Through the Heart of Mexico & Beyond

Brownsville, Texas is strange.  It is a city that sits on a precipice, a very steep, very tall and very dangerous precipice.  It’s a hub, a transit-stop for goods, money and people—the legality of which are often in question. When you arrive in Brownsville, it is impossible to shirk the feeling that you are coming to the edge of this precipice, the end of the road.  It is this very strange, very daunting feeling that you are running out of room.  The truth is, you are running out of room.  You’re coming to the end of the American architecture and right up to the edge of a precipice that few want to jump off, even in the most prepared of scenarios.  You’re coming to the Mexican border.

Texas Highway 77 takes you right to the edge of this cliff, and if you so desire, over and across.  The last stretch of US highway, however, offers continuous petitions for remainder in the States.  There are multiple signs that read  “LAST EXIT BEFORE MEXICO” and  “EXIT NOW BEFORE MEXICO.”

We have come to Brownsville to take the leap over this great precipice.  We have come to Brownsville to go to Mexico.  The truth is we are all nervous.  The kind of nervousness you have as a kid getting ready to go off the diving board for the first time.  The kind of nervousness you get standing at the brink of any great ledge, be that the Grand Canyon, a bungee jump, a sky dive or any great height.  It is a jump into the unknown and the unknown always holds with it an element of fear.

The truth is, South Texas is just as flat as the rest of the Midwest, so practically speaking, there is no geographic, physical cliff.  But there does exist a great barrier in-between the two countries, a barrier of safety, security, commerce and for us, adventure.  This barrier feels like a great precipice, a great judgmental dividing line.  The only comparison I can make is that being in Brownsville is a bit like standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon without a rope and a harness.  There is a great respect and fear for the dangers that the precipice provides, but also a great curiosity as to what lies below.  We know that our adventure begins the moment we cross this barrier, the moment we take the leap over this cliff.

We have been planning our trip to Mexico for sometime now—a summer road trip with some good friends. Over the past months, I have become addicted to progress. The burdens of which are finally starting to catch up with me.  This trip is supposed to be a break from that progress.  We want nothing more than to shirk our responsibilities in the states for a couple of weeks absent of any progress, phone calls, or duties.  They say that every great trip has a purpose, a goal.  I don’t think ours does.  We have come to Mexico in search of absolutely nothing, and in that regard, it leaves the possibility open for us to find everything.  All we want are a couple of weeks that are dedicated to no progress whatsoever.

There is Tanner, my best friend, the phlegmatic, easy-going, adventure-seeker who has planned this trip with me for the past few months. Then there is Eric, who I don’t know well, but is a good friend of most of my friends.  He has never been to Mexico, and is mostly just along for the ride. 

We are coming from the North by car, from Arkansas.  For the past several hours, Highway 77 has been our venue, but at this point, we find it best to heed the signs’ warnings and exit before we actually do run out of space. The sun is setting to our right and we have some errands to run in Brownsville as well as get one last good night of sleep before throwing ourselves off the cliff tomorrow morning.

We check into a cheap hotel in Brownsville and the door chime in the lobby is familiar.  It is the famous Westminster Quarters—the same chime of the front doorbell in my childhood house.  For me, it is a welcome reminder that we are still home.  We fall asleep that night contemplating the mystery and adventure that lie beyond the precipice.

–more coming soon.–