Airstreaming Mexico:
Bringing the Heat.
Agua Caliente and Chiltepin

Sonoran Chiltepin Berries

Interesting fact: Mexican’s make the best Mexican food. Seems like it shouldn’t even warrant mentioning, but it was a poignant realization that I made while snarfing down my third or fourth free meal.

Indeed, we have had at least one Large free and home cooked meal offered to us daily. It’s useless to politely decline an invitation. “No, gracias” will not be accepted for an answer. They want to share and generally fall all over themselves being great hosts. It’s silly to decline anyway, why miss out on such deliciousness?

Yesterday, I had the best fried chicken of my life, and the day before was carne asada, also probably the best. Most all of it is fresh and whole in nature, although I’ve got my doubts about how “organic” their foodstuffs are. It doesn’t matter, though….not to me anyway. They grill onions and green chilies right from the farm and specially seasoned fresh beef straight from the carniceria. Back home I’ve always just driven right by the carnicerias on my way to Safeway to buy beef. This behavior will likely change when we return to The States.

Sonoran’s are very proud of a local product: Salsa de Chiltepin. Best I can reckon from a couple of different Spanglish translations is that it’s main ingredient is from a tree specific to Sonora and it produces little red balls of fire after the rainy summer season. They are harvested in the Fall and soon transformed into Liquid Fire in a Bottle. At least that’s what it is for me. I declined my first few invitations to partake, but as mentioned before, it is useless to resist: you’ll eventually be broken down by peer pressure. Salsa de Chiltepin tastes absolutely incredible, but I only have an instant to enjoy it before I’m breathing out napalm like a dragon. Granted, I’m a true Gringo and have never been able to take The Heat, so you seasoned fire eaters will probably not be affected. For me, though, it’s as hot as I want to get. I now know what the expression, “it burns twice” means.

Gato on the hot springs aquaduct at Agua Caliente


Presently (04/15/09), we’re boon docking at Agua Caliente, 30 minutes west of the small town of Aconchi, itself only 40 minutes south of our last campsite in Banamichi (I’m sure you’re referencing your map right now). Point is, we haven’t made it very far. My wife and I have an overpowering affinity for hot springs, and of course could not resist a “quick dip”, which has turned into several days now. This public park is simple and beautiful in a cruddy, built years ago and never remodeled…just patched up, sort of Mexican way. It kind of reminds me of some unspecific old attraction on the U.S. Route 66, once proud, novel, and new, but is now starting to fade and crumble a bit. Several sets of turquoise painted stone and concrete pools gravity fed from the source thru a system of miniature aqueducts are available in two locations over roughly 40 acres of river bottom.

The source is hot enough to cook with and it is not unusual to see some potatoes cooking or eggs hard-boiling where the spring surfaces. There is no source of cold water here to tame the heat, so the hot water spills thru a vapor cave down a “Mayan Temple Cooling Tower” as my wife calls it, into the first tub. This is the ”hot tub” and the water cools steadily as it travels thru the system. The last pool is the “cool” tub. Bathrooms, bathhouses, and camping/RV spaces are also plentiful, although primitive and way out of level. We have been the only consistent campers here, so we generally have the park to ourselves at night. It’s been a new moon and the stars are most brilliant from our royal pool perch above the “Mayan cooling tower”.

Cooling Tower at Agua Caliente

It’s Spring Break and the kids are out of school and most parents have time off to tend to them. As such, this normally quiet and scarcely occupied park is quite busy and loud. Thanks to this holiday season, we’ve had complimentary Mariachi music every night while in Mexico, whether we wanted it or not. So far, the Mayan Princess and I have been able to identify two different types of Mariachi: one acoustic, mellow and slow (very nice actually) and the other electronic, fast, and booming (quite assaulting to the senses). It’s not a problem, though. We came here to experience Mexico, and that’s part of it.

One of the few gripes I have though is the trash. I can’t understand why such an old, and most definitely proud, culture absolutely refuses to pack out what they pack in. The shear volume of discarded disposable table service and other human detritus is staggering. It seems calculated and deliberate. We spent 15 minutes cleaning up this campsite (before we even set up camp) just to get it to an acceptable standard for ourselves. Best I can guess is that someone else is supposed to clean up after them. Interestingly, both places we have camped (public parks) thus far have had dedicated grounds-keeping staff that attend to them everyday, even weekends. They spend the bulk of their time picking up trash. It’s conceivable that on a busy week like Semana Santa (the Easter Holy Week) and accompanying Spring Break, they just can’t keep up with the volume of people and what we’re seeing is atypical. There are abundant trash barrels, but only the people paid to pick up trash use them. Maybe the citizens are consciously providing job security for the caretakers by leaving a mess. That would be consistent with what we’ve seen…………. Other than that, it’s beyond me.

