I woke up to sweat dripping down my face and reached my hand outside the open window, hoping for some respite. It was the same temperature outside as inside the car without even a hint of a breeze. I looked over at The Guy and he had a pool of sweat on his chest. Eventually, we got out of the vehicle and slept sitting in our chairs, choosing the mosquitos, sandflies, and biting ants over the hot mattress.
We told ourselves we would stay in San Carlos for a few days since moving quickly costs significantly more. After making breakfast, we headed straight to the pool where two children played with their father. It was considerably warmer inside the pool than outside of it and we knew the day would only get warmer. We begrudgingly got out of the pool and sat on a swinging bench in silence.
“We should just get out of here,” I said to The Guy.
“OK.”
We packed up our belongings, not without bickering at each other. As soon as we were driving with our A/C on, The Guy bursts out laughing and says, “Obviously we can’t live somewhere too hot or we’ll just kill each other.”
It’s absolutely true. We don’t do so well in the heat. The Sonora desert was merciless and unforgiving so we headed toward Alamos, a small colonial mountain town that has been the site of multiple wars due to silver mining.
Upon driving into the town, the roads went from dirt to cobblestone and the buildings immediately gave off a sense of history. We drove through a narrow road, parked in the dirt, and were greeted by fliers indicating it was the last day of a cultural festival. Small food stands lined the square, preparing food for that evening. We began walking around and looking for a place to stay. A mile or so into the walk, we were both drenched with sweat without any hope of a room because every hotel was fully booked for the festival.
We found a bench to contemplate the situation. Two older gentleman with cowboy hats sat next to us and mentioned the heat. I’m sure my melting face had nothing to do with it. Before we knew it, clouds rolled in and the stirrings of a storm were brewing. We began walking around and found the Plaza De Armas, where the world renowned mariachi band, El Mariachi Vargas de Tecalitlan, would be playing later. Everyone began taking cover, hiding in pavilions and alongside the overhangs of buildings, as we practically skipped along in relief. We kept exploring until we were soaked through without a care in the world.
The plaza reminded me of a square in Belgium and reminded The Guy of New Orleans, which is not surprising since the French took over the area at one point. We spent the evening trying several taco trucks with an array of hand made sauces laid out upon the tables, listening to the mariachi band, and enjoying the festivities. We rested very peacefully that night.
We awoke to a knock on the window. Apparently we had parked right in the middle of a market and the man whose spot we took had waited patiently for us to wake up (6AM) while those around him had already set up. How very polite! The day was fairly uneventful. A local man told us the indigenous population now lives farther away but mostly Mexicans lived in Alamos. He taught us the word for cloudy and hoped it would rain later. Several people walked by and snuck pictures of us. By afternoon, we decided to head into the local bar rather than sit at a hotel bar.
The bar consisted of a very large, dark room which housed two pool tables in the back and several plastic tables and chairs where many old men sat with their cowboy hats. To the side was a small outdoor area covered by a thatched roof with a bent and crooked fan on its highest speed. All eyes were on us. We opted to sit outside with our beers and watched men fall all over themselves using the restroom, prostitutes chat up their clientele, and others observing us in return.
At one point, a man drunkenly stumbled into The Guy and said he worked for Carlos A*******. Do you know who he is? Are you sure you don’t know who he is? Later, another man walks over with a lit joint and offers it to us, claiming it was the best marijuana around. Now remember that we stuck out like two sore thumbs. I don’t think the two instances were completely unrelated. All this while one table over, a transvestite prostitute began making out with an unsuspecting old man. We wondered if he’d figure it out later.
It didn’t rain that evening. I fell asleep early while The Guy continued to roam around. The next thing I knew, everything in the front area of the car was shoved in next to me, the A/C was on, and we were driving in the middle of the night. Despite all the travel warnings about night driving, we were night driving. I swear, the heat makes you do crazy things.
Honestly, I was too tired and relieved to argue. To be fair, there was a lightning storm occurring so The Guy reasoned it would rain soon and keep the ‘bad guys’ off the road. The next time I awoke to dripping water and the bottom portion of the mattress was soaked. We were driving through a torrential downpour. Lightning lit up the sky and struck no less than 200 meters from us. Large pools of water were on the road as semi-trucks drove by and splashed the entire windshield with water. Sometimes we hydroplaned. I found it too terrifying to watch the road so I fell asleep with the notion in my head that if I died, I didn’t need to have fear in my heart beforehand.
We drove through an abandoned security checkpoint, eventually stopping at a truck stop so he could sleep. By morning, we’d made a quick switch so he could lay in the bed and I drove the rest of the way to Mazatlan. The torrential downpour had lightened to a steady rain. The tolls grew more frequent and expensive as we neared and upon arrival we were greeted by overcast weather and a little shrimp stand on the ocean.
When it began to rain again, they asked if we wanted to move our table out of it and we smiled like crazy people and said no.
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