Nuevo Laredo

It’s worth visiting if you want to hit the pharmicia straight over the border…And maybe see some crazy stuff on the outskirts of town, but other than that it is a dangerous place if you don’t know what you’re in for!!!

Oh, Nuevo Laredo, I hardly knew ye.

I was sitting in a faux British pub on the River Walk in San Antone with my good buddy Lowrider, sipping a Boddington’s.

“What do you have to do tomorrow?” I asked him.
“Why?”
“What do you have to do tomorrow?”
“Nothing.”
“Wanna go to Mexico?”
- pause -
“Sure.”

And we were off, spinning the wheels of my ride into the big Texas night and shouting our songs to the wind.

I didn’t want to cross into Mexico at Nuevo Laredo. I’ve read the stories. I’m an educated girl. I knew that would be stupid and dangerous, particularly in the dead of a Monday night.

But cross we did.

We flew down I-35, south and south and south. We hit Laredo about 2 a.m. That’s that, I think. We’ll just roll the windows up and lock the doors and drive straight through Nuevo Laredo, hoping for the best.

We pay $2 in Laredo. We hit a checkpoint. They look in the trunk, ask us where we were born and wave us through. No joke. We’re in Nuevo Laredo. Dark streets.
“A dingo! Lots of dingos!” The dogs seem to be the only things out. The streets are dark. I am not pleased.
“We’ll be fine,” Lowrider says. But I know he has no idea whether that’s true.

We pass an H-E-B.
“There’s a Wal-Mart around here, I just know it” Lowrider says.

We pass a few cars. People look at us. I’m wearing a black tank top and my cowboy hat. I’ve taken off my earrings. I’m not terribly interested in attracting anyone’s attention.

Mercifully, we leave Nuevo Laredo.
“What now?”
We don’t know. We follow signs that say Monterrey.

We drive down what is sort of a highway. Bumpy as hell. It’s dark. We drive maybe 8 miles out of Nuevo Laredo. Another checkpoint. “Permiso?” a man asks, holding his fingers up to make a rectangle. We don’t have what he’s asking for. He waves us into a spot. A man comes to my window.
“Do you have a permit for this vehicle?”
“Um, no.”
“You need a permit to drive this vehicle in Mexico.”
“Sorry, they didn’t say anything in Nuevo Laredo.”
“You can only drive this in Nuevo Laredo.”
greeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeat
He’s confused
“Where are you going?”
“Um, nowhere. We just thought we’d come to Mexico.”
“What? You just came to what? Hang out?”
“Ummmm, yeah.”
He shakes his head.
It’s starting to sound stupid, even to me.
“What is he, like, your husband?”
“No, he’s a friend.”
“A friend of yours.”
“Yeah.”
“OK. You can’t drive this vehicle into Mexico.”
“Can I turn around?” (Never thought I’d say this:) “Can I go back to Nuevo Laredo?”
“Yes. Go out this way.”
I, of course, go the wrong way, nearly colliding head-on with an 18-wheeler.

Back on the road toward Nuevo Laredo. We wonder whether they check every road, if we could turn and go another way. We’re not terribly tempted.

Nuevo Laredo. We follow a truck with Texas plates. It’s after 3 a.m.

We hit a toll point.
“What do you need from me?” I ask the guy.
“Two oh five.”
I dig for change. “You said five?” He doesn’t answer. I give him the money.

Another checkpoint. This is the real one. Full of cops and few others. They ask for our ticket to get into Mexico, from the toll. They check the trunk. No dead hookers.
“How long have you been here?”
“About 45 minutes.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Nuevo Laredo.”
“Why?”
“Uh, he’s never been to Mexico. We’re from Austin.”
“You’re not from Laredo?”
“No. We were in San Antonio (this I say, inexplicably, with a Spanish accent) and decided to go to Mexico.”
“Did you buy this car new?”
“Yeah”
“This car had any work done? Any parts added?”
“No. Not that I know of. My dad used to drive it.”
“You didn’t replace the gas tank?”
“Not that I know of.”
They’re hitting it with a stick and talking to each other in Spanish.
“Will you open the gas tank cover?”
I do.
Another guy: “What do you do?”
“I’m a journalist. I work at a newspaper.”
The main guy: “So you’ve read about the problems we’ve been having here.”
“Yes. I read about the violence. I didn’t want to cross the border here, but I thought we could drive straight through.”
“You’re a journalist. And you wanted to see for yourself?”
“No, sir. I thought we could just lock the doors and pass through.”
“Where were you going?”
“We didn’t know.”
And here it is…
“What did you buy while you were here?” cocaine? pot? hookers?
“Nothing. We didn’t even leave the car.”
They hit it with more sticks.
Another guy: “Thanks for your cooperation.”
“Of course”
“Have a good night.”

Lesson: Border patrol doesn’t cotton to whimsy at 3.30 a.m. on a Wednesday morning in a deadly violent border town.

And we’re off, laughing into the darkness.
One more checkpoint, outside Laredo.
Guy shines a flashlight in.
“U.S. citizens?”
“Yep.”
“Have a nice night.”

Lowrider busts up laughing.
“Billions of dollars. Billions of dollars in homeland security.”

Never once did anyone ask for identification.

own 3 properties here…was a great little city until the cartel’s started moving in..

I’ve been there quite a few times and hope to return in the future. Lazy little town. Not in the sense that the people are lazy, but in the sense that it is kind of slow-paced and leisurely—not frantic and driven the way many cities in the US are.

Great shopping, especially for pottery, furniture, metalworks, and other handmade goods. Great restaurants.

Lots of social unrest at the moment, though, which is tragic because the people who live there are very sweet and hospitable and are caught in the middle of a horrific situation.

I feel like the best way to visit a place is to side step the big tourist attractions and get to the heart of a place. Not that Neuvo Laredo is in the heart of Mexico – its a border town. Its kind of dirty and lazy, but it makes you feel like you have all the time in the world and you see a culture difference right after crossing the river.