Bob-Kats on the Road 2-9-11

A Trip to Progreso

A Trip to Progreso

Yes, that’s right.  We went twice – in one day.  We got all the way to the parking area, when – ah ha – forgot the passports.  We were used to it in Canada, not Mexico I guess. 

So, about 20 miles of back roads to travel over again.  Plenty of time to take note of interesting signs.

                           We are the Red Ants, the mighty, mighty Red Ants . . .

The first thing you feel when you go to Progreso is APPRECIATED!  It’s like the whole town came out and gave you a collective hug.  Now, can you get that in New York City?

But following close on that, you are struck by the poverty.  Of course, you expect that, but not so much the open begging.  First, the bridge people.  They are on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande under the bridge.  Sometimes there is elaborate (and very good) artwork drawn in the sand.  Once a kind of mural with Sponge Bob and the words “One Eco”.  ??  That mantra was picked up by the people under the bridge holding out hats to catch money.

Now you are in Progreso – chaos!  Mariachi music blares, men surround you soliciting for dentists – root canals, cheap!  (take note, Dr. McDaniels, I have options)

In the middle of the street just in front of the border gates there are always one or two military jeeps with mounted and loaded guns – this week grenade launchers.  (gosh, seems to me that you might take out quite a few of the winter Texans with one of those)

Moving on, you are in a sea of people selling --- well, junk.  We try to buy as much as we can while we are there, but my name on a grain of rice?  Let me check my shopping list here…   Tiny girls no bigger than my grandson are selling paper flowers.  Who can say no to that?  Not me, buddy.  They are happy with a quarter.  We come with our pockets full.  (to give them bills would put them in danger)  If you become overwhelmed, you just move into the street.  They understand this and there are no cars. 

We move down the street to Arturo’s.  It’s wonderful.  You are served by imperious waiters dressed in white shirts, ties and black suits.  It is perhaps the top job – certainly at Arturo’s and maybe on the street – and much coveted by the many busboys and junior waiters, I guess they are.  Margaritas are delish (and not too strong since their average customer is about 70).  The menu is large and elaborate with even a page for game meats.   We once ordered chateaubriand for an anniversary evening.  It was an embarrassing affair involving three waiters, a tableside serving cart and flames.  Not recommended.  But the roast chicken with tomatillo sauce? Devine!

After lunch – shopping!  We buy as much as we can – boots for Bob, very nice, a little cowboy vest for Kubs, cute, etc.  And drugs.  I don’t mean marijuana…it’s not that kind of crowd --well, it probably WAS at one time, but not anymore!)   I mean Viagra, Cialis, blood pressure meds for themselves and friends.

Tired from all that shopping?  There is always a friendly bar to stop at.  Perhaps another Margarita?

Or maybe some permanent make up?  Yikes

Last stop is always the duty free liquor store.  By an odd arrangement, you pay for it inside and a runner brings it outside to the curb for you.    

So, we leave.  Walk back over the bridge and back into our lives.  But we can’t forget the people we have seen.  I remember the lady sitting in the street holding her cup out for coins.  I remember her from four years ago.  She was sitting in the same place then.  Begging is a poor living and the season is so short.  I don’t know what happens to these people when the winter Texans are gone.  They do survive as she obviously has, but how is a mystery and a testament to their resourcefulness.