The terrifying wilds of northern Mexico

   We were terrified, or at least somewhat apprehensive about bussing through the northern reaches of Mexico.  Every news item (and most of the FCO reports) about the border with USA referred to drug traffic and associated violence.  Lurid details of kidnappings, banditry and beheadings stood were writ large in our consciousness.  Every American we met south of Mexico City had only two words of advice about the north of the country: don't go.  Of course, none of these people had actually been to the north of Mexico and the few who we had met in earlier in our travels who had passed through had a fairly casual recollection of the risks.

   We decided to brave it, and after much deliberation chose a route to the States that took us exclusively in first class buses (not as flash as it sounds) on toll roads the whole way.  We reasoned that bandits and drug cartels had a bottom line; one that was at odds with well patrolled pay as you go thoroughfares.

   Our first stop was to be the highly rated colonial beauty, the seaside resort of Mazatlan.  Our enthusiasm sunk like a stone as our bus ploughed through flood waters two feet deep on the way into the bus station.  We promptly booked on the next bus heading north, completing 22 hours of bus travel to reach Los Mochis that evening.

   Los Mochis had very little going for it in terms of tourist attraction ... except for incredibly friendly people, exemplified by our impromptu tour guide, Chapitha.  On the pretext of practising her English, she offered to take us on a tour of the town, which expanded to include visiting her grandmother, meeting her parents and brother and sister and aunts and cousins.  As if that welcome was not enough, the whole family took us out for the afternoon and evening to see the sunset at the local seaside, 40km down the road.  We had a truly lovely time with them and felt so so welcome.  We have been so very lucky with in the wonderful people we've met these past 6 months.

   Our next stop, Hermosillo, was had very little to hold our attention, not that we gave it much of a chance.  By this stage our eyes were fixed firmly on the US border.  So firmly in fact that when we got to our crossing point at Nogales we made our first mess of a border crossing and stamped into the US before stamping out of Mexico.  Oops.

We rectified it in the end but only after some interesting discussion with US border officials, trying to convince them of the importance of going back and complying with the migration requirements of the Mexican authorities.  I am not sure they were convinced.  One gentleman seemed to find the very concept of laws beyond the US border something of an anathema.