Crossing the Border

We took a little trip "home" last weekend. This means we hopped in the car and drove across the border to Texas. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought to attach the work home to the Lonestar State. At least not in my previous life.

We arrived Friday night, not via the quickest route perhaps. We were seriously hungry, and pulled in to a traditional drive-in restaurant called Stars. I think being able to order in English made the food taste twice as good. I was amazed, although not necessarily surprised, how everyone we encountered at the gas station, the drive in, the hotel, all effortlessly jumped between English and Spanish as they served their customers. Very cool, and very taken for granted.

The next day, we indulged all our latent consumer tendencies. Target came first--lovely, lovely Target, with all the necessities of life. We found a slew of DVDs, mostly TV shows we didn't catch when they were originally broadcast, such as Arrested Development, The Office, and Weeds. We also bought makeup, Legos, and Polly Pockets, all of which can be much more expensive in Mexico. Other stops that day were Barnes & Noble, GameStop, Hobby Lobby (similar to Michael's), Linens n' Things, and a mall where all but Claire got haircuts.

Dinner was at the Texas Roadhouse. Jason had been to one in Iowa, and recommended it. They had barrels of roasted peanuts, with a shells on the floor policy. We all had the most lovely steaks I've seen in months, and a couple of beers for those of a certain age. Delightful.

After breakfast on Sunday, and a stop at HEB for a few goodies we can't get in Mexico, we hit the road for the long ride home. We missed a sign for the toll road, and drove directly through Monterrey where we had a brief interaction with an officer of the law regarding the speed limit. Once that was taken care of, we were on our way. As we entered Saltillo, we had a real feeling of coming home, to the familiar and the safe. Our beds, our home, our city. Ahhhh.

Mis Mascotas Arrivan! (aka My First Mexican APB)

It is challenging to ship animals, and it is challenging to import animals, and that means it is challening as hell to do both. Chewie and Mercedes have been living with Dave and Angie since the end of June, and that was a huge favor to us. We planned to bring the animals with us when we flew to Mexico on August 10, but then found that the airline wouldn't allow animals as cargo when the temperature was anticipated to be 85 degrees or more at any stop on the flight. Texas happens to be hot in August.

So we left them behind, and figuring out how to get them shipped was one of hundreds of tasks made so much more daunting by our new country, language, and laws. We were advised by American Airlines that there was no hope until at least the end of September. I started researching online to see if there was another way. I was nearly ready to drive to Minnesota and back. I was reading the information on Continental's site when I realized there was no mention of the 85 degree rule. I called, and found out that they did not have the same restriction. I was thrilled.

After many calls, a trip to the vet for new paperwork, and tons of worry, the animals were put on a plane in Minneapolis Wednesday morning. They had a long layover in Houston, and spent some time in the kennel there before being loaded on a flight to Monterrey. They arrived in the evening, after customs was closed, so they went to the customs warehouse. I was quite concerned, but there was nothing to be done.

WARNING: Long rambling story of a long frustrating day...

The next morning I left the house at 8:45 for the 1.5 hour drive to the airport. Jason tried valiantly to convince me that I should have a hired driver take me, but I figured it would be a piece of cake--just follow the signs, right? I headed to the north, looking for the signs for the toll (cuota) road, which is a straight shot to the airport. Hmmm...must have missed that sign because I ended up on the free (libre) road, which runs smack through the heart of the city. Monterrey has over 1 million people in the city proper, and 3 million in the metro area, and I don't know ANYTHING about navigating in the city.

Strangely, I was not worried and was confident that if I kept driving straight, I would find signs for the airport. Traffic was SO SLOW that impatience finally got the better of me and I stopped at a 7-11 for a map or directions. No luck with the maps, but a kind man told me that I could take Constitution all the way there. Assuming that was the road I was on, I took off, secure in the knowledage that I had known what I was doing all along. As I drove, listening to the very superior range of options on Monterrey radio, I shot right past where Constitution branched off from the road I was on.

Still confident that my route was viable, I continued for some time until I saw I sign for--Constitution. Well, I guess there are second chances. I took the exit and found myself heading south back towards home. After a detour through the city, a cobblestone street, several one ways, and a stop at a Howard Johnson for bad directions, I was headed north, and finally, finally arrived a the airport at 11:00.

This was just the beginning of my long day. I checked in with Juan at the Continental Cargo desk--they were so on top of things. I got my paperwork, and Juan called the customs broker that is a required to bring animals in through Monterrey. When Alejandro finally arrived from the broker, Juan translated for me. They were going to take the papers downtown to the government agency that handles animals and agriculture in order to get more papers. I sat down in those comfy airport chairs to wait with a big, thick book. (I also managed to find a beer and some nachos.)

Some time later, another guy from the broker came to get me to take me downtown because they needed my signature. I hate to say it, but this place was very much the stereotypical slow bureaucratic government office--five 1970s metal desks crammed into a small room, a 5" B&W TV the center of attention. The man who helped us was very nice, but very slow, transferring numbers one digit at a time from our paperwork to his, typing very methodically with two fingers, in no rush to get anything done. When we were finally successful, it was back to the airport.

