Paquimé to Antelope Wells

After breakfast again (Constantino’s, brilliantly lit, like every other eating place we saw in NCG), we zipped up to Paquimé, arriving at 9:00 for my morning appointments.  After a bit of a wait, I was able to speak briefly with the education director.  One of the architects I had spoken with the previous day burned me a copy of the management plan and provided photocopied pages of a report on visitors.  She promised to scan the entire thing into a pdf and send it to me.

I was introduced to a tour guide who lamented the near-complete decimation of the tourist market, especially from the United States.  Whereas they used to receive several busloads of gringos every week, they now receive one every 15 days — and then it’s half full! She believes US visitor levels are only 1% of what they were previously.

Our plan was to head back to the United States by way of the border station at Antelope Wells.  From Mrs. Jones and John Hatch, we learned the border station closes at 4:00 p.m., which is 3:00 p.m. on Chihuahua time, as New Mexico had already sprung forward for Daylight Savings Time, and Chihuahua had not.

There was a bit of anxiety about making the last 30 miles or so to get passed the Janos customs station and into the border zone where tourist permits (which we didn’t have) and car permits (which we also lacked) are not necessary.  We continued to the dusty little crossroads of Janos, where roads heading from Ciudad Juárez to the east, Agua Prieta to the west, and Nuevo Casas Grandes to the south.

We had a pleasant lunch. I had the comida corrida , beef soup with carrots and cabbage and  a chile relleno.  Washed it down with a (real sugar) Mexican Coca-Cola.

Apart from a gas station, several liquor stores, and several little restaurants for traileros, Janos is also home to a distillery for Sotol, a liquor brewed from the Desert Spoon plant.  The taste is somewhat similar to tequila, but it’s actually a bit smoother, with a pleasant, smoky aftertaste.  The pre-Columbian residents of the area had brewed various beverages from the same plant.  The invading Spaniards took it to the next level and developed a spirit popular in Chihuahua (it was a favorite of Pancho Villa).  These days, it’s evidently not so popular — we looked in several liquor stores in NCG and Janos and couldn’t find any.

We wanted to pick up a bit more of this marvelous stuff. I had bought a bottle in NCG the night before and noticed the address of the Don Cucol distillery, at km 200 on the Ciudad Juárez-Janos highway, printed right on the bottle.  We drove a short way down the road and found a rather elaborate ranch, followed by a dusty industrial building. That was it!  We drove into the industrial side of the operation and at first saw nobody.  Then a couple of workers appeared from the rear of the building where there assorted bottles and desiccated skin of a calf lying in the dust.  I inquired about where we could buy some of their product and he led us to the main casa and the “rancho” part of the operation.  There was a bit of care in the decoration and layout of this part of the complex. This was where they welcomed visitors and clients.

However; the boss was apparently down in Janos’s hotel; there was only a young woman with a brood of delightfully cute children.  There was a big box of the deluxe “reposado” model, but she didn’t know the price.  I suggested she call el jefe’s cell phone, but between her phone and my phone, we couldn’t connect.  We were getting a bit antsy about finding the dirt road to Antelope Wells and the border station in time, so I suggested I give her 300 pesos for two bottles.  That option seemed to make everyone happy, so the deal was done.

While the woman was fetching the bottles, I noticed an open bottle of Sotol sitting on the desk, along with a telescoped stack of small plastic cups.  I asked if we could have some samples and we knocked back a shot of the reposado and the traditional model.  Both were fantastic.

It was time to head to Antelope wells.  The cruise up Mexican Highway 2 toward Agua Prieta was easy enough.  As Google Maps promised, there was the little sign pointing to El Berrendo.  We turned off onto a fairly smooth dirt road and headed up the ~seven miles to the border station.  I was a bit concerned because there were vast discrepancies between my Guia Roji Mexican road atlas, the AAA Mexican road map, and what I had seen the night before on the computer.  With absolutely no cellular service in this thinly populated area, there was much chance I could be using the GPS function on my so-called smart phone.  We had gone about three miles when we saw a little hand-painted sign featuring a slanting green arrow pointing to the west and “USA.”  OK, so we took that path, but wondered why this was the bumpier, worse-maintained road than the one heading to the right.  Maybe Yogi Berra was right:  “If you see a fork in the road, take it.”

Moments later, we could make out the border fence (not a very imposing thing out here) and a small ranch to the right.  The road approached the fence and turned right, passing a number of ranch buildings, corrals, and dwellings, then it turned to the left, where a Mexican Border station appeared.

My reading had prepared me for no activity on the Mexican side here, but we were stopped by an unfriendly Mexican soldier wearing green battle fatigues, but not sporting a nasty automatic weapon. He examined our passports and copied our names onto a worn spiral notebook.  He also asked us to identify our places of residence and professions.  He asked where we had been, and I prudently told him Janos, which is squarely in the frontier zone.  After he asked me to pop the rear hatch on the Jeep Cherokee and he saw three bags of pottery from Mata Ortiz, he probably knew I was lying, but he didn’t press it.  Instead he asked what was in the other bags: two suitcases and a computer briefcase.  He poked around in them for five minutes and then waved us on.

While all of this was going on, we could see a US Customs and Border Protection officer, sitting in the shade of the awning of his station, only 25 yards ahead.  After the Mexican soldier was through with us, we drove slowly through the customary battery of cameras and sensors to the shade of his awning.  The agent was a friendly older guy who took our passports and handed them to another agent who scanned them.  Meanwhile, he asked us why the hell we decided to come this way.  I explained that we didn’t want the hassle of traveling on that nasty Route 2, with two mountain passes, heavy truck traffic, and military checkpoints.  I didn’t mention that we also were looking to minimize hassles from Mexican immigration officials and nasty lines and inspections on the US side. His second and final question was “Where are you coming from?”  We saw no need to lie to him and told him Casas Grandes.

I asked if I could take some photos and was given permission.  The CBP agent even offered to take a photo of us.  “Is it point and shoot?” he asked, perhaps not thinking of the 9-mm point-and-shoot device on his hip.

So there it was: a totally pre-9/11 experience.  No questions about what we bought, purpose of the trip, presence on a farm or ranch, large quantities of cash, and all the other stuff one confronts at the usual border.  The salty old guy was kind an charming and we departed as happy Homeland Security customers.

On the US side, the dirt road evolved into beautiful two-lane NM Highway 81.  We were told we were the fourth car of the day to pass Antelope Wells on Tuesday.  With such light traffic, and probably zero truck traffic, this highway was pristine.  The only traffic we saw between Antelope Wells and Hachita were four green and white dogcatcher-type Border Patrol trucks.