"I told you, I am not going into Mexico." said Kevin this morning. "I have no desire to go there."
"Then I'll go myself."
"That's OK with me."
"You're not going to miss me?"
"Of course I am going to miss you. But I'm not going to Mexico. It's too dangerous down there."
"Then I'll go myself."
"That's OK with me."
"You're not going to miss me?"
"Of course I am going to miss you. But I'm not going to Mexico. It's too dangerous down there."
http://www.riosonora.com/naco.html
So off I went, at 1:30pm and headed toward Naco, a small town of around 5000 people, 27 miles to the Southeast. I wanted to spend the day in the small bordertown and see families celebrate Day of the Dead in the town cemetery.
The first time I witnessed this holiday was in 1992, when I was walking through Nogales in the afternoon of November 1st and wondering why everyone was dressed in white and picnicing in the cemeteries. Young children carried lanterns, older family members wreaths and brooms.
So off I went, at 1:30pm and headed toward Naco, a small town of around 5000 people, 27 miles to the Southeast. I wanted to spend the day in the small bordertown and see families celebrate Day of the Dead in the town cemetery.
The first time I witnessed this holiday was in 1992, when I was walking through Nogales in the afternoon of November 1st and wondering why everyone was dressed in white and picnicing in the cemeteries. Young children carried lanterns, older family members wreaths and brooms.
This holiday of honoring the dead even upset the Spanish Conquitadores when they first witnessed the Aztecans celebrate this event, but over the years the Catholic Hispanics have incorporated this into their own tradition.
It's a two-day event that starts on November 1st and ends late on November 2nd.
The only problem I had--I didn't know where the town cemetery was. I couldn't locate it on Google Earth.
I got to Naco, Sonora shortly after 2pm. It didn't take me long to walk the mile down the dusty road south, toward San Jose Peak, an extant volcano that never leaves one's sight. Where could I go to spend the afternoon until sunset, when the town locals would surely walk in their holiday best toward the cemetery?
The sun was hot, I didn't bring my sunglasses, and I felt thirst come over me.
I walked down the Main Street until it forked to the left. I continued due south on a dusty sidestreet, littered with trash and stray dogs, with dirty kids playing in the streets. Old cars with expired Arizona license plates rested in overgrown backyards.
There wasn't much to see in town. Dust, sun, flattened plastics littered the roads.
I turned around when I reached the southern edge of town and walked back on the main road. It was here where I met Ramon, an older man who accompanied me for a few blocks. I wasn't prepared to speak Spanish but tried my best. Ramon made me feel like an idiot because I understood so little between his mumblings.
"Donde esta el cemetario?" I asked him.
Aghast at the question, Ramon motioned that the cemetery was far on the north end of town, in the "Barrio Nuevo." He must have thought I was nuts to walk all that way, but little did he know that I had just walked that distance to get to the southern edge of Naco.
It was just my luck that a small gathering that I had walked past earlier that day was actually the start of a funeral procession. Where could a funeral procession go but to either a church or a cemetery, right?
So I followed the long caravan through town. At the catholic church off the Main Street the caravan turned east (right) and slowly proceded down a wide, dusty road to the edge of town.
The walk seemed to go on forever. Whoever was getting burried was a very popular person because there were many people walking along the caravan, and many more were crowded inside the cars and in the rears of pick-ups. One Mexican-American even told me in perfect English to hop in the back of the truck in front of her "So you don't have to walk so far!"
At least Ramon was right. The cemetery was in a new part of town. Cars were lined up closely in the parking lot. Vendors sold marigolds, plastic wreaths and simple foods outside the ironwrought fence of the cemetery. Families had brought their picnic chairs inside the cemetery to eat a meal with their deceased.
Many others were busy tidying their relatives' graves. Small children played with flowers or water hoses. Stray dogs sauntered passed oblivious people. Mariachi music played from a band on the stage.
This was one busy cemetery. I didn't mean to join a funeral but this was hard to ignore.
