a 60-105 zoom telephoto and finally a large 200mm telephoto lens. The quality Nikon camera bag contained special lens protectors, polarizing filters, cleaning apparatus and a flash attachment. All in all it was a $1,000 camera package.
I had taken with me the color slide body, the regular 35mm lens and the 24mm wide angle along with the 60-105 zoom. The black and white body and the 200mm lens was in the camera bag along with all of the peripheral equipment. The greatest loss was the film in the black and white camera with the numerous pictures we had taken during the first month of our trip. They were irreplaceable. We felt that God had protected us from a total loss and we had sufficient equipment to properly document the rest of the trip.
Although Alberto appeared significantly depressed at his loss, he recovered quickly. He went to the police station to report the break in and gave them some payola money so that if they heard anything or found any of his things they would contact him right away. They indicated to him that they had little or no hope that anything would be recovered or that they would find the robbers. Payola is a way of life in Mexico. He bought some groceries and upon his return we all had a good shot of Brandy and talked into the evening as friends having shared a tragedy and trying our best to comfort each other.
Later that night Alberto took Esmeralda to the bus station for an all night ride back to Guadalajara. Next morning Alberta once again fixed a great breakfast and soon after we said goodbye and headed off to Acapulco, some 5 to 6 hours to the southwest. The plan was to spend a few days on the beach before returning to Mexico City for the folklorico on the weekend. We still didn’t know if the tourist bureau had arranged for the tickets but we were determined to try. |
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