Camping spot, at the Hot Springs

Regardless of the mess, the people are beautiful and generous. Yesterday, we met the Garcia’s, a local family from Aconchi, who had come to visit the hot springs for the day. I was in the hammock reading when the old man, Carlos Sr. pulled up with his wife “Nana” in the river bed next to our campsite driving his two-tone-brown, late nineties Chevy step-side pickup. Clad in a faded blue western shirt (pearl snaps, thank you) and a pristine white straw hat, wiry and toned from a lifetime on the ranch, he got out of the truck, surveyed the scene a bit, and then hiked up the riverbed to see what else the place had to offer. Right behind him came the rest of his family in a small blue Datsun pickup. Five of them jumped out and started milling about the park. I went back to reading. Next I saw of Carlos Sr., he had started unloading a pile of food out of the back of his truck and was walking over to help himself to my grill in my campsite. I honestly felt an awful, selfish twinge of, “what the hell kind of audacious……….” But, I stopped myself right there. Ashamed, I offered up a very sincere, “Buenas dias, Senor” instead.

After several rounds of niceties (he offered me a beer, I lent them some ketchup, he offered me another beer) we began to warm up to each other and have a good time. His youngest daughter, Ana, a recent graduate of the University in Hermosillo, knows some English and served as a translator for us. She was also very gracious in helping us practice our Spanish. There’s not too much that you can say to each other with limited language in common, but smiles and laughs go a long way as you find out as much about each other as you can. Carlos Jr. fried up the lunch: fries, chicken (Nana’s family recipe) and tortillas with salsa and Chiltepin, while Carlos III, “Carlito” (genealogy must be a real chore for Mexicans) played football with my dog. After feeding us and B.S.ing a bit, they packed up and headed out, only after inviting us over for coffee the next morning. We accepted that invitation and they welcomed us into their home like family. The cowboys of this area are very proud and conduct themselves most nobly. They shave daily, tuck their shirts in at all times, mind the young ones, and sit very straight in the saddle. They remind me a lot of my ranching kin in The States.

Cattle country here on the frontier of Northern Sonora is incredible…. wild and free. The terrain is inexplicable and the people absolutely fantastic. I am so glad we decided to come this less developed and traveled way. For those of you who still have doubts about leaving the major highways, or just plainly have doubts about leaving the U.S., I would recommend this: La Posada del Rio Sonora in Banamichi, Sonora. It is a completely modern and updated walled compound of a hotel whose Manager is from Arizona and speaks perfect English and Spanish. Also, it’s only a 3-hour drive south of the U.S. It’s a good way to start a relationship with Mexico, the real Old Mexico, without stretching the limits of your comfort zone. Check them out at www.MexicoEcoResort.com

Victor and Melissa at La Posada del Rio Sonora

The success of a trip such as ours is dependent on a lot of different types of help from a lot of different people, some of which I’d like to list here to demonstrate how grateful we are to everyone. The following folks are in the Honor Roll of our hearts:

17th Street!!!!! Who could ask for a better place in time?

Shawn C. for not sucking too bad. Why don’t you just go on your break?

Mark Miller for his insurance policy and storage unit. Holy smokes, was that helpful. (Oh yeah, and sorry for the Hannity comments, Mark. Hope you’re not still cursing my name. It had to be done).

Eli for his patience, shop, welder, and tools.

Sandy for the P.O.A. services and the unwanted Spanish Lessons ☺

Celena and Travis for fattening us up for this trip (I’ve got your 50 bucks Travis, come and get it!

Mom and Dad Clark for absolutely everything!!!

Mom and Dad Lind for handling our business, your love, and support.

Marcus and Kenny for helping deliver us to this opportunity.

Angel Garcia and his beautiful family for their West Texas generosity and hospitality.

Ken at The Shady Dell, Bisbee AZ

Victor Acedo for taking care of us in Banamichi. I checked the receipt, and I think you only charged us a penny and a half per beer. We’ll settle up when we come back thru…..Oh yeah, and I won’t tell, Bill.

Bill and Irma for the grub, generosity, information, and big ideas.

Carlos Garcia Family of Aconchi, Sonora

Elisa Turover for her “inside intel”.

