"As soon as I saw you, I knew an adventure was going to happen"
--- Winne the Pooh
What follows is my first impression of the spectacular scenery of Mexico so pay attention! It's hard to compress a world into a few paragraphs but I hope you get a vision of life on the Mexican frontier. Let me reassure you that I loved my time as a missionary of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints: the people and the culture are incredible! So, excuse my naivety as I crawled out from under my rock in quiet comfy Utah and immersed myself in a whole new life with bewilderment. This was my first time out of the country in 16 years and certainly the first time on my own. Please note also, that I did not get to see every part of Reynosa, only select designated parts, more rural neighborhoods than not.
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Like I wrote my parents in my first email home, I felt like I was on another planet even though I was only walking distance from Texas. I felt so out of place, like an apple in a vineyard of grapes. The culture was new to me. The language, the environment, the food, the customs. It was breathtaking!
THE REYNOSA AIRPORT
It was the afternoon of Monday, September 15, 2014: The Reynosa, Mexico airport was about the size of a bus station (Compare that to the large one in Mexico City and the enormous one in Georgia). I suppose air travel wasn’t as frequent as other tourist stops since we were directly across the Texas border.
Nobody had to tell us that it had been raining the entire week prior to our arrival for us to feel it in the thick air. If we didn't already smell bad for having traveled nearly a full day, we did once we were sweating like a soggy sponge. Utah is a desert so I’m used to being dry as the norm. Being within driving distance of the ocean was a new experience for me. The first time I'd even gazed upon the ocean was on the flight. The hottest forty-day period of the year (the canícula—cah-nee-coo-la) had just ended when we arrived which means it was still very hot (See "Canícula").
*Note: The image on the left is what the airport looked like during my mission from 2014 to 2016. The image on the right is the finished remodeling that was completed in 2021. What a difference! Mind you, I only went through that airport once years ago, and spent only a few minutes passing through, but it felt more like a bus station than an airport at the time. Truth is, I wasn't as preoccupied with looking at it so much as making sure I got to where I needed to go.
The shelter of the Mexico City airport really didn’t provide much of a culture shock compared to when we next arrived in Reynosa. For example, there were police all over the Reynosa airport and when I say “police” I include soldiers in bulletproof vests with automatic rifles and German shepherds smelling out the luggage as they walked all over it on the conveyor belt like a treadmill. Police were constantly driving through the streets on vigilant patrol. They weren’t there to pass out speeding tickets or to settle noise complaints. Their purpose was greater. Sometimes they wore all black, sometimes navy blue, sometimes forest camouflage. The combination of helmets and occasional masks often concealed their faces so as to protect their identity. You couldn’t take a picture of them without their consent; doing so could get you into trouble. Their typical vehicles were trucks fit to transport half a dozen men or so. For special occasions, they had "tanks" and other tough-skinned vehicles. It took me about a month to realize why they were everywhere and that I needed not to fear them but rather appreciate them for protecting us. Sometimes looks can be deceiving. It’s best to not judge too soon. These were the good guys. You could say in this dangerous state that these were guardian angels, ever vigilant and willing to put their lives on the line to protect the innocent; not looking for trouble but there to promote public safety.
After recovering our luggage, we turned the corner, and there he was waiting for us— President Morales! I couldn’t believe I was finally meeting him! I’d seen his picture in my mission call packet, and I’d stalked the photos on the mission Facebook page but it was something else to be there with the man. Mission Offices are told who will be arriving a few weeks in advance so he already knew our names and faces by memory (See "Mission Administration"). I gave him an awkward nervous handshake and hug (as did everybody), the Office Elders took pictures of the arrival and they magically loaded all our luggage into cabs or vehicles of some shape or size. It seemed to happen so quickly. That was on purpose. By that time, it was already late afternoon.
There were seventeen of us American missionaries arriving so transporting our luggage from the airport to the offices was not an easy task; fortunately, the mission had so much practice loading taxis that they did it pretty quickly. Our mission had just been created roughly a year before and was still growing its missionary force. When I arrived, there were maybe 130 -150 missionaries which grew to about 180 missionaries at its peak. Missionaries came from various countries but our mission was pretty balanced with probably half being American and the others from Latin America (with a few exceptions of course). There were probably only ever between eight to fourteen sister missionaries as well as a senior couple (I didn't see the Hermanas very often so I don't recall). Our "generation" (as it was endearingly called) marked the largest arrival in the mission's young history before or since. All following groups were increasingly smaller until only a handful came every six weeks. We Americans arrived together, whereas the incoming Spanish-proficient group arrived a day or two later. We’d spent six weeks in the MTC to accommodate language preparation whereas those who were already proficient spent a mere ten days there.
I was fortunate to find room and personal invitation in President’s large van back to the offices. I was practically speechless the whole ride, only exchanging looks of shock and awe with the other Elders, mouths gaped and eyes bulging scanning the terrain.
