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Please note: This is Part 4, the final segment of the Border| Line series.  Refer to Parts 1-3  for the whole journey.

Upon leaving Terlingua, I headed south to the border town of Lajitas.  It was only about a 15 minute drive, and I was hoping to get some good pictures of the Rio Grande, which is primarily a 1200 mile watery border.

The red dot on the right is Del Rio, about a 5-hour drive. 

The yellow gauge in the center indicates the 5 foot water level.  These warning markers were everywhere.  It’s hard to imagine that much water here- at one point, enough to carve those ridges.

I’ll admit I was again disappointed with the puny appearance of the mighty Rio Grande.  Decreased snowpack in the Rockies, increased irrigation needs on both sides, and other factors reveal that it’s a real problem.  https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2018/05/24/climate/dry-rio-grande.html

Our destination was Del Rio, but the road only bordered the Rio Grande north and west, so I followed the river, hoping for improved flow and better pictures.

Every time we spotted water, I’d pull over and try to get some decent shots of it.  The black mountains are Mexico.

This cliff is on the US side of the river.  We were surrounded by staggering majesty.

In the next photo, you’ll notice Mexico is now on the right side of the Rio Grande.

This is because I am on the next ridge looking back.  It took a lot of water to form the valley between these two ridges!

The water continued to be paltry, but the scenery was spectacular- the best yet!

The sheer ruggedness of these mountains was awe-inspiring.  I cannot imagine getting through or over them.  

As we continue to follow the Rio Chico, we pull in at Hoodoos Trailhead.   The rock formations were gargantuan.

#5 says:  “Do not run if you encounter a mountain lion or black bear…” You can bet your bottom dollar I won’t be running anywhere.   I’ll be dead from a heart attack and dinner is served.

Can you see the two people at the lower right?

We’ll have to make up some time if we’re going to make Del Rio by dark.  This is the last picture of the day.

The red dots show our progress and we’ve been on the road 2 hours.  Later  today we would come perilously close to running out of gas…

We had not seen a town in ages.  The low gas chime had sounded way back there, and the needle was below E.  We had no cell signal or service, and we were praying hard…

Miraculously, over a very tall hill, a one-pump little store comes into sight.  Open late on a Sunday evening.  Praise God!  It was 35 miles to the next town…

Day 7: We were happy when we made it to Del Rio and our lodging for the evening.  This morning we back-tracked a few miles to Amistad.

Finally- some water!  The Rio Grande flows into, and then out of the 89,000 acre Amistad reservoir. 

Even so, you can see by the high water marks on the piers that the level is down significantly.

The water was crystal clear and a sapphire color that was simply delightful.

Just up the road, the Amistad Dam doubles as a Port of Entry from Ciudad Acuña, Mexico, also known as “Tierra de la Amistad”.

Even with magnification, the dam was so far away, it was hard to get a good shot.

I went on foot towards the dam- trying for a better picture.  If you look closely, you might see Rachel in the car, shaking her head.  

Just because the sign said No Entry?  I don’t understand why these things upset her.

I have my pictures now, and I hoof it back to the car.  No harm, no foul.  I do it all for you.

Beautiful pastel shades show up over Armistad Custom and Border Protection as we set out for Eagle Pass.

But first there is the bull story.

I passed these cows on the way to Eagle Pass.  I turned around and went back, thinking it would make a nice pastoral scene for my blog.

As I prepare to take their picture, this huge red bull with horns like goal posts comes flying around the tree.

Remember, I’m a Yankee.  As far as I know, we don’t have bulls in Boston.  However, I vaguely recall feeding apples and carrots to horses once or twice.

I went to the car for an apple and cut it in three pieces, intending to feed them all.  Rachel was on her phone, but I definitely remember her shaking her head…

Needless to say, that did not go as planned.  The big red bull charged the fence, scaring me into next week.  I thought I was going to need a change of underwear.

