Against the Wind Chapter 4

Chapter 4
Assuming a boxcar is empty usually proves to be the case, but occasionally and suddenly you can find yourself face to face with a similar creature and by the very nature of the lifestyle, one does not always present themselves a pleasant picture, bearing the stains of travelling in a dirty boxcar what may be a gentle person can look quite formidable at first glance.
Such was the case the next morning as I caught another car on a different train. I had a general sense that I wanted go towards old Mexico, so a southbound was the obvious choice. I had money from my tax refund and it was burning a hole in my pocket as the old saying goes, but actually the pocket is not the best place to carry money when riding trains. I had a “money belt” fairly common, with a hidden flap to hide folding money. As I was always fearful of being completely broke, I also hid money in my boots.
I flung my bag onto the floor of the car and quickly followed it inside. Oops, sorry um “howdy” how do you do?
I spoke unwittingly to the other occupant of the car. Without pause, came the reply “howdy, welcome aboard”.
Thanks, they call me the Automatic Okie, but Okie for short will do. “John is my name, please to meetcha”.
Last names or even actual names are rarely given as a certain degree of anonymity must be maintained, that is just one of the “rules of the road”. “Got the makins friend?” “sure”, as I passed him a partial pack of cigarettes.
“Hang on to 'em, got an extra pack here”. Obviously if he were out of smokes, and we were temporarily isolated in a moving boxcar, it would just be a matter of time until he asked for another. The Hobo will carry “store bought” cigarettes when he can afford them, but when money is scarce it is a common practice to carry “Bull Durham” roll-your-own, hence the slang,”the makins”,(the makings).
We sat opposite of each other one on either side of the car. We quickly established that we were not a threat to one another and the mood became more relaxed as the usual topics of “small talk” began. Weather usually tops the list, followed by any outstanding news event, then on to politics, sex and religion. Not necessarily in that order but close.
There are many types of travellers and occasionally there will be a fugitive of the law. The risk involved with riding the trains are plentiful, even if one manages to survive the social aspects, jumping on an off of moving trains is extremely dangerous, and there's no shortage of amputees to bear out that fact. If not the loss of a limb, there are usually scars to record the hardships of living this under-worldly lifestyle.
“Been ridin long John?” my attempt to get the conversation started. “Left New York two weeks ago,got stranded somewhere near St.Louie for coupla days been rolling ever since.” “we're leaving Dallas now, you got any place special your headin to?” “No,but I've always had a hankerin to get down to old Mexico”. “Yeah that's funny I've thought about that a lot.” “Well hell, I guess we're on our way Amigo.” with a slight laugh John just nodded his head and let his body slip down a bit saying “I'm pretty beat, think I'll catch a few winks if you don't mind.”
“Go right ahead, stretch out, take a little siesta, we got to get rested up if we're goin “South of the Border”.
I just assumed the train would stop at the border but this one just barreled right on into Mexico, we never knew exactly when we crossed the line, the landscape changed and began to resemble what you would expect the northern deserts of Mexico would look like. There was no slowing down until we caught a glimpse of a sign, a small sign that read Villa de Guadeloupe. I recognised that as being a kind of a suburb of Monterrey. I would estimate we were approximately one hundred and fifty miles into the interior of Mexico. At that time you were allowed to cross over for day shopping but longer than that would require a six month visa. That would have to be worked out after we got settled some place and hopefully without any complications.
Mexico, exciting to be there, all of the senses seemed to be excited, as even the smells in the air, the hot, dusty, dry air and the general feeling of being in a foreign country all lent themselves to feeling a different level of awareness. Not to mention the feeling of leaving the good old U.S.A., there is something we take for granted living in this great country, perhaps a feeling of security and when crossing the border that secure feeling quickly evaporates leaving one with a heightened sense of danger.
I was glad to have met someone to buddy up with, especially now in a strange place, it was comforting to know someone was watching your back.
The train gradually slowed to a pace suitable for jumping off and the huge switching yard we were entering provided enough obscurity to allow us to blend in with the regular inhabitants of the city.
Food and shelter are the top priorities of any given day, and most often it is a daily task. “Hungry John?” I asked my new compadre. “Yeah, you been here before? Do you know your way around here?” Actually yes, I came here with friends after high school, it was a local rite of passage to go to Mexico, car loads of us would make the pilgrimage to escape the bonds of puberty and be initiated into manhood. Romance was not the top priority, rather the focus on the more fundamental elements of survival.
