Growing up along the Canadian border, it feels strange to me that some Americans feel a strained relationship with our Mexican neighbors. I can clearly remember going to the outlet mall in Niagara Falls, NY and finding a parking lot full of Ontario license plates. Hockey and minor league baseball games always featured both the Canadian and American national anthems. I can still recite all of the words to “O Canada.”
After 9/11, crossing into Canada became slightly harder, but it wasn’t until they enacted a passport requirement that it seemed disruptive to freely flow back and forth to take a hike or go to Toronto to see a museum or baseball game.
Big Bend hugs the southern border for more than 100 miles. The deepest trench of the Rio Grande creates the international border, although in many places shallow waters and sandbars make a crossing by foot or a quick swim very possible. The river doesn’t respect a hard boundary as it’s constantly moving, eroding the landscape and changing. Likewise, wildlife freely cross from one side to the other including bighorn sheep and black bears.
One of the oddities of Big Bend is its official Port of Entry that legalized border crossings so that American park visitors could cross into Mexico to have lunch. At the border, a park ranger gives a brief orientation, verifies that you have a passport, then sends you down to the river where you signal someone on the other side to row a boat over to pick you up.
When we arrived in Mexico we were assigned a guide that “worked for tips,” who walked the mile into town with us. He then served as the restaurant’s de facto host, sat us at a table and laid out our menus and to our surprise, waited for us to finish our meal so he could usher us through the village. By definition, this was the most authentic Mexican food I’ve ever eaten, but not quite the best. The margarita however was on-point...and gigantic.
Boquillas seems to survive exclusively on tourism. People of all ages try to sell you crafts and “No Wall” t-shirts as you walk through town. The nearest Mexican city is still 200 miles away on a series of paved and unpaved roads. A surprising number of F150 trucks sit alongside mules and horses that trot tourists into town. In the wake of 9/11, the border was closed and the town suffered as it lost its visitors. It took nearly 12 years to open the border crossing and allow for a cooperative flow of visitors who could experience a unique cultural experience of crossing an international boundary just to have lunch.