The apples went flying, one hitting him on the head.  As we drove away, he was eating them.  He must have been the alpha, because the other two never moved.  

Even though people said Eagle Pass was dangerous, I still chose to visit.  When we got there, parking was cheap and plentiful, and there was nothing sinister about it.

I knew there was a pedestrian bridge over the Rio Grande and had studied the layout of Piedras Negras, her Mexican “sister”.

Finally, an acceptable shot of the Rio Grande.

A quick 5-minute walk and 50¢ got us into Mexico.

The security scanner room was deserted and we just walked through.  Rachel is giving me that look again…

Unlike Tijuana, we walked into Piedras Negras to find this large open square.  It was peaceful and quiet;  not in the least ominous.

El Chapulin is a children’s museum of sorts.

I assumed these women were Guatemalan because of her jacket.  Guatemalan clothing tends toward colorful and geometric.  Regardless, they spoke no English.

The young boys atop this colorful sculpture clamored to have their picture taken, and mugged for the camera.

We were looking for someone who spoke English, so we could ask where to have lunch.  This guy made some suggestions and agreed to a photograph with me.

His older friend gestured to Rachel that he wanted his picture taken, as well, and pulled out a yellowed photograph.

By the way he pressed it to his heart and the tears in his eyes, I assume these were his parents.  It was a poignant moment.

Barbers were to Piedras Negras what dentists were to Los Algodones.  In the few blocks we walked around, I counted no less than 7 barber shops.

The spire of Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church, also known as Basilica Guadalupe, can be seen from across the Rio Grande.

The plan was to take some pictures, grab some lunch, and head towards Laredo, our next stop for the evening.

Count them.  Four barbershops in a row!  Mexican men obviously care about their grooming.

Market of Sweets.  Not sure if this is a bakery or candy store…Perhaps both?

Zaragoza St. runs parallel with the river.  It was a street of bars, barbershops and hotels, along with some vendors of colorful gifts and household items.

La Fortuna Ladies Bar- looks like a classy place…

You guys know how I love street art.  Rachel got a pic of me, as I got into position to photograph this one.  It was gorgeous!

By now we were getting pretty hungry, but we couldn’t find a place to eat.

This looked like a good candidate, but we didn’t have pesos.

I am so used to getting sidelong glances and the hairy eyeball from strangers.  I barely notice, but I think I was an embarrassment to Rachel.

This would have worked, but they didn’t speak a word of English.

This is a hotel with what looks like a restaurant.  By now,  Rachel is praying to the taqueria gods…

We finally gave up and just decided to eat in Eagle Pass, so we headed towards the River Walk (Paseo del Rio).

Again, I lamented that I had not allowed to spend much time here, or anywhere else. 

There’s the bridge.  We were never more than a dozen blocks from it.  Oh look!  A playground…

Girls just want to have fun.

I have no idea what this says, but I liked the beat up look.   Feel free to translate and leave it in the comments.

I believe Mexicans are primarily Catholic.  I have noticed lots of statues and religious items.  

From our perch above the Rio Grande, Rachel spots these three soldiers on patrol.  They look like storm troopers, and of course, I need to get some pictures for you.

I surreptitiously took pictures, using the sanitation workers as a cover.

Busted! I was spotted (and warmly greeted) by both groups.  For a place that was touted as dangerous, it’s been most friendly.

We’re back to the bridge and ready to reclaim our citizenship.  No less hungry than an hour ago, we’re in lunch mode, for sure.

Rachel gets busy negotiating dollars for pesos so we can get back to the US, and I get a dirty look.  I’m really racking them up today.

We make a quick pit stop before our trek back to America.  Apparently in Mexico you are a Dama or a Hombre.  It’s not a multiple choice question here. 

Then there’s these casual border guards.  Oh my goodness, they were hilarious.  I gave them a card; I hope they don’t see this.

Although we had an amazing time in Piedras Negras, it felt good to be “home”.  Almost.

