Crossing Borders

The main reason for my visit to Tapachula is to visit the official international crossing points between Mexico and Guatemala. There are four within the general vicinity of Tapachula and four others in the state of Chiapas. My reasoning is that if I'm going to write a dissertation on Mexican immigration policy, then I should probably know what it looks like up close and personal.

So, on my second day in Tapachula I decided to go visit Ciudad Hidalgo and its sister city Tecun Uman in Guatemala. I first took full advantage of a breakfast buffet that I stumbled upon, drinking nearly a gallon of fresh orange juice and eating several servings of chilaquiles, beans (obligatory for any meal here), empanadas de quesillo, huevos a la mexicana, and plantains. I love a good buffet. Then I jumped in a cab and told him to take me to the border.

An hour later, after getting lost several times mainly because every single highway exit was blocked by strategically placed rocks, we finally arrived. My cab was immediately swarmed by vendors and triciclo drivers. A triciclo is a bike that has been adjusted to carry passengers with a nice little overhang to protect you from the sun. This is a popular mode of transportation in small towns because of the heat and the barely navegable roads. Not to mention, it's dirt cheap. In border town, these triciclos will drive you from Mexico to Guatemala, over the bridge while you enjoy a nice plastic bag of coco water. It's really luxurious in a third world kind of way.

I politely declined, opting to walk instead. Of course this means that I was trailed by about 5 triciclos for about 2 blocks in the chance that I got tired or suffered from sudden heat stroke. I finally made it to Mexican immigration and was told very unenthusiastically that in order to leave the country, I had to pay a fee of 265 pesos (roughly 25 bucks). I produced a 500 peso bill which was met by an amused snort. The woman behind the glass, aka the woman with the power, told me she didn't have change. Therefore, I could not leave the country.

A word on change...as in small bills, not as in a political platform. There seems to be a nationwide shortage of small bills here in Mexico. Which means that when you take money out of an ATM and it feeds you nothing but large bills, you are officially S.O.L. Which subsequently means that you have to spend money to have money. You have to go to a substantial business, such as a pharmacy or restaurant, buy something cheap, pay with your big bill and get smaller bills for everything else ranging from groceries, to water, to any mode of transportation. I think this problem is probably symptomatic of a weak economy, but it can also be quite annoying. It also often turns into a strange game of Chicken, due to the fact that many cabdrivers or other streetwise kids will often say they don't have change, causing you to pay more than necessary for whatever service they have rendered. For instance, if you owe 50 pesos and you only have 100 peso bill. Listen lady, you have to pay me, and since I don't have change, well.....Implying that the only right thing to do is pay with the 100 and cut your losses. Not this lady. I know they have change and I need that change for whatever purchase comes next. So I'm giong to pay with my 100 peso bill and they're going to give me that nice little 50 in return. It usually ends in a staring match.

I told you I don't have change.

Well, neither do I. Quite a pickle.

Long, awkward silence.

Until the cabdriver finally gives in with a roll of the eyes and opens his glove compartment to reveal wads and wads of small bills. Busted.

Anyway, so the snorter was going to deny my right to migrate because she was out of change. We finally worked it out (meaning I found change down the road and around the corner) and I'm on my way. This particular crossing point is in the form of a bridge over the Suchiate River, which serves as the official border for a short distance. Standing in the middle of the bridge, right in between Mexico and Guatemala, you can see a thriving business of smugglers just down the river. These smugglers have both Mexican and Guatemalan counterparts and are called Balseros. They smuggle over people and merchandise on large, makeshift rafts called Balsas for a fee of roughly 20 pesos (1.80ish in US dollars). This occurs daily, in plain view of immigration offices, which might help explain the fact that the word most commonly used to describe this border is porous.

I finally made it over to Guatemala and figured I would go for a stroll in this lovely town called Tecun Uman, which kind of has the same feel as Ciudad Juarez on the Mexico-U.S. border. Which means not good so I decided to make it a quick stroll. I walked into town and headed straight for the purple church in the middle of the main plaza. Seeing as how my dear Maw Maw regularly and faithfully lights candle for my poor soul (every Tuesday in Kenner-bra), I always like to duck in and say a prayer for her and whoever else might be on my mind. I sat there for a few minutes but was quickly snapped back to reality by the mosquito going to town on my leg. Remembering the current outbreak in Dengue, I got the hell out of there.

I quickly made it back to the bridge where I was stopped by the Guatemalan immigration official. He stood squarely in front of me and said I couldn't pass because American girls like me had to stay in the country for at least 48 hours and, of course, spend money. I laughed politely as I walked past him and out of his territory. Sorry Buddy, but I'm fresh out of change.