There’s more to list but my battery is beeping at me (life boondocking, you know). If I missed you, well you can just kick my ass next time you see me.

Next installment will be from the beach!!!!!!

Much Love, J.C. and M.L.

Airstreaming Mexico: Running the Border Gauntlet

No Bridge over the River Sonora

We crossed the U.S./Mexico border on Good Friday. It was a cinch, relatively speaking: no rockets, mortars, or gunfire from warring drug cartels.

The only issue that cropped up was a beggar in Agua Prieta intent on terminating, with extreme prejudice, our command of the spare change tin on the dashboard of the van.

"Wrong" side of The Border

Just arriving at this point was quite a process; fixing, packing, and preparation aside. A word of advice: if you plan to go to Mexico in the near future, don’t tell anyone that you’re going to do it. Just make your arrangements secretively, then dash away with nary a word to anyone. Type up your itinerary and contact information before you leave, and mail it to your family and/or friends as you pass the post office on the way to the airport. They deserve to know where and how you are, but by no means do you deserve the deluge of dissension you will receive when you announce that you are venturing South. Those who attempt to talk you out of it, and the others who call you crazy, obviously care deeply about your welfare and want only the best for you. But their best intentions will be a drain on your psyche and a distraction from your proper preparations for the trip.

I’d like to punch Sean Hannity and the other Fear-Machine Mongers in the mouth for their shameful, reckless, and baseless promulgation of the now popular prevailing notions of conditions in Mexico. Do the raw figures of death and despair seem to add up? Sure. Is there a drug war going on here with multiple fronts? Yes. Were there more people killed in Mexico last year than Afghanistan? Definitely. Is it only by the grace of God that my wife and I have made it as far as we have unscathed? Maybe. However, I’m betting that most of the individuals snuffed out by Mexican drug violence put them self in the wrong place, associated with dicey people, or some combination of the two. We’ve seen none of it, and neither have the locals we’ve talked to. But, who knows? Maybe Sean is correct and soon enough he’ll be able to chock us up as another awful statistic. I’m sure we’d be just the type of tragedy that he and the other Nancy Grace types would love to latch onto and profit from.

Green Valley of the Rio Sonora in Banamichi

On a much Cooler note, though, Mexico is AWESOME!! Many aspects of what we’ve seen thus far are what I imagine Colorado used to be, and what I wish it were now. It is a very live and let live culture (or live and let die, depending on your mindset). Children can ride thru town on ATV’s if they want to, the majority of pickup truck occupants ride in the back, dogs are not sequestered to special parks and required to be on leash everywhere else, families are expected to have fowl and other livestock wandering free and crowing at the first sign of daylight, roads are maintained at a bare minimum, beer is cheap and you can drink it walking down the sidewalk, if you like.

Wayward cactus flower

www.laposadadelriosonora.com

This is not to say that laws regarding these things don’t exist. But the enforcement of these laws appear to be based more on negating gross abuse versus maintaining “law and order” at all times, no matter what it costs in personal freedom and dignity. Sure, it’s somewhat arbitrary, but it appears that if you respect others, keep your nose clean, and mind your own business, then you’ll be fine. I’ve noticed a much stronger notion of personal responsibility then I am used to. Mexicans seem to understand and abide by a sort of natural law that we lack in the United States. For instance, if your unleashed dog is smaller than the other unleashed dog, you may want to pick him up and carry him away. A dogfight is just exactly that, and is over when the fight is over… no one is going to litigate about it later. If the “highway” is in too rough of a condition for your Subaru, then you’d better get a real 4WD, because it won’t do any good to write to your congressman or to the anonymous “You Said It” column in the local newspaper (the latter, an inside joke for Western Slopers). Another example: If the town market is out off eggs and the ATM machine is out of money, then you’ll know to plan a little better next time (this just happened to us today).

From what I can tell, in Mexico, the idea that you are entitled to absolutely every conceivable consumable and service does not exist. Here, you take the little that you can get, be grateful, and make the very best of it. Sounds a lot like what both sets of my grandparents have said about living through The Great Depression. So far, I love what I’ve seen in Mexico and cannot wait to explore the culture and the terrain further (after they restock the ATM with cash, of course).

Side-note: The Napoleonic Code of law (guilty until proven innocent) and the ridiculously oppressive firearm statutes are very concerning for this American. I’ve not been here long enough to experience issues with either one, but time will tell if these concerns are valid.