We had spent just over one hour in Mexico, and now we waited in line to be processed.  It’s funny how quickly you get used to the drill.

Back in Eagle Pass, we continue our quest to find a place to have lunch.  You wouldn’t think it would be that difficult…

I loved the colorful artificial flowers.  Things seemed pretty cheap.

Rachel wanted to look at boots, so we went into a couple of the apparel shops, which were plentiful.

These stacked cowboy hats reminded me of Pringles.  I must be hungry.

I don’t know who she is, but this girl is cool.  She can rope a steer and tie it down…I can’t even feed one!

Finally, we find this great hole in the wall taqueria.   So worth the wait!

It may have had something to do with being so hungry, but the food tasted like manna from heaven…  It was the best!

With pleasantly full bellies, we head for Laredo.

We made it to Laredo unimpeded.  Our lodging is on the 7th floor of the Hotel Ava, a repurposed Ramada which hinted at its former grandeur.  With free breakfast, it was a great value.

The view from our window is Laredo’s main thoroughfare (35) heading south.  The Rio Grande and Mexico are less than three miles away.  The sun was setting to the right.

Day 8.  The diagonal purple cloud preceded the sunrise, of which I could only catch a portion.

The building I circled appears below.  It’s located on the banks of the Rio Grande, less than 3 miles away.

The Rio Grande Plaza, (formerly the Hilton Hotel) at 15-stories, is the tallest building in Laredo, TX.  More on this later…

The street adjacent to the hotel had many shops selling pottery, statuary and yard sculpture.  

This handwritten sign made me laugh.  I don’t want to be crass, so I bleeped out the bad word…

You know I love colorful.  And flamingos.  And then we crossed the street to Cuevas.

Colorful and imaginative, this pottery and sculpture, handcrafted in Mexico several miles away, was of superior quality.

Everything was half-price, so these birdbaths were $55!

How stinkin’ cute are these Mariachis?  They’d be riding in my back seat if I was driving home.

Rachel was thrilled to find several souvenirs.

I’m not a souvenir person, but I did buy myself this pretty flamingo for $5.

A mile or so brought us to downtown, and I easily found a metered spot in front of these graffiti-covered overhead doors.

The chilly morning had given way to sunshine and moderate temps by the time we got to downtown Laredo.

Pretty in pink.  This has got to be the most utterly feminine frock I’ve ever seen.

The red brick of the town square was quite charming. 

I’d rather beg forgiveness than to ask permission, and this was one scary dude.  I was expecting him to draw a finger across his throat.

Rachel and I both felt the weight of many eyeballs- really bad vibes!  I made a circuit of the town square, taking pictures, and immediately headed back to the car.

Passing the frock shop again, this one reminds me of Gone With the Wind.  Kind of like us…  we literally spent 8 minutes out of the car.

I continued south as far as I could go.  I was surprised to find this huge outlet mall on the banks of the Rio Grande. 

Sharing the same dirt parking lot is the hotel I could see from Hotel Ava this morning.

The international border crossing lies due east, straight ahead.

Right there is Nuevo Laredo,  state of Tamaulipas, Mexico.  If I didn’t throw like a girl, I could hit it with a rock.

Brownsville, the final destination, is less than 4 hours away.  The plan is to stop at the Iwo Jima Monument in Harlingen.

Leaving Laredo, the sky developed some very peculiar patterns and colors.  I had never seen this before.

The 3-hour ride to Harlingen was largely uneventful.  However, arriving at the Iwo Jima monument, we were unprepared for our emotional response.

The sky remained stormy and grey.  Somehow, it was an appropriately somber backdrop for the monument.

