Fears and Friendships

An early morning walk of 1.3 miles in Chamizal National Memorial took us within 300 feet of the border crossing. "It's supposed to be safe here," said Andy.

I wasn't totally convinced.

A few cars dribbled through the gate headed for Mexico, but the other direction was a different story. Packed nine across at the checkpoint and four across the entire length of the Bridge of the Americas over the Rio Grande, vehicles lined up to come into the United States at 9 a.m. on Sunday morning. Flags of Mexico and the U.S. extended full in the brisk 35 m.p.h. breeze. We pulled our jackets tighter and crossed the lawn for a picture of the border, gateway to Juarez, the second most deadly city in the world. Only a single jogger passed us. Chamizal commemorates the settling of a land dispute through peaceful negotiation between friends. In 1967 Mexico gave the 55 acre island, that was cut off by the river and is now a park, in exchange for land to the west. The Visitor Center, closed Sunday and Monday, celebrates the arts with theater productions and a mural, Nuestra Herencia, "Our Heritage" by Carlos Flores.

Scenic Drive for views of the city was cordoned off by cones and police, but on Rim Drive we found Tom Lea Park. "Let's come back here tonight for a look at the lights of El Paso and Juarez," suggested Andy. An obelisk monument marked the southern end of the Franklin Range of the Rocky Mountains.

The temperature on a bank nearby read 48 degrees. We switched to lighter jackets. Below us the Sun Bowl nestled behind black hills. "You wouldn't even know it was there," said Andy. "That's where Miami and Notre Dame played this year."

We headed north on Westside Drive to Route #26, Don Juan de Onate Trail. The Rio Grande was not even a trickle. Orchards of pecans and pistachios grew on our right, and rows of dried brown twigs with tufts of cotton lined our left. "This is New Mexico again," said Andy. The flat expanses of farmland, the landscaped adobe homes, the irrigated nurseries, the flooded fields of nut trees looked prosperous and well maintained. We took off our jackets; it was 55 degrees.
As the sun climbed higher, we headed back towards Las Cruces to explore the countryside. Stahlman's Country Store advertised Christmas baskets of pecans, chocolate pecans, green and red chili pecans at sale prices. Clouds of dust blew across the road and parking lot from plowed fields. "Look at how hazy it is today," Andy commented. We couldn't distinguish mountains around El Paso because of blowing dust.

"Are you traveling in THAT?" asked an elderly gentleman behind us just before we left the Stahlman parking lot. He pointed to Little Red. "We travel, but not in anything like that. We have an RV. My daughter has lived in Fairfield, Connecticut for 50 years."

Small world, I thought.

We went as far north as Mesilla, a quaint artist community with a central plaza and small tourist shops. Here, Billy the Kid was sentenced and hanged. It's hard to believe such a peaceful little place claims such a notorious past. I bought Little Red a new dream catcher to replace the disintegrating one from years ago.

Poorly marked, the nature trail at El Paso Archaeology Museum was difficult to follow. We zigzagged along various rock-lined paths, looking at plants native to the Chihuahuan Desert. Inside, the museum featured life-size displays of Indian life from the nomadic wanderers of prehistoric times to the Pueblo cliff dwellers of 1450 A.D.

The Centennial Museum and gardens of the University of Texas El Paso (UTEP), deserted since school is not back in session yet, reflect an oriental design. "The style of the buildings seems Tibetan," said Andy, "and Texas definitely doesn't scrimp on funding for its universities." The gardens contain more than 625 different species of plants, one of the largest collections of Chihuahuan Desert flora in the world, all displayed immediately around the museum. We walked the grounds and drove around the unusual campus buildings. You'd never know you were a few miles from the Mexican border.

Scenic Drive, now open, allowed us the view from near the top of the Franklin Range. Wrapped around the mountains, El Paso and Juarez spread below us from left to right and miles out to the horizon as far as we could see. The wind whipped unmercifully, as we looked out from Murchison Park. People of every nationality parked, waited for the sun to set, and watched. As darkness settled, a giant star of lights glittered on the peak behind us and a billion lights illuminated the valley below.