The Humanitarian Experience: CONTRABAND

CONTRABAND

Driving into the country of Mexico is generally an easy process. The most time I have spent trying to get into Mexico is about 10 minutes and that included detailed searches of our vehicles. There seems to be a lot fewer people running for that side of the border. On the other hand, leaving Mexico and crossing into the U.S.A again is a completely different story. I am going to estimate my longest border crossing into the USA at 3 hours with an average wait time of 2 hours. I have described the adventures of crossing the border in the past, but this August I had a new experience at the border that I would like to share with you all.

We rose before the sun on that cool Saturday morning with one thing on our mind, the long drive home. The drive home is approximately 15+ hours which is why rising before the sun is so crucial. Groggily the teenage humanitarians and the leaders pack themselves a to-go lunch of apples, PB&J and chips. There will be as few stops as possible on the journey home. With much encouragement, the team clambers into the 15 passenger vans where they soon drift back to sleep. The driver and Co-Pilot (if they are a good co-pilot!) will stay awake wide-eyed as they transport the do-gooders to their true beds of home. We are not the only ones to get an early start, as we drive along HWY 1 we begin to so see thousands of field workers board hundreds of buses to get to work before the heat of the afternoon starts to rise. Buses soon become the enemy of time, as they slow our trip, but the early start helps to alleviate the congestion.

As we work our way north we come across a few Drug-Check points. It is at theses check-points that the AK-47 makes a stand and strongly encourages all drivers to stop for inspection. We of course adhere to this policy and thank the dutiful Federales for their permission to continue on our way home. Continuing on the road we pass the popular tourist locations – Rosarito, Ensenada and finally Tijuana it is now 12pm. Entering the city a new smell can be detected and the smog starts to cloud our vision of the land of Mexico. Aggressively our drivers make their way through the city towards the gleaming view of San Diego, California. But before one can step foot on the soil of the free, one must first perform a series of tasks, including the most time consuming of them all… waiting in line. The Vans come to a screeching halt as they drive up to snake like line of cars that stretches through the city.

Car games, vendors and deliciously hot and tasty churros help pass the time, and after a few hours finally arrive at the border. There you will find extremely high-tech cameras and what I can only guess is some sort of imaging device, that captures the unseen of the vehicles journeying through the border. Slowly we creep closer and closer to the front of the line, I gather the passports from our team and organize them for easy access. I completely respect the border officers and their laws. So in every effort I try to be less of a hassle than we already are. We truly are a hassle for the officers, with our packed vans and massive amounts of luggage we slow down the line and prompt further inspections. This time instead of the standard greeting “Why were you in Mexico, when did you arrive?” we hear, “So do YOU have the apples too?”. I look around and think hard, “Apples? What? Is this some sort of code? Does he think we are secret agents!?!”

My husband who is driving, luckily did not jump to the conclusions that my over imaginative mind did, instead he responds with “Excuse me?”

Border Officer: “Do you have Apples? the other Van had apples…you cannot bring fruit and vegetables over the border. Please answer the question. Do you have Apples?”

Me (I need to keep my mouth shut sometimes): “Apples? I don’t think we have apples. Team do you have any apples?”

Team: “Yes”

Me: “OH!” In my mind I am bringing back the fuzzy images of 6 hours prior — apples, PB&J.. shoot!

At this point the officer is getting annoyed with us, remember when I mentioned we are a hassle?

Border Office: “I need all the apples”

Me: “Even if we bought them in the states?” — I have no Idea why I was even asking this question. Like they could tell American vs. Mexican bought apples…

Border Officer: “YES, it does not matter. You cannot bring fruit across the border!”

After gathering all the Apples we handed over the contraband and smiled.

Border Officer: “Is this every apple?” his charm has completely faded away at this point.

Team: “Yes”

Border Office: ” You are clear to move forward”

As we start to drive past the border, I am pretty annoyed. I hand back the passports to our team, and start to complain about the apples. As I place my own passport back in my bag I feel a small round object. I freeze, and touch it. Yep it is an Apple! I must have groggily grabbed an apple for myself that morning. And now I am a criminal.

 

Read more about my border adventures HERE.

The Humanitarian Experience: Creepy Ol’ Pancho

While crossing the Tijuana / San Diego border a few years ago, my husband and I were approached by a very aggressive car to car sales man. There are very few things that I am willing to buy from the Mexican border as most of it, is genuine tourist gold. One of the things that I am willing to buy is the churros, they are so amazingly delicious. Maybe it is the mixture of the car fumes and Tijuana pollution. I can’t say for sure what it is, but when you get a piping hot churro delivered to your car window at the Mexican border it is a culinary delight!

Amongst the other things that are presented to you at the border for purchase are ceramic banks molded into well-known loveable characters. Basically a copyright nightmare. As I sat happily eating my warm churro and discussing our most recent adventure with the team that we were driving back to the U.S,  I began to feel eyes on me. You know that feeling when someone is watching you, someone menacing and maybe even dangerous. With my churro in hand and wide eyes, I slowly turned to see who it was.

There standing at my passenger window were two beady eyes, disgustingly putrid looking skin and a GIANT mustache. Immediately my churro went flying, a yelp came forth, and my hands went to cover my head in an attempt to shield myself from this sight.  Then laughter.

I looked up again only this time it was a happy young man smiling and laughing at me, holding a ceramic bank. Only this was not tweety bird or a knock off precious moment figurine it was Pancho. Now, we very much may be wrong about which Mexican historical figure  the ceramic bank might be, as I recently saw a picture of Zapata and found a dead on resemblance.  But alas he is Pancho to us.

“Fifty dollars!” the young man says.

“ I only have 15” my husband replies. For about a mile the young car to car sales man followed us on foot to the slowly approaching border. And near the end we purchased Pancho, for 15 dollars.

Pancho, has a strange effect on people. Middle aged women tend to hate him and make a point of pretending to destroy him, while younger guys like to set Pancho up in day-to-day scenarios a take a snapshot. We take Pancho on nearly every Humanitarian trip we can. He is the worst and best and sometimes has an attitude that would make the hulk cry. I guess you could say he has a hot Latin temper. Pancho even has a Facebook profile, and from time to time photos of his adventures are uploaded.

When Pancho is stateside he lives in my garage, above my washing machine. Every now and then, as I add softener to my wash, Pancho will scare me. This morning Pancho left to Mexico with a group of high school students who are building a home for a single mother with two special needs children. I just hope Pancho minds his manners and makes it back in one piece.

Pancho getting buried in the sand

Pancho building a house in Mexico.

Pancho roasting a marshmallow