Social awareness and sleeping with spiders

Last Saturday I arrived in San Luis Potosi, and this time my host is a 22-year-old fellow called Francisco. At first it appeared to me that Francisco belonged to an upper middle class, based on his car and house. In fact, my observance was correct. The thing is, he doesn't show the slightest form of elitism or scorn towards lesser privileged which one would expect to accompany that social status. On the contrary, on Sunday when he showed me the cozy center of the city he also showed me the two extremes of the social ladder. First we drove up to the most privileged, uptown neighbourhood. Its houses and apartment buildings were just popping out of the ground in an attempt to lure more financially strong families. Around it lied the obligatory golf course/country club and Mexico's most prestigious university El Tec de Monterrey, where only one semester costs an average of 60,000 pesos, the equivalent of 3,501 EUR. I guess that price helps to picture from which social class the students come from. One thing I noticed of that neighbourhood was that it beamed absolutely nothing Mexican. Instead, one has the feeling he wanders through American uptown streets where only the people's skin and occasional VW Beetle reveal its Mexicaness. Other than that, the lifeless, sterile ambient of the houses and streets emit both a shivering and estranging feeling that ostracizes everyone who does not fit its privileged cocoon. Afterwards we continued to the less wealthy parts of town, only about ten minutes away by car. Francisco informed that there are three of such neighbourhoods, the second and third one each time less favoured that the previous one. The change was quite shocking. Although the people there don't really miss the essential - i.e. housing, running water, medical care, etc.- the overall picture is more than obvious. In the most desolated vicinity houses were no bigger than a small garage with rents floating around 100 EUR monthly, various streets remained still unpaved and garbage is collected by horse-pulled carriages. Sometimes it even felt like the country since some families herd cattle or grow corn. At random corners of the street there were groups of youngsters and adults passing around the pipe or waiting for customers to buy 'groceries'. As much as I liked to walk through its streets, I refrained from doing so out fear of being mugged or something. My host had done so, albeit by bike. Even taking out my camera made me feel uncomfortable, maybe more than the people on the streets. At some point we even drove through some streets were reportedly the drug-trafficking gangs Los Zetas and El Cartel Del Golfo fight out a bloody war without interference of cops nor army. Unfortunately I didn't get to see some of the 'action' so I could recount it to you. But maybe it's better like that. I wouldn't like to receive a lost-flown bullet in the head. After the guided tour through both extremes of the city came the expected return to the safe haven of my host's neighbourhood. That switch from one extreme to another always confuses my mind.

And now for something completely different...

This week I took the opportunity to explore the nearby nature only an hour away from the city by car. Francisco willingly lend me his tent and backpack to go out. He recommended me a little ranch called El Valle De Los Fantasmas (The Valley Of The Ghosts) as a reference point for outdoor exploring. I took the opportunity to start learning how to hitchhike, something I've ousted out fear, unpreparedness or just pure laziness. Since on this trip the bus rides have been eating a fair amount out of my budget, I'll have to find other ways to get around, of which hitchhiking is logical solution. Tuesday morning, after having bought some food for the camping trip, I walked to the gas station nearest to highway 70, which led to that little ranch. I decided to man up and, like a good friend of mine who's very good at it, harass everyone who crosses my path. That wasn't easy though, since I can get pretty shy at times. 'Fuck it!', I thought. I need to get to that ranch. After an hour and a half my attempts had still been futile, until a friendly man drives up to me, lowers his window and asks me where I'm heading to. The joy of finally hitching a ride compensates for the burden of waiting and confronting unkind people. That switch from boring motionlessness to rapid floating over the road with the wind blowing through the hair is a great feeling. 'Road seet road', fuck yeah! I struck up conversation with the people inside the car: the man, his wife and brother-in-law. I guess the lady liked me because when we got to the destination, she gave me a 50 pesos note (3 EUR), just like that. I was happily surprised. Not only did they give me a ride, they even aided me financially. I could hardly believe it. Her words were: "Take it. And if you don't use it you can take it to Belgium and show it to your friends." Then she send me the typical 'may God accompany you'-phrase and drove off. What a start...

Francisco had given loads of directions and tips for this trip. All in vain. I started walking through that little ranch and found out that it was all private land. By several locals I asked for such references as a giant Jebus cross, a cave, a river, etc. All of which the people had never heard of. So I walked back to the ranch's entrance and turned around a rock formation. In other words, I

continued in a parallel line alongside the ranch. That wasn't easy, though. Barbed wire, steep rocks and dense vegetation complicated my passage, although the scenery was absolutely worth it. Eventually I ended up in someone's private territory, the same one I had encountered while walking through the ranch just half an hour before. Frustrated, I returned a second time to the entrance. There I asked some people about a giant Jebus cross and sent me back in the direction of the city. Without knowing what to do or where to go to, I followed their advice. About an hour and a half later, I still didn't find no damn cross. The sun was laying down, so my priority was to find a nice place to camp out. When I finally found one, I discovered to my frustration that the place was loaded with spiders. Now, they weren't particularly venomous I guess - they consisted of no more than a head and legs - but I if there's one thing that frightens me it's those fucking spiders. At nighttime, when I was busy making a fire I would regularly turn on my headlamp to check on those little, cheeky bastards. And really, they were literally attacking my fortress! For some reason they felt attracted to me, because every five minutes or so they were approaching in groups of two to four. Some even made it into my tent and that drove me insane. So for a great deal of the night I spend squashing those eight-legged creatures with a stick. I'll admit I squeaked a time or two whenever one was too close to me. Other than my arachnophobia, I had a wonderful Day of the Dead, since it was November 2nd. I kind of wished I had celebrated Dia de Muertos with crazy Mexicans all dressed up like frenzy, sombrero-wearing skeletons and loads of tequila and firecrackers. Maybe another time...