“I can speak a little bit of Spanish you know growing up with a lot of Puerto Ricans in the Bronx “ John said. “Si, senor being from Texas, I speak a little bit myself, pocito.” “Donde esta el bano por favor?” he laughed with the little half-laugh he used. “That may be the most important Spanish we need today”. Where is the bathroom.
A short distance from the yards the city began to reveal herself to us, providing unlimited public plazas and fountains. To soak our feet in the cool water was a real treat as we began to plot our next move. Without a formal discussion we just accepted that it would be to both of our advantages to stick together, at least for the time being.
The market place seemed to be the most appropriate place to chow down and stock up on provisions. “Donde esta el mercado, senor?” I inquired of a local gentleman, where is the market? “Direchio” he replied, (straight ahead).
Working our way through the crowd as it seemed to get thicker, should have told us we were getting closer to the commercial district. Receiving glancing looks from people should be expected, as we obviously looked like gringos.
The crowd thickened to the likeness of a bee hive as we arrived at the main market place of the city.
It became quite obvious early on that the shops were situated according to their wares, the leather goods, the silversmiths, etc and at last past the live animals appeared the ready to eat food section. The smell in the air was an indescribable mixture of human, animal and agricultural fumes. “John,” I could call you Juan here huh?
“Yeah, I've been called that in New York”,”have you ever tasted cabrito”? “No, but I have heard of it”.
Goat meat, “ I have eaten it bar-b-que'd, but not fried, think I will try it with some black beans and oh yes here is guacamole,” along with the flour tortillas freshly toasted on the grill, all that was lacking was the drink.
To drink the local water was questionable, when held up to the sunlight things could be seen swimming in it also it was a bit murky, a real turn-off. Other options included; coke, tequila, beer and soda pop. Orange soda was the choice of the day. Sorry, I forgot to mention goat's milk, yummy yummy, and so nutritious but I admit, like Scotch whiskey it is an acquired taste.
Found a nice table in the shade a couple of hippies invited us to share their space.
“American's”? “Texas, for me”, John echoed “the Bronx here”, “and you?” “The mid-west,Ohio for us”.Proceeding with the small talk, eating and drinking leisurely while getting our bearings as to ~ what next. There was the idea of obtaining visa's and continuing deeper into the interior of Mexico to visit landmark sites and perhaps over to the coast and up through Guadalajara and back into California. Our new found friends, Ken and Laura(for introduction purposes only)informed us that back at the commune only nick names were used. It added to the mystique of the whole concept of a group of people attempting to live in a Utopia. They were living in a commune about forty miles south west of Monterrey. A mountainous region, and very remote.
Genuine love children, unmistakeably, by the clothes, braided hair, and hand made bead work et, supposedly they were in the city to peddle their handi work at the market place and purchase necessities for their camp.
It was late morning and nothing really was more important than to just lie still and recuperate from the jolting ride down here.
Ken (nick name, Jingles)said, “hang loose while we do some shopping and you would be welcome to check out our little village, unless you have other plans.”
A quick glance at Juan, (his new tag) with a nod he said “why not?” “Cool man, we'll be waiting here.”
After a brief discussion, and the curiosity building by the moment we agreed to at least investigate this mystical door that had opened before us and accept their generous offer.
There were no ground rules per se for joining the group as the mere act of being “legalistic” would not be conducive with the new lifestyle they were attempting to live. Love and Peace was the theme and the “Golden rule” would provide the basis for our behaviour. However it would be expected that everyone contribute to the success of the commune according to their individual ability. Skills were being shared in craft making like; stringing beads, weaving baskets, even crude jewellery in the form of necklaces and bracelets. With this simple indoctrination, we were on our way.
Transportation to the commune or “home” would be quite primitive, on the back of a burro.
For a small fee you could rent a burro or donkey I always had a problem distinguishing the two. Let's see now,
A mule: A domesticated, hybrid animal that results from crossing a mare,(female horse) with a jack mule (male donkey) Donkey: A domesticated ass,which, of course, begs the question “What is an ass?” Ass: a four-footed, hoofed mammal related to the horse, but smaller,between the jackass and the donkey is their domestication – the ass is wild; the donkey is domesticated. But what about the burro?
Turns out the burro is a small donkey that is often used as a pack animal because it is particularly sure-footed.
These pack animals were available for rent at various stations throughout the city, for only a couple of bucks a day and when your finished, just turn them loose and they will find their own way back home. How convenient!