Church of Our Lady Loreto, Banamichi

Here are some practical aspects about traveling to Mexico:

If you’re going to do a driving trip into Mexico, you’ll need just a few basic things. First, purchase Mexican auto insurance in the U.S. before you cross. We bought a 6-month policy (the best value) for 160 dollars. This covers both our Airstream and the van. Once you cross, you’ll need to stop at a Banjercito (ours was right at the border checkpoint). This is a government office where you first get your tourist permit, then your vehicle permit(s). The total red-tape time at the border was 30 minutes. After that you change out some duckets at the bank, or find an ATM to withdraw your pesos. The most thorough reference materials we encountered for these details were by Moon Handbook's Bruce Whipperman and the Rolling Homes Press husband and wife team, Mike and Terri Church.

Mexican highways (different from toll-roads) have rightfully earned their reputations. They are skinny, windy, pockmarked stretches of chip-sealed madness with no shoulders that must be run with outright skill and steely-nerve confidence, especially if you are towing a trailer. You will be passed, and sometimes cut off by everyone with a Mexican license plate, passenger vehicles and truckers alike. On top of that, if you don’t know Spanish, road signs won’t mean too much to you, assuming that they even exist in the first place. Driving these highways is an exercise in and test of your faith, patience, and aptitude. What a rush! You are definitely ready for that Tecate by the end of the day.

The real fun comes on the even skinnier, and even windier, tributary type roads (still officially called highways) where tractor-trailers are not allowed, or just physically cannot negotiate, whichever the case may be. On these, you can breathe a little easier because they are less traveled and you absolutely must decrease speed, or you’ll rattle your vehicle apart. The best part are the river and creek crossings, usually prefaced 300 meters in advance with a Vado Peligroso (Dangerous Dip) road sign. In all instances except one, these dips were built out of concrete and were completely dry or only flowing with a few inches of water. Again, everyone who comes up from behind will pass you; Mexicans on the road are in a big damn hurry, so just get used to it.

It was one of these “highways”, Sonora 089 (or Sonora 118, depending upon whether you were reading the map or the road signs) that led us to our current destination, Banamichi, Sonora. It is a small cattle town roughly 3,000 people strong. It’s Easter weekend here and everyone is celebrating. We’re boon docking in the town plaza/park for 3 or 4 days (again, try to get away with that in the U.S.) soaking up all of the reverie. Easter is a MAJOR holiday and this place is loud with music and people. Everyone is very cordial and graciously help us with our “caveman stage” Spanish. Children fill the park all day and play futbol Americano with my dog. He’s lost all of his street credibility as aggressive or mean by appearance alone in this town. Everyone asks if he bites, but before I can answer the inquiry, he’s stuffing my orange and blue Broncos football into their hands, looking to play fetch.

Ruiz, my German, American, Mexican Shepherd

Life on the road is wonderful and I can feel my body grow stronger and my soul grow quieter with every breath I draw in. Much love to our Friends and Family. You are in our thoughts.

Oh, did you check in here for some Airstream talk? Yeah, I went a little heavy on the social commentary this time, but check out my sister blog:

Turkeydawgtech.blogspot.com

Airstream Safari Antics

1962 Airstream Safari, freshly shined on front 

A friend of mine just clued me into a fantastic bumper sticker:  "Nobody cares that you telemark."

I'm certain that that same string of logic applies to Airstreams for most people.  Indeed, if it existed, I'd put a sticker to that effect on my trailer, just for the sake of irony.  But, being both a Telemarker and an Airstreamer, I know better.............those who do either, care very much.  Those who do both..........well, more on that later.

But, I'm not one of those Purists of either pursuit.  I despise zealotry, traditionalism, and most forms of fundamentalism.  When I get tired, my turns revert to alpine style.  When bits of my ancient Airstream give out, I fix them with modern parts, not exact stock originals.

But, make no mistake, I do care passionately about that with which I'm involved.  It isn't the form necessarily, but the function.  I telemark because it's the finest style of skiing with the most noble history and I run an Airstream because they are the best of the travel trailers, with the richest culture.

The telemark season is over for me now, so this blog is dedicated to running amok in our Airstream trailer during the Spring/Summer  '09 proper.  Maybe after the snow starts falling again on North America, I'll assault the masses with some missives on skiing.

Until then though, this blog will be about rendering a vintage trailer serviceable and livable again and what one might find out there on the road after that work is complete.

Dinette before renovation

Dinette after renovation

This whole Airstream thing started with a boyhood dream of my father.  

