MEXICAN SURPRISE
By L.K. Collings

As is the case with many adventures in paradise, this one began quite innocuously. We still were basking in the glow of our beautiful Mexican beach wedding, which had been marred only by the fact that neither of our families could attend. Six days before Christmas, my bride Tina got word that, for the first time in more than five years, her entire family would be gathering in San Diego for the holidays. We decided it would be fun to show up and surprise them, but discovered that it was already too late to get a flight.

Then we had the idea of taking a bus to Tijuana, walking across the border, then riding the trolley into the city, but there were two little problems. The first was to actually obtain tickets for the bus, and the second was what to do with our furry little friend K.C. The second, which we considered the biggest, was solved almost immediately when friends volunteered to watch her. The first was not so easy. Probably we should have recognized that as an omen. Just to go to buy the tickets was no mean feat. It takes two buses to get there from where our boat is moored. I set out to do exactly that, money in hand.

Confidently I stepped up to the counter and put my money down. I then was told that there was only one bus of the Primera class a day, and that I couldn't reserve seats or even buy tickets until two hours before departure. Since the trip was to be 35 hours, we wanted to be as comfortable as possible. To enhance, much less ensure, our chances of getting seats, we and all our luggage would have to make the two-bus trek to the station and sit there for hours. Seeing our dilemma, the attendant brightened and stated, “No problemo.” All we had to do was call at 7 p.m. and make our reservations. If all went well, we would reach our destination sometime the morning of the 22nd.

Friends on another boat invited us over for drinks the night of our proposed departure. We decided to call from there and then head straight to the station to begin our journey. At the party, we met a woman who was departing by bus for Mazatlan and already had a ticket. “Nobody every said life was fair.”

Promptly at 7 p.m., as instructed, Tina called the bus line, but was told there were no seats. What the attendant hadn't told us was that the bus originated in Mexico City, and there was never any chance of seats being available at this time of year. Tina was almost in tears. We had done just as we had been told, but like many things in Mexico, it didn't work out the way we expected.

Others more experienced in Mexican bus travel suggested that we might have a better chance if we went to the bus station and bought a ticket for any larger city to the north. The idea being: more buses in, more buses out. Since we were all packed with our bags sitting on the dock, we figured, “What the hell, let’s give it a shot.” So, we decided to splurge and start our adventure by sharing a taxi to the station with our new friend.

Upon arriving at the station, our friend discovered that although she had a ticket, her bus had been canceled. To find out what was available, we all split up and went toward different bus lines. I went to one that didn't even list passage to Tijuana, but did have several to Mazatlan. One was leaving in 15 minutes, and had only three seats left. I quickly purchased them, hoping Tina and Maria had not done the same. If I had gone to find them, I would have lost my place in line and seats on the bus. I was able to get Maria's attention, but Tina was at the other end of the bus station. I counted the people in line ahead of her, then gambled that I could buy the tickets and get to her before she made a purchase. I got the tickets and dashed down to Tina, who was just starting to negotiate. We all gathered up our bags and hurried to our bus, which already was loading.

We settled into our seats for the eight-hour ride to Mazatlan. We had worked up a sweat and welcomed the air-conditioned compartment and comfortable seats; however, we soon were freezing from that same air-conditioning. Luckily we had been forewarned, and had brought a genuine camouflaged U.S. Army poncho liner. The ride to our first destination was uneventful. The bus stopped in several towns, and at each place we got off to avail ourselves of the facilities. We learned two very important rules that were to serve us well for the rest of our trip. First, you must always carry your ticket because the security guards have very short memories and won't let you back out to the buses without it. The other is that the restrooms in bus stations cost two pesos to use. Being in pain not withstanding, the doorkeepers have no mercy.

About 30 minutes out of Mazatlan we started to worry about catching a bus to take us farther north. When we rolled into the Mazatlan station, Tina guarded our bags as I headed for the terminal. As I walked down the row of buses, I spotted a beautiful Primera Plus with its motor already running, and on its front was the word Tijuana. I cajoled the driver into waiting a few more minutes so I could buy tickets. I collected Tina and the bags, we said goodbye to Maria, and climbed aboard. By now, it was starting to get light, and we watched the sun come up as the countryside passed by our window.

