Drive to Mexico: Friday Evening 2/10/06

On the way to the caves this morning our route took us around the North side of Monterrey. Now we decide to go straight into the city on the east/west freeway near the south side. For one thing, it will take us through a residential (i.e., "bedroom") community. We are interested in seeing how the citizens of Mexico’s most prosperous city live.

Deb, trooper that she is, drives us. Again, it is a fascinating to be immersed into yet another side of the culture. This time the houses are a little bigger than those in the Villa de García…but of the same shape and endless rows. Apparently it is how all but the very rich or the very poor live.

Shops of all colors and types surround us. Often the line between road and buildings blurs. There are still four lanes and a median, but it is much more of a free-for-all, with traffic lights, turnarounds, and intense cross traffic.

At one point we hear the glaring squawk of a police horn. It is blatant and edgy, unlike any sound we have heard in the U.S. Immediately, a motorcycle cop swings around our right (we are in the left lane), and back left past the car ahead of us. Immediately he stops and forces that car to swoop into the right lane. Deb hits the brakes for a panic stop. We look down over our hood at a large driveshaft on the pavement at his feet. No disabled vehicle…just a driveshaft.

Deb merges into the right lane, goes around him, and a couple of hundred yards farther along we see a huge U-Joint also lying on the pavement. Looks suspiciously like it matches the driveshaft. Still no dead vehicle in the area, though. I dunno…maybe they do the Fred Flintstone thing through the floorboards here. Somebody got that vehicle out of the area before it lost any more pieces...

We try to find the Alfa Planetarium, but miss the turn. Being pretty hungry now, we really don’t care: Time for cabrito!

Debbie threads us expertly through many merging and unmerging roads, until we arrive at the same area where we were just last night: in front of The King of the Goats! We park and walk down the side of the restaurant, looking as we go through a long window at a row of roasting baby goat carcases dangling from hooks above a long charcoal fire pit. Yummm! But I worry they won’t be serving yet…it is only 4 pm.

The King of the Goats does not disappoint. Apparently all Mexican waiters wear suits: Ours ushers us into a room filled with stuffed lions and various other game that no doubt once faced off against a Mexican Teddy Roosevelt-equivalent. Bright-red boxes holding tequila are stacked beside the front door. It is a curious mishmash of quality and kitsch.

Having overcome the trauma of the previous night, I take another shot at employing the Spanish word "mejor." This time I use it to ask the waiter which goat dish is "mejor" or best (the menu is filled with enough subtle variations on the theme of "goat" to make Mozart envious). He points to the goat leg (there is an English page in the menu, so we actually know what he’s talking about!). We order two, and soon our eyes are following two sizzling plates of goat hind quarter as they make their way down from shoulder to table top.

Next arrives a plate of shredded lettuce, sliced onions, and tomatoes. Two types of salsa—one red, one brown—are presented with a flourish. A dish of goat cheese comes along with something at its edge that looks like a finely ground meat puree in a tomato sause. And of course, there is the de rigor round flat-bottomed bowl of piping-hot fresh tortillas. We look at each other and exclaim at the same instant, "We’ll never be able to eat all this!" Fifteen minutes later we have to (ahem) "eat" our words. It has been the most delicious Mexican food I’ve ever tasted, and surprisingly mild...unless you’ve made the mistake of dumping too much red salsa on your goat.

All too soon we finish. We decide to walk along the Gran Plaza, in spite of the fact that Debbie is fading fast from the strenuous day. But who knows when or if we'll be back. Once again I am so proud of my intrepid wife…she’s always "game" (sorry, I couldn’t resist that one either) for a challenge.

The Plaza starts just north of the restaurant. We’re a bit disappointed to see that for the most part it is just a rather plain garden. There's lots of concrete, and some grass and bushes: Still, it’s a nice break for the people at the heart of a big city. A couple of blocks of it are built on a giant deck that spans roads below. We reach one edge and look out over a beautiful old palace.

Eventually we reach the end, with the Mexican history museum and its next-door "artificial river" which we considered visiting this morning. It takes about one second to realize we made the right choice.

The "river" has almost no resemblance to the words we read this morning. It is a glorified swimming pool; a little interesting perhaps as sculpture (it is very long and makes a right-angle turn), but way overhyped as a river. It sits, not flows, is all concrete and hard edges, and you can clearly see its flat hard bottom a few feet below the surface: A sort of giant Beverly Hillbillies "cement pond," but without the interesting curves. You reach it by descending over stepped sides that double as sitting ledges. There are no paddle boats. The best thing about it are some quaint little bistros along its side.

On one of the steps a pair of lovers kiss. On others, children are playing. Walking along its bank a woman is staring vacantly but fiercely into the air at some wildly and randomly moving invisible target, speaking with the passion and ferocity of a street preacher. She is completely disconnected from the now nervous-looking people around her. A young girl giggles and gives us a wordless look: "crazy!" Or more likely (and sadly), possessed.

We walk back and I gallantly insist on driving the rest of the way home: "You’ve earned a free ride!" It will soon become obvious that I've done her no favor.

While most of the trip back is uneventful, I miss two consecutive exits and soon lead us into completely new and unfamiliar territory. The map isn’t much help on this part of town. It is definitely seedier. I decide to try a route that should eventually intersect the road on which our hotel is located. It takes us through some pretty rough territory, but it is well signposted by Mexican standards.

At one point I exit on a one-way merge road that goes to the road we want. There are no dividing stripes, but it seems about two lanes wide. I move to the outside to get around a slow vehicle on the right. It edges left and blocks my path. Without my consciously registering it, I see a white truck zoom up behind me…but mostly I’m trying to figure out the situation I'm facing ahead.

Since the car has moved in front of me, this must not be a lane. I move back to the right behind the other cars. ..unfortunately, right in front of the white truck, which without my noticing has just moved right to pass me there.

The provocation is more than they can stand. The white truck now whips violently around our left and flies past. A woman leans out the window, eyes bulging, face red and darkening by the second, screaming and swinging her arms together wildly from side to side, apparently in imitation of their view of my driving motions. A big fellow is driving. For a moment I have a vivid daydream of him yanking his nose back in front of me and slamming on his brakes, forcing me to stop, with him then jumping out, yanking my door open, pulling me onto the pavement and beating the living daylights out of me!

Depending on your opinion about yours truly, I hope you will be glad to know that the driver instead punches his accelerator and pulls away. I finish merging from the right lane. In the distance ahead the white truck is still accelerating. It is swaying rhythmically from side to side within its lane as its occupants make their final point: From the driver’s window a brawny arm rockets up and proudly presents me with the proverbial order of the winged messenger. On the opposite side another, thinner arm flies out and shakes its clenched fist. They then quickly disappear into the distance…gone, but not soon forgotten.

I guess not everybody likes Texas plates.

Though it is a strange and unexpected epitaph, the incredible positives of the rest of the day far outweigh it. We make it back to the hotel with no further problems, again still in the daylight. We quickly check our emails on the downstairs computer, and retire up to the room. A few Olympics previews and we turn in for an early night. Ah, sometimes the best things in life are the simple luxuries. Tonight we are so thankful that we don't have to stay up until all hours, just to get up too early the next day!