This description will fall short of the grandeur of what I saw. The following details will be taken from the parts of the cities that I saw and are not meant to be comprehensive because I didn't see everything there was to see:
THE PLANTLIFE
I beheld tall palm trees with their long lazy leaves like hair (I don't even think I'd ever seen a palm tree in person before) and other trees with unruly branches and small curly leaves and buds. There were mango trees, a few banana trees, and flora I had never seen before; there were no evergreens anywhere and cacti were usually in gardens as opposed to the stereotypical wilderness. The only flowers were sunflowers or tiny wildflowers the size of coins but beautiful still; both of which grow anywhere and everywhere in the dry hard ground. Flowers weren’t something you usually bought in some shop; they grew where they grew.
Plantlife didn't seem to change much from season to season like we may be used to in the U.S. The leaves didn't change so dramatically and the blossoms were less spectacular. If they did fall, they went unnoticed by me amidst the other debris on the ground. The only smell of autumn was that of humidity and the only smell of spring was of grass on top of that humidity and all other common smells of the street.
I can’t recall ever seeing lawn mowers in those two years, not even in the stores (besides an occasional weed-whacker), not that I ever looked for one. Most landscaping was reserved for public parks and similar areas where crews hacked the overgrowth with their machetes in uniform rows like a tractor harvesting a field every few months. If left overgrown, the grassy jungle of a park would house mosquitos, ticks, and other unlikable critters rendering them a hindrance instead of the place of rest they were meant to be. Honestly, the residents of Tamaulipas might not agree, but I thought the parks were all beautiful. Sure, they were cheap and simple compared to what we here at home are used to (at least where I served) but the small things in the many parks like pieces of art in the center, namely modern art statues, or other things added a splash of beauty to an otherwise dusty and quiet neighborhood. Although the parks were for the most part seldom visited, the city took great pride in them and invested much in their upkeep. I for one was grateful for the occasional place to sit for a moment while out and about, and an occasional lesson taught there.
THE HOMES
Most houses were quaint and joined walls one with another so yards were virtually nonexistent in developed neighborhoods, or at least not extensive ones. Depending on the neighborhood, a house could either be a virtual cookie-cutter copy of its neighbor or designed, modified, or otherwise erected by the amateur hands of its occupants. It wasn't uncommon for individuals to do much of their own construction which was both impressive and scary. Whatever the case, the house was usually only as big as needed, not wanted. Luxury was never the first thought.
I don't remember hardly any cul-de-sacs, except I suppose for the select gated communities of which there were few. Not too many dead ends. I suppose most of the neighborhoods were laid out like most other places, with some sort of a grid system, or in the very least, a loopback out around the corner or a back door through. Even in places where calling it a "grid" is a generous term, there was ample crossing over regardless of the aerial pattern. Unfortunately, this made it easy to get turned around in some neighborhoods, especially considering we didn't have cars or GPS.
Most houses had a gas grill out front, a car (many of which were broken, dirty, and covered with a tarp and probably had been for years), miscellaneous construction materials like bags of cement and cinder blocks (which we'd sometimes use as chairs), and a blue plastic barrel or metal can for garbage (like the kind of metal can you'd light a bonfire in). Many houses had an iron gate protecting the property, keeping any passerby at an untouchable distance, and bars on their windows for obvious reasons; to knock, you'd usually have to hit the gate with a small rock or a coin. Some doors were plated with one-way glass. Some stores had metal blinds that were drawn down upon closing. Some tops of gates and walls had metal spikes protruding from them as a barbed wire technique prisons use. Suffice it to say that safety precautions were always an investment well spent.
THE STREETS
There were aforementioned black military vehicles, yellow and white taxis, and buses of all shapes and sizes called "peceras" (See "P-Days & Peceras"). At the busiest intersections, you could find teams of middle-aged men and young boys cleaning windshields at red lights for spare change; they'd often begin cleaning before asking the driver putting him in an awkward position; they were fast! Besides the houses as mentioned (most of which did not exceed or even reach two stories) made of rebar and cinderblock, neighborhoods consisted of emaciated zombie dogs with patchy skin and ticks rummaging the side streets like the wild animals they literally were, reckless speeds on the highway and all other roads though I never saw any accidents despite the heavy traffic, and let’s not forget to mention the narrowness of some dirt streets that were more like unto alleys than actual streets. Most streets were quiet like a ghost town. But on the major streets, where all the large businesses were, the city came to life.
Most gray pavement was like a frying pan in the treacherous summer but there was still greenery; wild grasses or shrubs seemingly shooting up everywhere, even between the cracks in the sidewalk at times, because people didn’t typically bother landscaping. Now, to top it all off, imagine dust everywhere and on everything. That's probably why the pavement looked so light gray, that and I don't think laying down new road was very common despite the very common use of cement in construction. Imagine dust and dirt up against all the curbs like a snowbank made of fine cinnamon. That's why there was next to no carpet or vacuuming. Just tile, linoleum, and solid concrete floors and brooms and mops. When I think about it, the only electricity that we as missionaries used in our houses was for turning on the lights, powering the fans, heaters, and fridge, and charging our phones at night. We didn't have any other tools or appliances or electronics.
