The Journey Begins to Lake Chapala Ajijic, Mexico

Have you ever been lost in a foreign country and not been able to speak the language?  Sound frightening?  Join us on our journey to Chapala/Ajijic, Mexico and see for yourself.

The first time we got lost was when we crossed the border at Piedras Negras, Mexico just on the other side of Eagle Pass, Texas.  We found the bridge that spanned the two countries—America and Mexico—no problem.  We waited in line to pull through the toll booth where we paid $85.00 pesos to enter the country. 

“We made it!” we beamed to each other.  Next stop, the customs station where you get your VISA, car registration and necessary documentation to be a legal visitor to Mexico.

We drove through the toll booth and chose the lane marked Nothing to Declare as we thought we would declare the tobacco, two bottles of alcohol and meds when we went through customs and this stop was only for those coming into Mexico for the day.  We drove into the city expecting to see the customs station not far beyond the port of entry.  We just kept going and going and going with no sign of an official customs building.

We were now out in the middle of nowhere and the only sign of humanity we saw was a factory of some kind we passed several miles out of the city where Mexican workers were lounging around waiting for the bus to take them back to PN.  The sun was fading and it was getting later and later and later.

We’d been warned about driving in Mexico after dark in every book and website we’d read, so we decided that we’d better turn around  and go back to Eagle Pass, find a room, and call it a day.  The disappointment we felt at not being on the other side of the border was s appeased by a comfortable room where our doggie was welcomed and we had a wonderful meal in the restaurant next to the hotel.

The next morning, we repeated yesterday’s routine; we crossed the bridge and paid our toll fee. Yeah! We were on our way again!  This time, we thought perhaps we should take the lane where you declare what you’re taking into Mexico. A uniformed officer waved us to pull into a lane for inspection of our van.  Feeling confident that I had all our paperwork in perfect order, efficiently stored in a file box, I was prepared for anything, or so I thought.

My files were well-organized and filed neatly into categories, i.e., the Health section contained folders labeled Doctor’s Health Statements (letters from our doctors stating we were in good health and had no communicable diseases), the RX file which held prescriptions for all the meds we were taking into the country and another file  was for our dog, Bitzy.

Bitzy had to have a statement of good heath, too, as well as a record of her vaccinations.  But we weren’t asked to produce any of the documentation in my painstakingly organized file box.  The only thing the inspector found to be of interest was the loose tobacco that my husband brought with him from the states. Even after my husband showed the inspector the cigarette roller and papers for rolling his own cigarettes, he wanted to see inside the roof top carrier on top of our van.  With only a quick look inside, the inspector apparently determined we were not smugglers and gave us approval to proceed. Fortunately, he could speak some English and was able to answer our most pressing question:  Where is the customs station? “35 kilometers,” he answered.  We had to get out our calculator to figure out that was 22 miles.

No wonder we didn’t find it yesterday!  We were looking for it far before we left the city limits—wherever that was. And that information wasn’t in any of the books we’d read. We learned later that this stretch of highway is referred to as “No Man’s Land.” You’re driving down a highway in Mexico, but you’re still not legal.

Our well-thought out plan for the first day in Mexico was to drive to Saltillo, which was 257 miles from Piedras Negras, find a room and spend the night. Easy, right?  WRONG!  We arrived in Saltillo at 5 pm and drove right into rush hour traffic. Cars, busses, trucks, taxis, and scooters flew past us at breakneck speed as we carefully made our way through the wild and crazy traffic looking for a place to spend the night.

Once again, we played like we were the “Energizer Bunny” and just kept going and going and going. And, once again, it was getting later and later and later.  With the city now behind us, I was starting to feel a little frantic.  “We have to go back,” I said to my husband.  We began to look for a place to turn around and then it appeared—a sign that said Hotel with an arrow pointing straight ahead.  No distance was given.  And to add to our relief, beside that sign was another sign with no words—just the universal sign that indicated there was also food ahead.  Hot dog—or, in this case, Hot tamale!  Our sinking hearts recovered as we headed toward our unknown destination.

I kept my eyes peeled for another sign that would direct us to the “Promised Land”while my husband drove down Highway 15 into the fading daylight.  “There it is!” I exclaimed as I spotted a nondescript, hand-painted sign up high with that the same reassuring word, Hotel. With hope in our hearts, we felt certain we were close. Ever vigilantly, I strained to see the hotel with no name in the little daylight that remained, but to no avail.

We drove on; still we saw no hotel.  “Look, another sign!” This time there was an arrow below the word Hotel pointing left.  At the next intersection, we turned left fully expecting the hotel to appear right before our tired eyes.  Instead, we saw construction.  “So, this is it?” I asked as my heart sank, “an unfinished hotel?” But wait—there’s another sign—Hotel with an arrow pointing straight ahead. “Straight ahead?”

But straight ahead all we saw was concrete blocks and cement. Nevertheless, we took the narrow road that curved past the construction and there— hidden behind the construction—was a beautiful Mediterranean-style hotel.  We thought we’d died and gone to heaven!

The next challenge was to inquire about the availability of a room, which I felt sure needed to be in Spanish. Using my Spanish dictionary, I had prepared a list of questions I thought were necessary to get us a room for one night and had rehearsed them repeatedly.  I was ready to get down on my hands and knees and beg if I had to.

We saw the sign saying Oficna, parked the van, stepped out into a lovely evening and then into an exquisitely appointed reception room.  No one was there.  But that’s another story—and you’ll read about it in the next article in Living the Dream here at ChapalaClub.com

P.S. Stay tuned as this is just the first episode of our Journey of Discovery..