Leaving Roma yesterday was the end of the subtropical climate. I was now clearly back in the desert, and it was rising ever so slowly.
I opted to take my time driving north. Laredo was only 90 miles away according to a highway sign, and that gave me time to explore. I stopped at every historical marker I could find, drove around historical districts that weren’t too far away, and stopped at some of the birding sites along the way.
I wasted some time in Saninero, just outside the state park, to find the birding site May talked about. Instead all I saw were run-down little homes with beautiful flora but cluttered yards and mutts that all resembled mutant Chihuahuas. To add to my frustration every street had a speed bump at every corner. Who would want to speed through this little dump of a town? I didn’t see my first bump and hit something underneath the chassis. I drove ten miles an hour after that but never found the birding site, just several abandoned homes used as dumping sites for the locals. I couldn’t wait to get out of that hole.
My first stop was Zapata, 30 miles north of Falcon SP but a bit of a disappointment. According to the map Zapata was right on the Rio Grande, but the river was really a few blocks west and no longer accessible. What I hoped were wetlands to explore were blocked-off dead ends.
I stopped at a funky-looking Frontier Museum at a corner, a wooden structure that beckoned for people to check it out. I went inside and it was mostly a gift shop, but stuff made allegedly locally with local items, according to the owner David Merkens, a wheelchair bound older gentlemen dressed in western regalia: complete with red bandana and full beard.
His museum was full of eccentricities: a talking buck head singing some songs, a real Diamondback rattler that went into hissing mode as soon as I rounded a corner and entered his territory (luckily he was behind a window). Most was authentic stuff but some was truly odd, like the section of stuffed rats, rabbits and even a deer dressed up as farmers and sitting around a table doing farming chores.
I got to talk a bit with David and how he amassed his collection and he was willing to tell me his life story and the history of this part of Texas. He came to Zapata 36 years ago “back when it wasn’t developed like it is today” and fell in love with the area. He and his wife Jenny never returned to northwest Minnesota. Instead he has completely adopted to his new neighborhood, to include learning the history of the Spanish who settled here, the Indians and the story of the Rio Grande. Back in the late 1960s the river easily flooded or dried up; every year was a new water level. The dam nearby was built in 1953 that destroyed five towns, four of which were on the US side. Historical maps still depict these drowned villages now.
David loves history and he loves sharing his knowledge with others, too. In his spare time he likes to walk around to look at historical sites, both in the ground and in cities. Most of what he has amassed he has collected himself, but some things “mysteriously” show up at his front door or are left behind on the picnic table behind his museum.
“If you asked my mother she would tell you I was born a packrat” said Dave proudly.
He gave me some sound advice about some of the neighboring towns, such as what to see in Ygnacio, the small town north of Zapata, and the many picnic areas on Hwy83 that overlook bluffs and view of Mexico and the ever-rising shrubby hills.
Everything he told me was worthwhile, too. I stopped at Ygnacio to look at the old buildings, stopped briefly at the local birding site but it was still being developed and the groundskeeper, Joel, smilingly welcomed me into the yard anyway. This little patch of land was someone’s private property that they have opted to turn into a $5-a-person bird sanctuary along the Rio Grande. I heard plenty of birds but saw only grackles. I didn’t stay long. It was 1pm and I needed to get some mileage behind me.
I made it to Laredo at 2pm, the middle of the hot time of day. I pulled over to take a photo of a pretty courthouse, found that I was in a metered spot with 47 minutes left, so I decided I had time to explore parts of Laredo.
It’s a tough town. A lot of homeless people loitered about. I couldn’t find too much historical, although the old part of town is a tree-lined section of about two blocks. The rest of Laredo is a shopping mecca for Mexicans who come across the International Bridge to buy cheap Chinese goods en masse. A quick trip across to Nuevo Laredo would have been nice had the line not been so long, and I didn’t want to stay in the heat any more than I had to. Despite the water I could feel dehydration set in again.
I was a little disappointed in the city only because it was almost all Latino and the Latinos stared at me. Maybe they stared because I was walking around with a camera, and I wasn’t dressed to the nines like most Latinas dress. (I dress rather frumpy while on the road and on the trail)
I used the time to find an oil-change place and pulled into Mr. Frog’s on Saunders only to be approached by a young man who spoke only Spanish. I understood he wanted me to give him the keys and wait in the office. I wanted to stay in my car and work on my photographs like I’ve done at other quick oil changes. He brought in another worker who spoke some English, told me getting out of the car was policy, so I went elsewhere. Yet I couldn’t find a oil-change place.
