We made it about 30 yards across the border into Nogales, the streets full of people and traffic, when Riley's car puttered to a slow stop in the middle of the street. People were yelling at us, and others were trying to sell us gum or wash our windows as we pushed the car off the busy street and tried to figure out what to do.
First, we tried to jump the car, and when the battery only made a horrible crackling noise, we managed to get a cab to take us to a mechanic, where we explained the kind of battery we needed in terrible, broken spanish. We rushed back in the taxi, (the mechanic rode with us), hoping not to find that the car had been towed, as it wasn’t in any sort of a legal place to stop. The nice mechanic installed the battery, with the help of the taxi driver. We both commented on the fact that in the States, you would NEVER see a cab driver help a mechanic install a battery...
After that ordeal, the car started and we were thrilled to get back on the road after only a 90 min. delay. We felt as though we had handled everything that could possibly happen to us.... I mean, what could be worse than your car dying just barely on the other side of the border?
20 miles later, we reached the end of the “hassle free auto zone”, the point at which you have to get a car permit to bring your car further into Mexico. We waited in line and filled out the paperwork, and hit the road again, destined for Mayto!
5 minutes later we heard the ding of emergency lights coming on, and turned around to head North towards the border AGAIN in anticipation of the car dying. Sure enough, after a $1,000 service at the VW dealership the day before, and a new battery just hours earlier, the car died again. This time on the side of the freeway in the middle of nowhere, northern Sonora, Mexico. We struggled through a phone discussion with our Mexican insurance company and waited 2 hours by the car for our tow truck to arrive. The driver took us to a rather seedy looking junk yard/auto shop in Nogales, Mexico.
The owner of the shop told us that they couldn’t fix the alternator, and he’d never even seen a Passat W8 in Mexico. We realized our only choice was to somehow get the car back to the states and up to the VW dealership all the way in Tucson. Keeping with the theme of the day, only one of the guys who worked at the shop had a passport, and he was on lunch. He would be the only one that could drive us across the border, where an American tow service would have to pick us up and take us the rest of the way to Tucson.
As we waited for the guy to return from lunch, we joked around with the rest of the tow crew, Riley played some Mandolin, and the mechanics shared their dinner of carne asada, guacamole and warm corn tortillas with us. More accurately, they INSISTED that we eat. They cracked jokes at one another and we learned that nearly every one of them had spent time in a US or Mexican prison. One guy had us laughing hysterically when he told us how the US gov’t offers $25 to any prisoner who passes a GED test in any language. He had racked up $125 by passing the test in English, Spanish, Portugese, German and French. They also kept track of their prison numbers, which they all recited before they ate.
When our buddy with the Passport finally showed up, we headed off towards the border (only about 2 blocks, though it took us an hour and a half) and on the way he provided further entertainment with stories of the drug wars. More specifically, he pulled out his iphone and showed us pictures of bullet-ridden cars that he had towed to the Sheriff’s office, with the (sometimes decapitated) bodies still inside. Apparently, the drug violence has gotten so out of hand in Nogales that it has provided this towing company with a large portion of their towing business. Our driver was obviously tickled by Liz’s horrified reactions, claiming that the violence was so common he wasn't even bothered by seeing it anymore. He also told dirty jokes.
Crossing the border, we switched out for the American tow company, who took us to his shop in Nogales, where his EXTREMELY religious Aunt and Uncle took us the rest of the way to Tucson. They dropped us at the dealership, where we pushed our car to the after-hours drop off zone, and hitched a ride with a salesman who was just finishing a deal at 9:00 pm to our hotel...
All day we were both beaten down by our horrible luck, and revived by the kindness of complete strangers.
So here we are, still in Tucson; the dealership is closed on Sundays. We’re both sick at how much money we’ve had to spend in these first few days... and we aren’t even across the border :( .
But que sera, sera. (What will be, will be)
Love you all!
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