Hours and hours went by. My eyes were no longer able to focus, and I had to spend time staring into space. I'm sure that someone lingering this long in a US airport would be arrested or kicked out, but no one bothered me. I checked in with my friend Juan to see if he had heard anything. He hadn't, and was finished with his shift soon, so he passed me on to his colleague Antonio. By 6:30 I was sure that customs was closed and all hope was lost for the day. Antonio was nowhere to be found. I called the broker with no hope of speaking to someone in English. I said my name and was connected with Alejandro, who said something in Spanish about five minutes and the airport. An hour later he appeared.

He said something about the lateness of the hour (no kidding), and indicated that I should follow him. We went to the customs area of the airport, which seemed quite abandoned until we walked up to a desk with a logo that I recognized from the office downtown. The negotiations began in Spanish, and hope crept back in to my day. After much paper shuffling and discussion, the official pointed to the date of Chewie's rabies vaccination (Dec 2005) and then to a photocopied brochure that I understood to say that the vaccination must be in the last 12 months to import a pet to Mexico. Too bad the brochure was in Mexico, and not in the consulate in St. Paul, or on the web site WHERE I COULD HAVE SEEN IT BEFORE!!! I thought I was going to be sick. I started trying to communicate that the vaccination was good for two years and that I hadn't been aware of the requirement, when I caught a look from the broker rep. He was going to fix this, and it would just take a little negotiation.

I stood back and let him do his thing, acceding points where necessary, flashing through all the other paperwork, and who knows what else. In the end, they agreed to release both animals to me, under the condition that I immediately get Chewie a rabies vaccination and fax proof back to the broker, to be fowarded to the officials. Having jumped through this hoop, we still had to get to the customs warehouse before everyone left for the night.

Well, Alejandro talked them into letting us in, greeted many people that he knew, and there were my animals! We went back to pick up my car, and he lead me to the entrance to the toll road so that I would not get lost going home.

It was pitch black, and I had not been able to call Jason in some time. My cell phone battery was dead and there was nowhere to stop along the toll road, and there was no way I was getting off the road and risking getting lost again. I powered through the heavy truck traffic (most pull double trailers here) and through the twisty mountain roads, pulling up to the house at 10:00 p.m. I was utterly exhausted, and not entirely surprised to see Jason standing on the front walk waiting for me. I pulled into the garage, and he was on the phone, relaying to someone that I had finally arrived.

As it turns out, he had finally given in to his worry and called our friend Gerald, who had contacted the state police, who issued an APB for me! Luckily, all this had happened in the 15-30 minutes before I arrived, so the police didn't actually find me. I don't think I could have handled being pulled over after the day I had!

Flea Market Gold

Anyone who knows me knows that I love a bargain. Our friends Dona and Gerald took us all to the nearby town of Arteaga yesterday to see the flea market, and I was in my element. The wares range from hideous plastic toys (think the Dollar Store) to costume jewelry, clothing, tchotchkes, and amazing handcrafts. My very favorite item that came home with us was indeed handmade. Claire picked up this lovely Mexican wrestling ring for 30 pesos. That's less than $3!! Prepare for some interesting gifts when Christmas rolls around!

To Pete

Claire says that she is NOT going to get a Mexican boyfriend.

American Music, in Mexico

As you may have experienced, when you are taken out of your culture, you can become very drawn to any little thing that reminds you of home. Such is my relationship with the radio here.

We seem to have five stations in the city, and I can't seem to nail any of them down to a single "format" in the sense that I am used to. So when I am in the car, I use the seek button a lot, and go around and around through the frequencies. Sometimes I settle in to the game of recognizing Spanish words, although almost never a complete thought, as the DJs speed through their comments. Other times I find some pleasant music in Spanish that I have never heard. Sometimes there is music in English.

I always stop when I hear English.

What is so interesting to me is which English songs get played. The only place to hear current music is Chilis. They must have sattelite radio. On one standard radio station yesterday, I listened from start to finish to Wilson-Phillips sing "Hold On." I didn't care for it when it was released, and still don't, but I sure know the words. Next I thought I was going to hear Queen, but to my horror heard "Ice Ice Baby"--the whole thing. I pulled into the garage in the middle of "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred, and I really was puzzled by what that program director was thinking. I'll tune in some more for further analysis.

First Day of School

We arrived in Mexico on August 10, and were still staying at a hotel by the time school started on August 20. Living in a hotel is NOT all it's cracked up to be. Four people in two rooms tend to step on each others' toes. And make a mess.

Yes, the maids came daily, often when we were not yet ready for company. However, we were hoarding dirty laundry, in part because we thought we'd have our own washer and dryer soon, and it part because it freaks me out to think of people touching my underwear.

So, the first day of school comes (it does not dawn, because we were up before the sun), and the kids put on their ADORABLE uniforms. We dragged ourselves to the breakfast buffet at 6:30 and took a picture of the kids in the lobby of the hotel. I think you can read their faces...