I was hungry and needed a quick bite to eat, so I pulled into a Jack-in-the-Box for my usual chicken sandwiches. The woman ahead of me in a full-sized SUV had her truck parked in the middle of th drive-out lane, blocking me and another man behind me. I was working on my photos and was in the shade so I didn’t mind the wait, but the man behind me was clearly impatient and honked his horn the way I’ve heard the Mexicans honk their cars do. That warning got the woman to leave and clear the way for us. But why would she stop her car and purposely block the road for the people behind her?
I stopped briefly at the Casa Blanca International State Park that has camping, then drove north on I-35 until I found a Walmart, of all places, to have my oil changed. It took me 90 minutes but at least I got the photos downloaded and today’s entry written so sitting around wasn’t a complete waste. A family with four kids sat next to me chatting in Spanish. The three younger kids were allowed to walk all over the folding chairs and bother me. The heat had already given me a headache and I had to bite my tongue to be nice to these people. They were waiting on their car service, too. The Mexican culture is so kid-oriented that kids can do no wrong. I bought some water and a toothbrush and when I asked the young female stocker if I could pay for the things in the Tire-Lube section, she only responded in Spanish and didn't understand what I was trying to say. I get frustrated not in just the Mexicans not speaking English, but in my poor Spanish. I can get the gists of what they are saying, but don't have enough of a vocabulary to respond intelligently in kind.
It reached 94F in the van today, three degrees hotter than yesterday. At this rate I’m going to be melted away and need to watch my water intake. I dread the drive tomorrow in the barren desert. Even my Lonely Planet tour guide of Texas from 1999 says that it’s hot in Laredo and there’s nothing around to gas up in for fifty miles in any direction. I better watch out and buy plenty of fluids. This town is hotter than Phoenix in the summertime, and definitely not traveler-friendly. This town is a home to many Mexican-Americans and its culture is rich and lively, but here I feel like an outsider.
A sign on I-35 where the Walmart was showed a distance to Houston as 307 miles, and a distance to Corpus Christi as 154, yet my tripometer is over 2053 miles. I drove 167 miles again just today.
I opted to take my time driving north. Laredo was only 90 miles away according to a highway sign, and that gave me time to explore. I stopped at every historical marker I could find, drove around historical districts that weren’t too far away, and stopped at some of the birding sites along the way.
I wasted some time in Saninero, just outside the state park, to find the birding site May talked about. Instead all I saw were run-down little homes with beautiful flora but cluttered yards and mutts that all resembled mutant Chihuahuas. To add to my frustration every street had a speed bump at every corner. Who would want to speed through this little dump of a town? I didn’t see my first bump and hit something underneath the chassis. I drove ten miles an hour after that but never found the birding site, just several abandoned homes used as dumping sites for the locals. I couldn’t wait to get out of that hole.
My first stop was Zapata, 30 miles north of Falcon SP but a bit of a disappointment. According to the map Zapata was right on the Rio Grande, but the river was really a few blocks west and no longer accessible. What I hoped were wetlands to explore were blocked-off dead ends.
I stopped at a funky-looking Frontier Museum at a corner, a wooden structure that beckoned for people to check it out. I went inside and it was mostly a gift shop, but stuff made allegedly locally with local items, according to the owner David Merkens, a wheelchair bound older gentlemen dressed in western regalia: complete with red bandana and full beard.
His museum was full of eccentricities: a talking buck head singing some songs, a real Diamondback rattler that went into hissing mode as soon as I rounded a corner and entered his territory (luckily he was behind a window). Most was authentic stuff but some was truly odd, like the section of stuffed rats, rabbits and even a deer dressed up as farmers and sitting around a table doing farming chores.
I got to talk a bit with David and how he amassed his collection and he was willing to tell me his life story and the history of this part of Texas. He came to Zapata 36 years ago “back when it wasn’t developed like it is today” and fell in love with the area. He and his wife Jenny never returned to northwest Minnesota. Instead he has completely adopted to his new neighborhood, to include learning the history of the Spanish who settled here, the Indians and the story of the Rio Grande. Back in the late 1960s the river easily flooded or dried up; every year was a new water level. The dam nearby was built in 1953 that destroyed five towns, four of which were on the US side. Historical maps still depict these drowned villages now.
