talking to some one, can't quite recall whom and it was only yesterday but so much happened yesterday / today, it was action packed tuesday / wednesday, i was building something and arm deep in wood and sandpapers and fucking doing stuff i never do like painting and going to bunnings, what the fuck! anyways here i am mr, handyman immersed in being handy and somehow i'm talking to someone about my travels through mexico a place i fell in love with and have good memories off.
i was a kid, barely out of my teens and i was lving in a cool pad in la when i somehow had this fixation about going to mexico. every single person said, 'no don't!'
i never listened to any one or anything they said, it was like i'd already gone.
i recall getting an old tattered last legs bus from south la greyhound terminal where a transexual pulled a gun on me, pointed it at my head and said, 'your in the wrong washroom son.'
sure enough i had walked into the womens toilets by accident. i walked backwards outta there eye on the face of the woman with the gun, i still recall his / her pinned eyes. anyway, in the same terminal i met a friend a few hours later whom was travelling around the usa, i told him i was heading south across the border.
he pleaded with me, come north with me, don't go, it's too dangerous. i returned to my book and waiting for the fucking bus to turn up immune to peoples concern for some reason, maybe stupidity or youthful arrogance.
i was reading the magus at the time, john fowles. it must have been a trend as a few people i met on my travels were reading or had read it.
the cross into tjiuana was okay, i stopped for the connection and hung around the markets and bars. it was chaotic and colourful and everyone was drinking tequila or buying or selling it. actually the whole place seemed to run on the stuff, all those reds and yellows, my eyes had to adjust.
then i finally hopped on the bus to mexico city, and about two hours in we stopped at the real checkpoint in juarez, where the real mexico begins. i think we travelled west and south, through sonora, mostly desert but where hallucinogenic frogs come from. the bus was packed and i was the only westerner on board. everyone was very friendly once they found out i was from england and despite being squished up with chickens, goats and people i found it really pleasant. people shared their boiled eggs and tortillas with me, old ladies smiled and younger men all high-fived me as though i were the soccer player whom kicked the winning goal.
at the border it was a different story, armed soldiers and border police all came aboard and made us march up to a huge shack where they id'ed everyone. i watched money exchange hands and figured out the young men were workers who were paying the border guards so they could re enter into mexico from the states where they had bee working illegally.
back on board i relaxed and watched the country roll by, occasionally trying to communicate to the friendly natives in a very inarticulate infantile spanish. we stopped twice over a period of 30 hours, i had taken the wrong bus, the mexican bus. the american bus would have taken me 13 hours. so when we rolled into the bus terminal at mexico city i was ready for a hot shower and bed. i'd bought a packet of marlborough outside the hotel and on my balcony lit my cigarette up only to find it tasted horrible. the tobacco they used was different than american, it was rough and hard to smoke. what i really wanted to do was peyote with some indians but mexico city was a vital swarm of modern people, students businessmen, traffic and culture, i walked out onto the street and wandered around falling in love with the whole place. the metro was one of the cleanest fastest most efficient services and so simple to use, i was unbound and travelled everywhere by subway if not on foot.
every morning i'd go down to the shop outside and grab some cafe and eggs (huevos), eventually the owner of a shoe shop came up and chatted with me and offered to show me the city. every moring he offered to show me something or point me in the direction of a tourist point. i declined his offer to be my tour guide but always bought him a breakfast as he sat and explained the intricate politics of the place. now mexican has a culture that is fucking amazing, it starts in the art gallery which is the most impressive gallery i have ever seen. it's magnificent. i was impressed by how political it was and how the revolution was part of the artistic pursuit. anyway, the architecture was incredible to, the zocalo was just an wonderful place to watch the city pass by while looking at these beautiful mighty buildings.
the whole city was built upon the aztec city of tenochtitlan which was destroyed in the 16th century by some crazy spanish conquistadors.
one of my fave spots was the 'place of coyotes' where i would relax sitting on a bench as time filtered through the leaves and the fountain spray caught the light as the ghost of frieda khalo whispered in my ear.
i not only felt safe in mexico, i felt part of it. adopted.
so i have always had an affinity with the country, the geography is etched upon me soul like a tattoo.
when i was there the main drugs slipping into the usa was weed and coke, i was never into coke but i enjoyed mexican weed, it was strong and yet friendly. most people i encountered outside of the city were smoking it, growing it. coke was a different story and i avoided that vibe. the mexicans began to grow weed as the californian students used to pay them a good wage per sack and it was easier than growing vegetables. as far as farming goes, all they had to do was plant it and occasionally run a hose over the crop. the students were friendly and cool. they worked out certain methods of carring it across the border and distributing it, mostly to students in the late sixties. it was the colombians who discovered the routes the students used for weed could be used for their product, cocaine. and eventually the students gave up the weed business to the columbians who were heavy dudes unencumbered by morality of value of life, they literally were the first narcos. the vibe went from peace and love and chilled to brutal violence, the califonians never carried guns, the columbians did, and machetes which they used.
so with the colombians the mexicans upped their ante and began competing, and thus the narco wars were born.
in 2005 i read power of the dog by don winslow which was an incredible read, it basically used the personalities of the drug wars and wrote a fictional interpretation based upon real life. it was harrowing and sad, becuase i felt what had happened to the country i had once walked in. to read power of the dog and it's two sequels is to put yourself through sleepless nights of tension, as a thriller it nails style, character, pace and construction. as a story it's fucking brutal and yet beautiful. winslow delves deep, touches upon every angle and does not fail to show light where it needs to be shone. on the consumers.
while it is very fashionable for people to preach about woke politics and how switched on they are, how spiritual they may be and their illusion that they know better than everyone else, any one of these individuals that used coke is not only directly responsible for the murder of thousands of innocents they are snorting up a whole lot of very bad karma.
it's rare for me to suggest reading a book unless feel passionate about it, and when it comes to 'the cartel trilogy' i do, drop everything you are doing, go and buy them and read them. prepare for violence and brutality, prepare to laugh, prepare to cry, prepare for sleepless nights page turning anxiety and prepare to face the truth. i miss mexico, the mexico i knew was very beautiful and it was the people whom made it for me, so friendly, kind and generous i was spooked by their hospitality, coming from london you don't expect people to be so generous.