"Are you taking pictures for the newspaper?" asked me one woman in perfect English.
"No, I am just taking these for myself..." I replied ruefully.
"There are three funerals going on right now. My 26-year-old cousin was found murdered in Agua Prieta two days ago" as she pointed at the freshly-dug grave in front of us, "and over there is the funeral of a 32-year-old man who died in a car crash..."
Agua Prieta (AP) is another bordertown, just across from Douglas, AZ that has seen a spike of drug violence lately. Women have been found murdered, men decapitated. The bodies are tossed out into the merciless desert outside the 120,000-large town. Only Nogales is more dangerous than AP. I have stayed away from AP; I get enough action in my little town.
The dead man had a large, mournful family. I quickly spotted the mother who was held up by what looked like her daughters. She sobbed the entire time I was in the crowd. The father stood a few feet away from the mother, closer to his menfolk, and between handshakes and hugs took sips from his can of Tecate. There were Tecate cans strewn along the crowd.
There were also Bud Lite cans on the ground. Those most likely were from the Mexican-Americans in the crowd.
I called Kevin to let him know where I was.
The funeral got to me, watching especially the women stand silently as they wiped their tears away. Both victims died much too young.
I walked away from the grievers to see the rest of the cemetery, all clad in new colorful wreaths of various hues. The cemetery was today's festivity in town. Once I left it to walk back toward the main part of town, the crowds dispersed and I returned to a more rural small town.
Roosters crowed, dogs barked and a distant train chuggeled northbound toward Bisbee, AZ whose mountains were clearly to the north of me. I could see San Jose and Warren, southern parts of Bisbee, from my vantage point.
Barefooted kids played in the dusty streets. One girl came up to me. Another boy watched me carefully from a distance. Old men waved at me, some even blew catcalls my way (!!!). Women hid their faces when they saw my camera.
I stopped for dinner at El Maraguey, a small restaurant that clearly catters to Americans. (I only see tile floors in tourist places, the rest of Mexico has vinyl flooring) I was the first customer for the evening. The Cruz Azul-Pancheca soccer game had just started.
I ordered green chile-chicken enchiladas and two Coronas. The bill came to $10. I tipped $2. I ended my visit in Naco with a purchase of a carton of Malboro Lights cigarettes for $23 and a litre of tequila for $18. I bought the maximum I could buy without paying a duty at the customs house upon return.
I sat for a few minutes on a wrought-iron bench in the town square, sipping the rest of my sweetened lemonade. I knew I couldn't bring the rest across the border.
An older man asked if he could sit next to me. I scooted over a bit to give him more room.
"Como se llamas?" he asked me.
"Connie."
"Me llamo Carlos." I've noticed that Mexicans want to know your name right away. Americans can talk for hours with strangers before asking their names.
"Me llamo Carlos." I've noticed that Mexicans want to know your name right away. Americans can talk for hours with strangers before asking their names.
We chatted a while. I mentioned the holiday in my broken Spanish.
"El Dia de los Muertos esta manana" he explained, meaning tomorrow and not today.
Oh. Then I asked Carlos if Naco had a drug problem (as the streets were quiet today)
"Es muy tranquil aqui..." he replied and before I could ask him more, he jumped up to run to a darkened van behind me.
What was that all about? Did he sit next to me thinking I was really a prostitute waiting for a trick?
I made it back to the Arizona side by 7pm. Crossing the border was easy.
"Have you bought liquor here within the last 30 days?" asked the border agent.
"It's the first time I've bought liquor here" I replied. In fact, it's the first time ALL YEAR that I've bought liquor in Mexico. I still have two bottles of tequila in the house that remain untapped.
(But maybe I'll have some tequila late on Election Day?)
It was a strange feeling to drive north from Naco and see the lights of Bisbee as the Mexicans see them. But I returned home knowing that I finally got to visit Naco.
Note to myself: get the passport paperwork started next week! I want to see more of Sonora.
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