Made from the original plaster working model of the one in Arlington National Cemetary, one marine’s canteen would hold 32 quarts of water.

https://www.roadsideamerica.com/tip/1268

Harlon Henry Block (1924-1945), a native son, is the Marine in front,  who pushed the base of the flagpole into the rock at Iwo Jima as the others lifted it.

https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/18154/harlon-henry-block

Being a Marine mom, I can relate to those who have loved, and lost, the men and women who courageously fight for our freedom.  You have my heartfelt gratitude and condolences.

We got to Brownsville by 4PM.  We had managed to make it from the Pacific Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico unscathed and unharmed.

Thinking to end our journey as it began,  we drove onto South Padre Island in search of a restaurant on the water.

We found a place with scenic views, and proceeded to take pictures of one another.

Rachel still appears to have a bounce in her step.  Me?  Not so much.  I am beyond exhausted and I look it.

This place checked all the boxes.  It was clean, comfortable, and colorful.  Food and service was great!

The smoke that appears to be on the mainland continues to thicken.  The waiter said he thinks it’s a controlled burn in Port Isabel.  I’m just hoping it’s not the bridge.

Sure enough, he was correct.  As we rolled off the bridge, I see what’s causing the billowing clouds of smoke.  That can’t be good for the wildlife.

When I check in to the motel, the owner asks what we’re doing in Texas.  I explain the purpose for my trip and the blog.  She tells me I need to go to Matamoros.

She says it’s about 4 miles south of the motel, and that there are people living under the bridge to Mexico.  Thousands of people.

https://www.texasobserver.org/remain-in-mexico-matamoros-migrant-camp/

I casually mentioned it to Rachel and she said “let’s go before it gets too dark”.  I thought “who are you and what did you do with Rachel???”

La Plaza at Brownsville is the newer modern bus station that services the metro area.  It was a pretty building.

Please excuse the poor picture quality.  It was getting dark, which, in my opinion, automatically increases the danger factor.  I didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary.

Like Eagle Pass, this bridge services wheeled transportation and pedestrians.

The bridge to Matamoros is 226′ long, and it costs 75 cents to walk across. 

Rachel asked me if I wanted to cross.  (This is not the same woman who left Tampa with me.)  If it was daylight, I would have risked it, but at this point, I was done.

Based on conversations with the locals,  conditions in Matamoros  are worse than anywhere else along the border in terms of crime and human suffering.

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/02/07/travel/brownsville-matamoros-border.html

The streets are deserted 20 minutes after dark, although I did see a couple of homeless people setting up for the night.

Day 9: Homeward bound!

Because of border proximity, Brownsville is an international  airport.  After traveling through O’Hare or LaGuardia, this was like a 1/1000 scale model.

Standing in one place, this is the total length of the airport.  Two ticket counters, passenger seating, rental car counter, and rest room.

Amelia’s, the lone restaurant/ bar provided views of the runway and displayed a wall of T-shirts for sale.

The jetway at the lone gate was a surprise.  I figured we’d have to walk out on the tarmac.

A display case of memorabilia proudly highlights Brownsville’s aviation history. 

Although somewhat crude, it was nevertheless interesting and very informative.

Charles Lindbergh, a pioneer in air mail delivery, was renowned for the first solo transatlantic flight in 1927.

http://www.charleslindbergh.com/airmail/

Whereas Charles Lindbergh and Amelia Earhart have history with this airport, their personal histories are tragic.

Earhart presumably died while attempting to circumnavigate the world in 1937, but the account is shrouded in mystery.

In 1932, Lindbergh’s infant son was mysteriously kidnapped from his home in New Jersey.  Although the ransom was paid, he was found dead.

I realize this is dark, but the world is an increasingly dark place.  We need to be aware of the evil around us.

Having said that, I hope you enjoyed my Border| Line experiences.  The border wall controversy is multilayered and multifaceted.  People are hurting and  there is no easy solution.  Latest news:

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/jalisco-new-generation-gang-mexican-cartel-led-by-el-mencho-taking-over-everywhere/

Comments or questions are encouraged.  May God bless you and keep you safe.

MH