Truth be told, my interactions with cars other than taxis in Mexico were very limited so I didn’t take great notice between one car’s make and model over another. They were all the same to me. They were like extras in a movie. If the wheels spun, even if the air conditioning or windows were broken, it wasn’t worth replacing no matter how old or beat it looked. Nothing a little duct tape couldn’t fix. Literally in some cases. But as you'd expect, of course, there were nicer cars in better condition too. But some people couldn’t afford or didn’t need their own car. Public transportation was convenient because it was cheap and you didn’t have to spend money on gas. On another note, almost nobody wore seat belts. They had them, but they consciously chose not to use them. Admittedly, I got into that habit whenever I got in taxis or went with Church members too. As I said, I never witnessed a car accident in Mexico as far as I remember. I've fixed that habit now. Wear your seatbelts! It's the law!
Not all streets were in bad condition but many were, some parts of the city far worse than others. We bounced up and down, weaving through the deep shapeless potholes in our route kicking fine dust up into the air. It stuck to our sweaty skin and clothes. By the end of the day, you may as well have been covered in cinnamon. Eventually, you forget it's there. The dust is so fine that you don't feel it and you kind of forget it's there so you stop seeing it as dirt and start seeing it as just another layer of protection.
Crosswalks were not common in my experience. The really busy streets in the city usually had tall overpasses for pedestrians. But most residential areas didn’t have much traffic anyway and weren't wide enough to justify such. Most streets where I was were your standard two-way. If the people weren't in peceras, they were probably walking. Cars were probably not the main method of transportation like they are in America, or not that I noticed because I spent most of my time in the quiet neighborhood streets. Obviously, they were more prevalent in the larger parts of the cities where there were more businesses or markets, or on the highways that connected the cities. It made it a lot more quiet except for the occasional neighbors and small businesses that blasted music and the sound of nature like the crickets, the wind in the trees, and the rain.
It may have been that I'd never spent so much time walking outside before but it seemed that telephone cables weaved across streets like a chaotic wire canopy or vines in a jungle. Maybe that's an exaggeration but that's how it felt. It always felt like I'd walk into a dry log or concrete javelin of a telephone pole if I wasn't looking where I was going on the sidewalk. All advertisements and signs were of course in Spanish; many of which included text painted directly on the building or on cheap strung-up banners instead of electric signs. Billboards in the city usually displayed political messages, restaurant promotions, alcohol ads, or "come unto Jesus" messages. I didn’t know what they said at first.
THE STORES
The major grocery stores were the Sorianas, like our Walmarts but orange instead of blue, and the smaller Bodega Aurreras which were green. Reynosa had a single Walmart but it burned down around December 2015 (It was bizarre having been there before and thereafter seeing the black abandoned ruins). White ash could be found clear across the other side of the city; it looked like potato snowflakes falling from the sky in time for Christmas.
Most convenience stores were small and locally operated, sometimes out of their own house with the doors left open. They were quite common everywhere. The bigger fast-food restaurants and stores were only in the larger cities, like Reynosa, which were similar to those in any other city in the world, except for maybe a few differences such as the common chips and salsa side dish appetizer. My favorite fast food places in the mission, even though we didn't eat out often, included Burger King and Papa John's because we'd often get coupons. Not surprisingly, I never saw any Taco Bells.
THE SMELLS
They say that smell is the last memory to go. It can take us back in time. The ocean-borne breeze brewed each and every smell like a blender. There were so many smells, good and bad. At times, the air smelled of delicious street taco meat or sweet freshly baked goods from the cozy bakeries. Often you could get a big whiff of the suffocating dough emanating from the tortilla shops. At other times, it smelt of suffocating marijuana and other toxic smokes. It never smelled of fresh rain like it does here in Utah. Sometimes it smelled of burning trash (which people occasionally did). Occasionally it reeked of rotting roadkill, namely dogs. Sometimes it reeked of sewage which there was in certain canals or faulty manholes (in some neighborhoods). To be frank, I feel like my sense of smell was never the same after the mission. I’m not complaining though. I can still smell but foul smells don’t really bother me like they used to. Maybe that’s a good thing?
Some things just can’t be described in any language. Try describing colors to a man born blind or music to a deaf man. I will describe more when I get to each area I served in!
We pulled up to the Mission Offices which I was surprised to see was really just a new small building adjacent to the Reynosa Stake Center (See "Mission Administration"). We were told to leave the bulk of our luggage in a locked room in the chapel building until the next day when we could grab everything and race to the taxis to be taken to the area we would be serving in. So, leaving the bulk, we took the essentials for the night and were again driven a few blocks North to the then "Mission Home". I didn’t know what it was at the time. There wasn't much time for questions; it was more like we were children blindly following the person in front of us in the hopes that we wouldn't get lost, trusting that somebody knew what they were doing. By then, the sun was setting and the crickets chirped their chorus.
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