Today dawned cold and hazy. We expected another clear day despite yesterday’s dust storm based on our experience in Alamogordo, but apparently the dirt is hardier here in Texas and doesn’t just fall out of the sky like it does in New Mexico. I hate to mention that dirt is as likely to fall out of the sky as water is in the Far SouthWest (for those keeping score at home we’ve had dirt twice and water once) and don’t get me started on how rare trees are around here – even including telephone poles. Speaking of which, we came across a line of them heading out to Rio Grande village, which is more like a visitor center, a store where I bought my souvenir shirt, and an RV park all rolled into one.

We journeyed to the far side of Big Bend National Park and completed the park symphony in three movements: the first begins in the west with the Rio not so Grande flowing out of a canyon and into the park, the second comprises the abrupt rise and fall of the Chisos Mountains, the third ends in the east with the Rio not so Grande flowing into a canyon and out of the park. Each is majestic but distinct from the other in scope and temperament. The first has the most varied scenery, the second is the smallest and most crowded yet the most dramatic, and the third felt the flattest but the most surprising.

One of the surprises was the presence of Mexicans. The Boquillas crossing used to provide cross border access so that Mexicans could essentially run a gift shop selling food and gift shop kitsch to the National Park visitors, but because of the current crisis, what crisis on the border the crossing is closed. However, the Rio not so Grande is not much of a barrier so the kitsch is placed in convenient spots, convenient for visitors and vendors watching across the river who cross over when either money is put in the jar or summoned for food. There was even one guy on horseback staying in the shade offering tamales and tacos. People have to make a living, and plenty of people commute across borders to work. We put a couple of dollars in Jesus the Singing Mexican’s (that’s what his sign sort of said) plastic bottle in part because we enjoyed his singing.

We had an early dinner at the Chili Pepper Cafe. MBH wanted to split a meal and I offered fajitas. She countered with Nachos Grande to avoid green peppers. I accepted saying “it won’t be the last meal I eat.” She countered with if it were, she would have a great story to tell at the funeral. I countered with let’s hope so. Ah, life on the road after almost 33 years together.

We then struck up a conversation with Nick, who’s a local musician who used to live in Alaska until he got cold there, works in the oil industry but is currently laid off, and has done all kinds of construction and has lived in the Terlingua Ranch area for the last 16 years and only uses the water from his roof catchment system. He also mentioned that most locals shower about once a week and the women are the backbone of the community. I’m pretty confident we’ve crossed this part of Texas off the list of places to move to after retirement.

And on that bombshell it’s time to end the post.

An All Y’awlie – MBH, me, and Mexico
The morning greeted us. Rudely.
A 360 of the Rio Grande Overlook
A 360 of the Boquillas overlook.  

The people in the car pulling away had just bought stuff so a couple of guys on horseback and several on foot crossed over to collect. They waved using all their fingers, so I waved back with all of mine. I thought about waving my hat but thought only a tourist would do that.
Your daily dose of soothing water. Mexico is on the other side, so I’m what, like 5 feet from an international boundary.
The Chisos mountains on a hazy day. We both would have preferred a clear day, but you don’t always get what you want.
We were just so happy we found shade. The only shade in the park is near the river which is the only place where any thing grows tall enough to throw shade. Other than boulders.
Boquillas canyon and us.
This is a store. If you look closely you can see the two guys on horseback and some guys on foot who’ve just crossed the river/border to check up on their store.
Waiting for our feet to dry. In case you were wondering, MBH is the one with the pretty feet.
A rare photo of hatless Murphys.
This warning was on our lunchtime park bench.
Can you combine a script “please” with block sans serif imperative? And throw in a Britishism? Yes, if you want to get people’s attention. I have to applaud the sentiment since I’m so tired of all the trash I find in urinals, like people can’t be bothered to put it in the trash can, oops I mean the rubbish bin, a few feet away? Some people have no fetching up.
What’s wrong with this picture? Everything that’s right about it. Actual trees, actual lawn, water for irrigating ornamental plants. MBH, I have feeling we are not in the Far Southwest anymore.