¿Sonoyta, anyone?

Holy Family Catholic Church on Benito Juarez Street.

Our introduction to Sonoyta was rather unpleasant. 

We were still within feet inside the Mexican border when the armed guard waved us to the side and approached our car. “Where do you have your pistol?” he asked in Spanish. 

“I don't have one,” I insisted. 

“Is it under your seat? Is it in the glove box?” 

I was baffled that he would assume that I tried to smuggle a firearm across the U.S. / Mexican border! Or was it just a ruse to get me to admit if I had? 

He ordered the four of us out of our car and began a systematic search. He used his flashlight to rummage through the front and back seats, and then the trunk. He found nothing, but had me worried that he would find some reason to send us off to jail, or at least fine us. 

Then, he waved us on. 

Armed guards at the border.

We didn't go far. We then parked on the side of the road of the immigration office to get our tourist visas stamped. They only let one group inside at a time, so we had to wait outside. 

A man stood outside the door dressed in full military gear, including helmet, bullet-proof vest and fully-automatic rifle. He kept asking me if I knew the price of a certain kind of pistol. I was perplexed and not sure if something was lost in translation. 

At last it was our turn to go inside. We gave our passports and tourist cards to a short brown lady who checked the details, stamped them, and sent us on our way. 

Relieved to have “passed” our entry into Mexico, we returned to our car and began driving the main drag southward. 

Immediately we passed a couple dogs and a man in a wheelchair holding out a jar. We passed an array of street shops and markets. We also noticed the stark contrast of now abundant trash on the southern side of the border. The scene bade me to stop, but we couldn't. We had to march seventy miles further. Sonoyta would have to come later. 

Stray dog.

This was the first time I had ever driven my own car across the Mexican border. I was a bit nervous. Sonoyta is a border-town that piqued my curiosity, but at the same time filled me with trepidation.

Sonoyta is a unique city. It serves as a portal for U.S. tourists coming into Mexico, as well as a launching point for illegal Mexican immigrants looking to sneak into the States. I can't imagine anyone wanting to cross illegally here as it would require an arduous walk through the Sonoran Desert. 

Sonyota is located just inside the Mexican border.

Sonoyta and rural communities to the east have become the battleground for rival cartels who vie for control of the land to move people and drugs into the United States. As a result, the city has seen a high rate of homicide and other violence. 

Before we came through, my daughter heard a story from a friend who had been driving through Sonora and was stopped by the cartel in the middle of the road. They were robbed.  

Just over a year ago, nine women and children were massacred by one of the cartels as they drove to a wedding on a dusty dirt road in Sonora. The women were connected to a Mormon fundamentalist group. Some were burned alive in their car. These people were living in Sonora and accustomed to the dangers. 

Stories like these didn't sit well with us. But you can't live in fear, and we decided the rewards outweighed the risks, so we decided to come anyway. We spent the next several days enjoying the sun and sand in a resort town well away from the border. 

Sonoyta lies in the heart of the Sonoran Desert.

Organ pipe cactus.

Fast forward five days and we were back in Sonoyta. This time we had one primary goal—to spend our remaining 1,200 pesos before crossing the border. We could have just exchanged the money, but where's the fun in that?!! 

Our first purchase came easily. There were men on the street selling asparagus, nuts and other commodities. We rolled down the window and bought a big bag of oranges for 70 pesos. 

Sonoyta is a highly militarized town. Within a minute of entering its borders we spotted six police cars, including a group of cops frisking another man. Later we saw a small convoy of military police with helmets and service rifles. 

Main road running through Sonoyta.

One of my goals was to find a certain taco shop that specialized in “wet tacos.” I knew the name of it and general location, but finding it seemed elusive. We drove up and down the street twice and tried going around the block when Jenna spotted the name of the shop on a hand-written sign. 

We found it on a side-street, with the name “Taqueria Sabas” barely visible. It looked like it was located in someone's house, with plastic chairs and tables along the outside. 

We sat down and immediately a young man came to take our order. When I asked if he had a menu, he said they only sold one thing—tacos. We ordered six of them. 

The “kitchen” was located inside the house. We waited at our table on the patio with a few other groups that looked much less gringo than ourselves. When we asked if there was a bathroom, we were directed to an outhouse a few feet away. (There was no light in the outhouse, but that which came through a small window. There was also no toilet paper and the door wouldn't open from the inside!) 

Wet tacos are a lot like enchiladas, but in the shape of a taco. Inside they have chunks of beef, onions and cabbage. A red sauce is poured on top. You eat it with a plastic spoon. They taste nothing like enchiladas. 

He brought us a simple tray of condiments that included red and green salsa, and limes. The flavor of the wet tacos was nothing extra ordinary, but defiantly unique and worth the experience. 

Wet tacos.

Next, we worked on spending those pesos. We found a hole-in-the-wall shop and bought Savanah a skirt. “Mas adelante,” closer to the border, we found another shop where we bought a couple of blankets. 

Then, with only 200 pesos left, we stopped by a convenience store and bought snacks for our trip. The funny thing is that when we went to pay, the total came to 201 pesos. I offered to put something back, but the cashier lady told me not to worry about it! 

We had one more stop. I was a little worried about this one because it took us a couple miles off the main drag. 

We drove east on Calle Obregón past homes and several vacant buildings. Many of them were skeletons. We turned right onto a dirt road and drove past an unused basketball court. 

Getting off the beaten path like we were I was worried about getting robbed or killed. Four people with Utah plates would certainly grab the attention of the cartel. 

We arrived at our destination—the cemetery. I am always fascinated with how different cultures tend to have different types of cemeteries. 

Instead of the usual rows of headstones like we see in the States, the graves here were marked with shines to the deceased. Some were bigger, like mausoleums, and others just a simple cross. 

But what caught my attention the most were the saguaro-clad hills that surrounded the cemetery. That seemed to bring the arid realm of the living face-to-face with the land of the dead. 

Saguaro-clad hills surround the cemetery.

Mausoleum at Sonoyta Municipal Cemetery.

We made our way safely back to the main part of town and eventually to the frontier. We crossed “the line” where I was stopped by a U.S. border patrol agent. Not knowing how many documents I would need to show, I asked him, “What do you need to see?” 

In a friendly, but sarcastic tone he replied, “This is the international border. I need to see your passports.” 

My wife had a good chuckle. Soon we were safe on the other side of the line. ♠

 

Sonoyta, Mexico.