David loves history and he loves sharing his knowledge with others, too. In his spare time he likes to walk around to look at historical sites, both in the ground and in cities. Most of what he has amassed he has collected himself, but some things “mysteriously” show up at his front door or are left behind on the picnic table behind his museum.
“If you asked my mother she would tell you I was born a packrat” said Dave proudly.
He gave me some sound advice about some of the neighboring towns, such as what to see in Ygnacio, the small town north of Zapata, and the many picnic areas on Hwy83 that overlook bluffs and view of Mexico and the ever-rising shrubby hills.
Everything he told me was worthwhile, too. I stopped at Ygnacio to look at the old buildings, stopped briefly at the local birding site but it was still being developed and the groundskeeper, Joel, smilingly welcomed me into the yard anyway. This little patch of land was someone’s private property that they have opted to turn into a $5-a-person bird sanctuary along the Rio Grande. I heard plenty of birds but saw only grackles. I didn’t stay long. It was 1pm and I needed to get some mileage behind me.
I made it to Laredo at 2pm, the middle of the hot time of day. I pulled over to take a photo of a pretty courthouse, found that I was in a metered spot with 47 minutes left, so I decided I had time to explore parts of Laredo.
It’s a tough town. A lot of homeless people loitered about. I couldn’t find too much historical, although the old part of town is a tree-lined section of about two blocks. The rest of Laredo is a shopping mecca for Mexicans who come across the International Bridge to buy cheap Chinese goods en masse. A quick trip across to Nuevo Laredo would have been nice had the line not been so long, and I didn’t want to stay in the heat any more than I had to. Despite the water I could feel dehydration set in again.
I was a little disappointed in the city only because it was almost all Latino and the Latinos stared at me. Maybe they stared because I was walking around with a camera, and I wasn’t dressed to the nines like most Latinas dress. (I dress rather frumpy while on the road and on the trail)
I used the time to find an oil-change place and pulled into Mr. Frog’s on Saunders only to be approached by a young man who spoke only Spanish. I understood he wanted me to give him the keys and wait in the office. I wanted to stay in my car and work on my photographs like I’ve done at other quick oil changes. He brought in another worker who spoke some English, told me getting out of the car was policy, so I went elsewhere. Yet I couldn’t find a oil-change place.
I was hungry and needed a quick bite to eat, so I pulled into a Jack-in-the-Box for my usual chicken sandwiches. The woman ahead of me in a full-sized SUV had her truck parked in the middle of th drive-out lane, blocking me and another man behind me. I was working on my photos and was in the shade so I didn’t mind the wait, but the man behind me was clearly impatient and honked his horn the way I’ve heard the Mexicans honk their cars do. That warning got the woman to leave and clear the way for us. But why would she stop her car and purposely block the road for the people behind her?
I stopped briefly at the Casa Blanca International State Park that has camping, then drove north on I-35 until I found a Walmart, of all places, to have my oil changed. It took me 90 minutes but at least I got the photos downloaded and today’s entry written so sitting around wasn’t a complete waste. A family with four kids sat next to me chatting in Spanish. The three younger kids were allowed to walk all over the folding chairs and bother me. The heat had already given me a headache and I had to bite my tongue to be nice to these people. They were waiting on their car service, too. The Mexican culture is so kid-oriented that kids can do no wrong. I bought some water and a toothbrush and when I asked the young female stocker if I could pay for the things in the Tire-Lube section, she only responded in Spanish and didn't understand what I was trying to say. I get frustrated not in just the Mexicans not speaking English, but in my poor Spanish. I can get the gists of what they are saying, but don't have enough of a vocabulary to respond intelligently in kind.
It reached 94F in the van today, three degrees hotter than yesterday. At this rate I’m going to be melted away and need to watch my water intake. I dread the drive tomorrow in the barren desert. Even my Lonely Planet tour guide of Texas from 1999 says that it’s hot in Laredo and there’s nothing around to gas up in for fifty miles in any direction. I better watch out and buy plenty of fluids. This town is hotter than Phoenix in the summertime, and definitely not traveler-friendly. This town is a home to many Mexican-Americans and its culture is rich and lively, but here I feel like an outsider.
A sign on I-35 where the Walmart was showed a distance to Houston as 307 miles, and a distance to Corpus Christi as 154, yet my tripometer is over 2053 miles. I drove 167 miles again just today.
No comments:
Post a Comment