It was Labor Day, so I took some time to take care of some personal business; crossing the river for medication, getting some tooth work done, that sort of thing. As we progress through life, we learn where to plan our routes to fit in with our needs; and our needs get simpler with time. The best place for coffee, then the best place for breakfast, then the most convenient place for a pit stop etc…they are all important.
In the humble town of Mercedes, just a little past the geographic center of The Rio Grande, lay a string of Mexican American Cafes. A good breakfast can be had there cheap. Be careful and order the specials off the walls. That way you know the price and you can be sure that they have it and know how to make it. Wherever you find good beans, treasure them and the hands that picked them and prepared them. It’s one of the great sacrifices, living way north of the Rio Grande; no home-made pinto beans or black beans. Also they stick to your ribs, and not so much to your waist line as pancakes, hash-browns and other early morning side dishes do.
Who exactly pays these guys, I don’t know, but almost to the far side of the Mexican side of the bridge, I see a half dozen or so workers dressed in their safety garb of illuminated vests. You know, striped and with a base color that screams: “Look at me! Don’t run me over, I have physical living existence!” It seemed passing strange all the elbow grease they were putting into scrubbing and soaping down the bridge lanes, because the town was dead, dead, dead. And had been all summer long, so I heard from the locals. But Mexicans among many other things are resilient, strong, and fatalistic. Soon the Winter Tourists will be there to leave muchisimo dinero. Still it reminded me of white washing a sepulcher, or tomb. Yet I remain impressed.
If you hug the bare edge of Nuevo Progresso you should be safe. The Military is stationed there behind the bridge, the toll booth and the bathrooms, and there is at least of platoon there; could be a company, because you can’t see inside. No reason for the cartels to attack. (In previous blogs we’ve gone into those reasons). Also with the public around and the aduana (Mexican Customs) there are witnesses, so you are protected from the Military. You don’t ever want to be alone with any Mexican official or small group without witnesses. You’re leaving yourself open to both extortion and frame-up. Sadly, this is applying more and more north of the Rio Grande as well.
My pharmacist told me this was the worst summer he had ever had. Still he opened up a new location where a fancy seafood restaurant had been before. His workers had seen me walking past and had flagged me down to their new location. You don’t get service like that just anywhere.
I had talked to a doctor some years before on the side street behind Avenida Juarez. He had ionic foot detox, also chelation therapy (which he saw as more of a minor adjunct to the foot detox) and had access to “green vaccines” from France that did not have mercury or many of the other poisons in them that U.S vaccines did.
I followed his sign inside and asked the assistant if this was the Dr. that had the ionic foot detox treatments. From her look of both puzzlement and panic I could see that all she heard was: Rrrrr-errrduhduh-duh-duh-os-ox-roo-foo-foo-roo-roo. She ran and got the cute doctora, who spoke very good English. It seems that the Foot De-tox doc had died a few years back and they hadn’t taken the sign down yet. Now they were only a dental office.
There are alternative practitioners around town but they are scarce. Business is bad for everyone. But you do get a funny feeling when a doctor you were going to consult with dies. A shudder of mortality sort of shivers your timbers. One thinks: How could he save me, if he can’t even save himself. Yet everyone must shed the mortal coil in time. Still the doctor wasn’t that old.
That was about as much fun as I could take in one day. Next report, there should be people in it; lots of people.
