We cross the state line into Sinaloa. Pay toll. Fields of brush and cactus pass by, changing gradually into irrigated cropland. In the distance,
mountains come and go, and then we cross the Rio Fuerte. Los Mochis. And on.
Jean Luc Picard appears and says: "Oh, the clouds? That's nothing -- il n'y a pas de quois -- don't you know I have also painted two moons and a planet?"
Woke to Hermosillo rattling in the sunlight. Two pesos for a clean bathroom. Onto bus again to watch scenery, the dam & floodgate, hills. Slowly fall asleep again. Shall miss the glory of Guaymas.
Mid-day stop for alimientos, 30 minutos. Two tacos, burrito, coffee: 30 pesos.
Watch a freight train go by in the distance. Settle back onto the bus. The guy across the aisle smiles -- stomach full, heart content.
Down the long strip of coastal plain, hour after hour, south, south, Ciudad Obregon, Navajoa. A river where trees grow thick but canals have stolen its water -- the Yaqui. Inside Navajoa, an ancient building made me feel I was finally getting into old Mexico, away from the border.
Sun swings across the sky. I feel glad it be winter. The aisle guy begins to talk with the women in front of me. They share Bible reading, prayers, talk....
We cross the state line into Sinaloa. Pay toll. Fields of brush and cactus pass by, changing gradually into irrigated cropland. In the distance,
mountains come and go, and then we cross the Rio Fuerte. Los Mochis. And on.
I start to read my little New Testament. Jose on the aisle sees it. "Ah, Usted, tambien, es cristiano?" We exchange names. Now I occasionally add a word to their conversation. Something has troubled one of the two women, but I cannot understand the subtlety of it. Jose prays.
"You know, Daniel," she turns, speaking in Spanish, "every trouble can become a blessing?"
"Yes."
She nods, content at this agreement.
In the warm light of afternoon we shall enter Culiacan. How splendid that city seems under the glow. Palm trees and pastel cement buildings pass by outside my window. At the terminal, I eat tacos and tamale with Jose and the women. Come to ask the price and discover this meal was only fifteen pesos! Now, that's more like it!
Many of the passengers, including the noisy kid I was trying to ignore ever since Tijuana, get off here. As we eat our little supper, I listen, and look. All around us the bus station bustles with breezy energy, sparkling under the golden sun. Tropical winter. Here I am, Mexico, I whisper, silently, coming into your heartland.
But the sun must set, and we have rolled on, south toward Mazatlan, laughing and talking about so many, many things. Life, love, God, the world. Where in the U.S. are you from? Should I learn English? Do you have family in the States? Jose, I learned now, is a protestant minister from Oaxaca, related to the great man, Benito Juarez. He is returning south from Los Angeles and Tijuana. The two ladies have been visiting family in California, and are now going home. And I... off to climb the Maya pyramids in Yucatan....
"Ai, Daniel, tengas que tener un botecito en el pyramide" -- you have to have a celebration (literally "little bottle") on the pyramid!
By now, most of the seats are empty. Maybe only six of us onboard. We stop to pick up a guy on the side of the highway. One of the ladies greets him, "Welcome to your house!" He nods, moves back into the empty rows.
We will stop for gas outside Mazatlan. The attendants are almost all women. I ask the driver about smoking, that I have fear of lighting up in the Pemex station. He invites me to ride with him in the cab, in front. So I did, into town, and then onward, beyond the beach resort city, south into the night, perched on the little fold-down seat before the huge windshield. His name is Jose Cruz, and he, too, is a protestant Christian. His brother -- his partner in driving, now asleep under the bus -- is also saved. How curious, I will think, a busload of Christians....
When there is no traffic, Jose will guide the huge bus straight down the middle of the road, straddling the yellow line. At first I was a little disturbed, but... then begin to understand. The middle of the road is the safest place... provided, of course, that there be no opposing traffic....
Later, he stops for a quick coffee in some small town along the way. I will crawl back into the main cabin to sleep.
Awakened at Tepic at one a.m. Stagger out to use the bathroom. When I come back, the two women have gone. *Sigh* Perhaps I will never see them again. But I shall never forget the hours we spent today, laughing and talking and eating. Una botecito para ellas!
But now, already, it is again, tomorrow....