CROSSING THE BRIDGE

I crossed the bridge last Wednesday night to buy pharmaceuticals at Garcia's. Though I have decent insurance, many prescriptions require a doctor's appointment. It's cheaper just to cross the bridge.

It's always been cheaper to just cross the bridge. Unfortunately, life has become cheap in Matamoros and Mexico. At Garcia's I ran into banker a friend and two of his sons. They were on the dining side eating and drinking well. I joined them. They were a convivial trio and in true South Texas fashion they covered my bill.
"Gracias."
My buddy related that for the first time in a decade he had crossed the previous week and the visit had unleashed a plethora of memories. Unlike many of the women in our lives, Matamoros has always been a faithful lover. She has never let her man down.
"Is it me or do Tecates taste better on this side of the river?" he posed.
"Tecates not only taste better, but they are colder," I replied.
The next morning I reflected on the previous evening. It had been a satisfying drunk. But then reality hit me in the face. I opened El Bravo. An activist murdered. Five shot dead in Rio Bravo. Three bodies burned beyond recognition by the side of the road in Reynosa. A politician, his wife, mother-in-law and driver shot dead in Nuevo Laredo. And these incidents had all occurred the previous day.
El Bravo doesn't report on the drug violence in Matamoros. It's a policy employed by most Mexican cities. It's too risky to expose the local mafiosos. More journalists are killed in Mexico than in any country in the world.
Adding to these horrifying murders, El Bravo featured a front-page story in which the reporter wrote that kidnappers are becoming more and more violent. The reporter noted that almost all the female victims are raped, often filmed to extort more money, and in growing numbers more victims meet their deaths even after the kidnappers' demands are met.
For those who avoid Matamoros and Mexico out of fear, there is a justification. After centuries of corruption and poverty, and decades of a lucrative drug trade, the fantasy that once was trekking south has now become every one's nightmare.

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