A few hours later, we pulled into a town we think was Los Mochas. Throughout the trip, we had become increasingly convinced that there is a nationwide conspiracy to ensure that no Mexican bus station has a sign telling the name of the town. Wherever we actually were, we enjoyed a package of deliciously warm tortilla-like items for breakfast. We were really enjoying our adventure. We passed the day reading and watching the same two movies several times each, which was all right because they were in Spanish so we couldn't understand them anyway. We were stopped and inspected very lightly at two checkpoints by men in army uniforms with big guns. They didn't even speak to us.

That evening we stopped at the Mexican equivalent of a combined Kentucky Fried Chicken and Big Joe's Truck Stop. Any similarity to what we ordered and what we got was purely coincidental, but it was tasty and filling. Satisfied, we got back on the bus and snuggled down in our poncho liner. We expected a good night’s sleep before arriving at our destination and the surprise the next morning.

As the hours passed, there were regular stops at towns, and there also were a few more stops by men in army uniforms. They had their faces covered, with only their eyes showing. Very intimidating, but the checks were superficial and we were allowed to proceed. It seemed almost as if it were timed so we were awakened by another check just as we fell asleep again.

Then the routine changed! We were stopped again; but this time by men in civilian clothes. They quickly looked around the inside of the bus and waved us through. About an hour later, the bus was stopped again. We were awakened by three men and a woman in civilian clothes holding long, black flashlights. They passed by the other passengers and headed straight for us, the only Americans on the bus, and demanded our passports. While the woman examined them and our visas, the two men went back into the restroom at the rear of the bus.

One of them then returned and took the passports. The woman said something and pointed to the visas. He ordered me to go to the back of the bus. Tina started to go with me, but the woman stopped her. I walked back, and they motioned for me to stand out of sight of the other passengers. I stepped into the tiny restroom, and the second man stood behind me so I couldn't leave. The fellow who seemed to be in charge told me there was something wrong with my visa, and that my wife would have to go back to Puerto Vallarta to fix it.

I would have to stay there with them, unless I could pay. I replied that I had very little money. He made me empty my pockets onto the toilet top, and then patted me down to check whether I had any more. I had only 240 pesos. Luckily, all our American money was deep in our bags. He grabbed the bills and asked whether my wife had more. I told him that we were poor Americans – that's why we were riding the bus. He seemed to believe me, but said that it wasn't enough.

I was beginning to realize that these hombres were not official, and that we were in the restroom because they didn't want the other passengers to see. My police training started to kick in, and I just took the passports out of his hand and put them in my pocket. He seemed a bit hesitant, so I reached over and took back 40 pesos. I told him I wanted his name and a receipt for the money. He started to back peddle, so I kind of intimidated him by reversing his own process. He had youth and muscle, but I had experience and guile. I was not hostile, but insistent, and he backed down. He and his band of banditos quickly departed the bus and the area with my money.

Needless to say, we didn't sleep much for the rest of the trip, but we were not stopped again. We made it into Tijuana with enough pesos to take a city bus to the border, where we walked across and had breakfast at McDonald's. We then took the trolley into San Diego and surprised the family. We had a great visit, clouded only by the fact that we still had to take the bus back.

A couple of weeks later, Tina's folks gave us a ride to the border, where we crossed and caught a taxi to the bus station. We were in luck! There was a direct passage to Puerto Vallarta with seats available. We purchased tickets and waited for departure time. That night we napped a bit fitfully, but no stops were made except for those scheduled. We began to feel more confident and finally slept soundly. The second night at about 3 a.m., we were suddenly awakened when the driver slammed on the brakes and stopped. We tried to see where we were, but it was very dark and all we could tell was that we were in the middle of nowhere.

We could hear men talking and moving around outside. It was very suspicious in this deserted place. We just knew it must be another of the infamous inspection stops. Tina took her rings and my watch and put them in her bra. About that time, we heard someone climb onto the bus; but when he opened the compartment door the light was behind him, so we couldn't tell who he was. He gruffly gave instructions in Spanish. The other passengers began to get off the bus. We hesitated, but had no choice except to follow. I know it’s anticlimactic, but it turned out that the bus merely had broken down! We were loaded onto another and driven without incident the rest of the way to Puerto Vallarta.