NOTES FROM THE ROAD WEARY ROAD WARRIOR
Monday, November 13th, 2006

I imagine most of you have given up hope of ever hearing from me again! It has been a busy few months, but I finally find myself with some quiet time and figured it was time to write again!

Plenty has happened since I last wrote on uhm, blush, August 2nd. Best news, at least for my dissertation, we got our permit to excavate! Hooray! Just getting the permit was quite the adventure. I spent three days, eight hours a day, on the phone with the permitting people while a dozen people successively searched for our file. Eventually they found it. A little while after that, they faxed it to the university here, and I had my permit in hand. Finally! Just in time for the height of the rainy season. Since I’m not trained in underwater archaeology, I decided to wait until things dried up here (around mid-October) before beginning work.

This left me with a new problem. If I began digging in mid-October, I would still be digging when my tourist visa ran out. I decided to take the time until the rainy season passed and use it to drive back to the states, combining a trip to renew the visa and a trip to Michigan for Heather and Lenny’s wedding. In addition to enjoying a beautiful wedding and getting caught up with lots of friends, I got a taste of crisp, fall weather in the countryside. Quite the treat for an archaeologist exiled to the tropics.

The drive back was as eventful as the wedding, but much less pleasant! I took a new route this time through the Central Highlands of Mexico. I crossed the border at MacAllen, TX into Reyenosa, a really ugly border town. The immigration authorities were unpleasant about my wanting another six months in Mexico, gave me only three, and told me if I wanted to stay longer, I needed to get an FM3 Visa (for work or students or whatever. LOTS of paperwork!!!).

After fighting the immigration battle, I drove as far as San Luis Potosei. The drive was much easier than the coastal route, with two lanes in each direction in most spots, but also much less friendly. In San Luis Potosei, my hotel room was broken into and I was robbed. In the end, after much drama and nasty letter writing, everything worked out. My things were returned via DHL delivery to the University. At the time, though, I really had no hope of the situation being resolved and I was in a very unhappy mood for the second day’s drive.

I didn’t get out of the hotel until 11 am due to all the fuss. I headed south on the highway, hoping that by some miracle, I’d actually make it all the way home before dark. The prospect of yet another night in a hotel was not appealing! The road trip gods did their best to discourage me. After the eighteen wheeler in front of me blew a tire (sending the big bad tire straight at me, and me with no place to go thanks to the truck on one side and the jersey barrier on the other...), I missed my turnoff to take the circuitous route into the mountains to the east of Mexico City. It would have made for a longer trip on worse roads, but it also would have allowed me to miss Mexico City.

The key, of course, being “would have....” As I said, I missed the turn off. Before I’d even realized my mistake, I found myself lost in Mexico City at 4 pm on a Friday in my giant truck. The upside to being lost during rush hour in the largest city in the world was that nobody was moving very fast, which helped with nerves. That, and the traffic was so bad that people were selling sandwiches in the lanes for the hungry commuters, so I knew I wouldn’t starve. The downside was that I was very, very lost, and changing lanes to follow what few signs there were was almost impossible. As I trundled along, I saw a big gathering of federales, the federal highway police, in front of me. Normally, one wants to avoid the federales at all costs as they tend to be untrustworthy and out for bribes or worse.

But I was desperate. Really, really desperate. I decided to take my chances. I pulled over, got out of the truck, and walked towards them. Two guys broke off from the group and walked towards me. I decided to go with “helpless Elizabeth” and widened my eyes. They came up to me, and before they could say anything, I burst out, “Oh, I’m so happy to see you guys! I’m so terribly lost! I’ve driven all the way from the United States and I’m all alone and I don’t know where I’m going!” The wave of testosterone almost knocked me over as it surged towards me. They looked at each other, clearly thinking, “Well, now, the little lady needs our help!”

All joking aside, they were unbelievably and unexpectedly kind. While one drew me a map, complete with illustrated landmarks and approximate driving time with and without traffic between each one, the other called my truck description and license plate number in to all his buddies and told them to leave me alone. Once I was set with directions and ensured of a bribe and harassment free drive, they stopped traffic so I could pull out again safely. I watched them wave me on my way in my rearview mirror and plunged back into the hell that is Mexico City traffic.

There directions were excellent, and had I not had to stop for gas, the rest of the drive would have been uneventful. Unfortunately, my tank was low enough that I had no choice but to stop to fill up in Mexico City. I pulled into PEMEX and asked the attendant to fill the tank. I made the mistake of also asking her to check the oil. In the time it took me to pop the hood and climb out of the driver’s seat to supervise, three men had descended. They were taking apart my radiator and by the time I reached the front bumper, at a run, they were flushing it and had covered the pavement in hot radiator fluid.

One of the skills I have acquired in all my travels is the ability to yell at people in Spanish. I discovered my talent for bilingual loss of temper while backpacking alone through the highlands of Peru and have called on it regularly ever since. People don’t expect me to be able to do it, so it has an extra strong impact when the sweet, innocent girl standing before them turns into a howling banshee. I channeled my inner banshee that day. I stood in front of my truck and hollered at them while they put everything back together and restocked the fluids while trying to placate me. When they were finally done, I hopped into my truck and roared off into the diesel fumes.

In spite of all the drama, I pushed through and arrived home on the evening of the second day after crossing the border at about 9 pm. It was dark, it was cold, I had no groceries in the house (oh for pizza delivery...), but I was so happy to be home! Just writing this makes me dread the next drive at Christmas time, but for the time being, I’m home and still happy to be here!

Well, there is lots more to write about, but it is dinner time here, I think, and this entry is already pretty long. But check back later in the week for more news on things like the commercialization of day of the dead, how I ended up agreeing to be a professor in Business School at a major Mexican University, and why I’m still not in the field and what I’m doing about it. I’m going to try and get caught up and then stay caught up from here on out.