The next day my objective was to find drinkable water. This idiot namely had brought only a 800 ml drinking bottle for three days. If you take into account that a body needs a minimum of one liter of water a day, and that I was exercising more than average, my water storage was far from sufficient. The first day that had come to my notice, so I tried to drink tiny little sips to quench the thirst. That was pretty hard, really. It takes a strong mind not to think of fresh water when one's throat is drying out. The second day it went easier. It feels like the body adapts quickly to less, in terms of water and food. Anyway, the second day I walked for about two hours, or a bit more, when I finally found another little ranch in the middle of desert land called El Xoconostle. In just a couple of hours hiking, I had seen the landscape switch from lush green fields to arid cactus-filled land. Upon arriving a little girl asks me instantly what I was selling. She probably thought I was vendor of some kind. I inquired her after a shop were water is sold. Since she was still little, she didn't quite get my question. She was adorable. After a few attempts she pointed me the way. Oh, something I have to mention off topic. Here's a fun generalization: Mexicans suck, no, they absolutely fail hardcore when it comes to giving directions. Really. When I ask for the location of whatever, I usually receive as an answer the following directions: "Right over there, sir. Just right there.", "Oh, you go left and you'll see it. Just left.", "Here, here, it's close.", "It's about in that direction more or less. Yeah, in that direction." When I ask them for more specific details they just repeat what they just said but with the words placed in a different order. Quite frustrating at times, I tell you... Anyway, the girl pointed me out and obviously I didn't find it. I had to ask another lady who sent one of her sons or grandchildren to me to show me the way. I had to open a random door that led to a parcel with several families living together in two or three houses. Completely confused I approach a man who's feeding his chickens unenthusiastically together with his wife. With little words he leads me up the a house wherein supposedly a little store is located. Then, through the window a young woman in her thirties appears and asks me what I want. Full of relieve, I ask her for a bottle of water which she didn't have. That sucked monkey balls. All that effort to discover she only sold disgusting, carbonated beverages that only increase your thirst. Overly desperate, I bought a little bottle of apple soda. It tasted okay, but the feeling of lavishing liquid streaming over your tongue and through your throat after it had almost dried up was even more fulfilling. Continuing towards the ranch, to my dismay, I found a better displayed shop. However, the old lady also didn't sell water. Those Mexicans are addicted to soda, really. It's official. According to recent reports Mexico has caught up with the U.S. on daily consumption of carbonated soft drinks. Way to go, lads! But the old lady clearly saw me longing for water and offered me a whole jug for free. I offered to pay but she declined. So in return I stayed for a while talking with her and another local guy who was just hanging out there. The already typical I'm-from-Belgium-what?-where?-conversation emerged. I'm having a blast asking people for its existence. However, those two didn't surpass the ignorance of the two guys I met in Creel. The comical feel of the conversation faded however, when the guy started talking about how he and his cousin cross the Mexican-American border in search of better-paid jobs. Apparently, they travel first to Tijuana where from there they walk five to seven days to enter illegally the U.S. Hardness was painted in his face, but with a touch of humour, tough. The most striking part of his tellings was that he even in his own country is denigrated. Once, when he wanted to take the plane from San Luis Potosi to Tijuana custom patrols didn't believe he was Mexican even though he carried a genuine ID and the works (According to him there are a lot of immigrant Hondurans in this state). Not until they made him sing the national anthem did those assholes at the airport let him through. What a shame. I felt heart-struck when he told about it. He ended that sad anecdote with happy, hopeful comment: "Mejor comer toda la vida frijolitos con la familia." (Better eating your whole life beans with the family) He sure was a ranchero, alright.

The sun was setting again, so a new place to camp out was necessary. The fields around me didn't feel very inviting: sealed of with aggressive barbed-wire, filled with stinging nopales and cacti. Eventually I found a half constructed little house close to some kind of factory. It had the very essential: a roof and four walls. I decided to spend the night in there, relieving myself from setting up the tent. There wasn't much wood to burn, but I burned whatever I found in the surroundings. As I had expected, at one point a man walks in and asks me what I was doing. He was on of the owners of the private territory I was in. I explained to him my situation and he friendly let me stay in the house. Although, he warned that he was 'one of the good guys' and his colleague 'a son of bitch'. He would surely kick me out without mercy. Jezus... I played the role of the scared, yet grateful bum and promised him to leave as early as sunrise. The next day in fact he returned to kick me out, but still remaining friendly. The nightfall colouring the the landscape was magnificent. The desert's colours change slowly until only blackness fills the night with stars as light bulbs and the distant orange-ish glow of the city lights. At both sides of the house, also in the distance, a handful of lanterns illuminated the few houses around. It is such darkness that is not found anymore in brightly coloured cities.

The third day (I'll keep this one short) I intended to walk from El Xoconostle all the way back to the city. I don't how many kilometers that is - that ranch doesn't even appear on Google Maps - but I do know that Valle de los Fantasmas is located about 50 km from San Luis Potosi. I quit walking at the last 10 km or so out of tiredness, and again out of thirst. So my guess is that I walked more or less 40 km in three days. For me, that's a pretty huge achievement. It was also very meditating in a way. Only were my mind-wandering thoughts occasionally disturbed by passing by idiots who felt the need to honk their horn whenever they saw me. And those were a lot. I wonder what they thought. "Hey, look a guy with a backpack!", "Haha, look at that sucker", or maybe they mistook me for a girl since I have extremely long hair (???) and tried to catch my attention. I've seen a lot of losers do that. Those poor pretty girls... Anyhow, when I was at the last 10 km I decided, even better, my thirst decided to grab the first bus to the center. It's interesting how basic human needs can drive someone. It takes a strong mind to manage them.