As a youngster in the 50's, he concluded, "Once you can buy an Airstream trailer, you have arrived."  This string of thought he passed onto my wife with the following succinct statement, "You absolutely must get an Airstream for your home office.  Here, look at some of these pictures..."  Shortly after that we went on an intense, yet brief, pilgrimage to the American Southwest in search of one for ourselves.  Just mere hours after arriving in Flagstaff AZ, we miraculously located a 1962 Safari model parked lonesome and abandoned behind a construction company's office.  It's owner was a house framer named "Sully" who was working in Phoenix.  Fortunately for us, he was a bit of a hard-luck case and happened to need cash more than he needed the trailer.  He sold it for $1500...knowing full well that he could get much more for it, were he not so "motivated".  We made multiple trips to the ATM over several days, and paid him in twenty dollar bills.

We took it home and my beautiful and gracious mother went to work on it.  She rehung the curtains, yanked the periwinkle carpet, and scrubbed all of the hanta-virus out of each nook and cranny.  After plugging everything in and flipping all of the switches, we discovered that most all of the systems were deficient in some manner.  The water pipes had frozen and burst, the refrigerator wouldn't cool above 55 degrees, the oven wouldn't stay lit, the heater pilot wouldn't fire, and the 12 volt system had been dismantled and wires snipped out of it randomly and completely caddy-whampus-like.  If that wasn't enough, though, we still hauled it around the country, living like filthy savages in this silver shell of a trailer until finally the old single-axle seized and the left wheel came off in the Virgin River Gorge halfway between Mesquite NV and St. George UT.  That sure enough is a sobering sight:  watching a wheel of your trailer roll past the driver side door of your tow vehicle down the highway.

Virgin River Gorge, broken axle 

Bedroom before renovation

Bedroom and library after renovation

Since then, we've gotten serious......We've decided that our trailer is to become our full-time home and regardless of her deficiencies, we are going to make her a glorious part of our family.

That decision was an easy one, but the follow-through on this promise has been the tough part...and ultimately the impetus for this blog.  Making an antiquated, decrepit trailer livable again is no less than a chore.  You can quite easily get distracted from your mission. I mean, what is a recreational vehicle for?  Is it to go out and recreate in, or is it to toil in, under, and on...... week after week, pursuing some sort of ultimate historical perfection that very well may not exist?

Pinto Pony Crazy Horse Kitty, AKA Cara de Negro, in the bathroom above

Chief Ouray Kitty, AKA Cara de Leche below

There are three types of Airstream renovators that I've found thus far.  An elite few just tear all of the guts out and start afresh.  These are the "designers" and "innovators" and the other well-educated esoterics among us who have the means and resources to create a whole new environment:  a trouble-free, hypoallergenic, zen garden, chakra aligning masterpiece.  They are featured in a few books and design trade journals and generally receive accolades and adoration from colleagues and peers alike.  Others, are the Restorers.  These well intentioned folks wind themselves up like tops and then spin wildly out of control attempting to recreate their trailer to the exacting standards of the factory from whence they were conceived.  Generally these people spend more time working on their trailers than traveling in them.  Finally, there are those Airstreamers like myself who are the cheap, foolishly optimistic,  arm-chair tinkerers, trying desperately to refurbish or at least cobble together each existing system as necessary, if only for the sake of not having to go out and  buy a whole new piece.  We usually would have been better off paying a professional technician to solve our issues.

All of those methods have their merits, I guess, but I'll be focusing on the purely functional aspects of creating a trailer that you can live in full time, without spending huge amounts of dough.  

Also, the general maintenance and repairs will be performed while on the road under real world (and sometimes seemingly out of this world) conditions.  My wife and I will be crossing into Mexico very soon with our trailer, one dog, and two cats.  With all that is going on there presently, this ought to prove to be interesting reading.

Artwork for lamp by Connie Clark

By no means am I an authority on RVing and/or its associated repairs.  

However, I can turn a wrench, so I'll share with you what happened to us and what I did to remedy it.  I solicit from you any and all relevant experiences, for the betterment of ourselves and our trailers.

17th Street "Airstream Quilt" crafted by Sally Deford- 

One of our many lovely and talented friends, Thank You!!!

This blog will soon have associated with it a sort of "technical" sister page where I will chronicle the nuts and bolts bits I've dealt with and am soon undoubtedly going to deal with. 

Please peruse it and take what you need and leave information for me as well as you see fit.

Na Graucho!!

Turkeydawg