CORRESPONDENCErnLetter FromrnMexicornbyRayLowiyrnLawless RoadsrnIt is 10:00 P.M. as you step off the Greyhoundrnbus in Laredo, Texas. By all rightsrnyou should feel exhausted after your 36-rnhour ride from Minneapolis. But therntruth is, you feel pretty good. The air isrncool but muggy on this late-Augustrnnight. You are told that the Rio Grandernis just a few blocks from the depot. Yournhad intended to spend a night in a hotelrnon the Texas side of the river, but whatrnthe hell, you came down here to seernMexico, didn’t you? So you throw yourrnbackpack onto your back and start hoofingrnit toward tlie bridge.rnYou’ve done some crazy things in yourrnlife. Going off to teach school in Hondurasrnwas one. Well, that one wouldn’trnhave been so bad if you had done it forrnjust a year. But, no, you had to eat of thernlotus plant—root, flower, and stem—rnand now you just can’t seem to pullrnyourself away. Except for summers, ofrncourse. Honduran schoolteachers don’trnmake squat, so ou find yourself returningrnto the real world every few summersrnto earn some real money. But this latestrnidea of riding the bus all the way fromrnMinnesota back to Honduras? That’srntruly crazy.rnThere appear to be absolutely no formalitiesrnat this border. You pay 25 centsrnto pass through a turnstile on the UnitedrnStates side of the bridge. On the Mexicanrnside, the migracon official waves yourninto his country with a smile. He shakesrnhis head “no” when you attempt to givernhim your passport. “Bienvenidos,” hernsays. “Ees open frontier.” You walk a fewrnblocks up the main street of Nueva Laredornuntil you come to Hotel Sam’s, whichrnyour guidebook describes as “Spartan,rnyet clean and safe.” So much for thernguidebook. Sam’s has no screens or glassrnon the windows, no bulbs in the lightsockets,rnno water in the pipes or toilets.rnand no doors on the hinges. Sam’s is arnflophouse. So you continue down thernstreet, where after much haggling, yournare given a clean, air-conditioned roomrnfor 11 American dollars (nowhere tornchange money at this hour). You buy arncouple of beers at the corner store for arnbuck and fall asleep in your room watchingrnDavid Letterman on a Texas televisionrnstation.rnThe next morning you feel great. Yournchange some money at one of the manyrncasas de cambio that line Nueva Laredo’srnalready steamy main street. You hop intornthe old bread deliery van which nowrndoes service as a city bus, and jump off,rnsoaked in sweat, at the terminal de autobus.rnA first-class bus to Saltillo, a cityrnabout six hours down the road, costs yournsix bucks. But what a bus! Far more legrnroom than a Greyhound. Free coffeernand sodas. And numerous videoscreensrnwhere vou watch a couple of recent Hollywoodrnmovies that have been subtitledrnin Spanish. This is great! Maybe thisrnidea of busing it all the way throughrnMexico isn’t so crazy after all, vou think,rnas the bus climbs out of the hot, humidrnriver valley and up into the cool, dry SierrarnMadres.rnSaltillo is a pleasant town where thernbright desert sun is tempered b’ an altitudernof nearly 4,000 feet. Three out ofrnevery four shops seem to specialize inrnone trade—the sale of cowboy hats,rnboots, and belts, the kind with hugernsilver and turquoise buckles. Peoplernlounge about in the central square doingrnnothing. You almost expect Clint Eastwoodrnto come riding around the cornerrnon horseback. You spend the night hoistingrnmugs of beer in an old woodenrnsaloon with honest-to-God swingingrndoors. Meanwhile, the local inebriatesrntry to enlighten you about the “situacionrnmexicano.” It isn’t very enlightening.rnThe politicians are all into buggery, theyrnsay—the ultimate insult in this land ofrnmachismo.rnPolitics in Mexico? Where to begin?rnBasically, Mexico is a gigantic versionrnof the old American urban politicalrnmachine. The strings are all pulled byrnthe Institutional Revolutionary Partyrn(known by its Spanish acronym PRI),rnwhose fingers are into everything. ThernPRI is contested by the National ActionrnParty (PAN) and the Democratic RevolutionaryrnParty (PRD), but there really isrnno contest. A few governorships andrnsenatorial seats are thrown to the PANrnand PRD to maintain the appearance ofrndemocracy. But the PRI rules Mexico.rnThey are the longest continuously rulingrnparty in the world today, having outlastedrnthe Soviet communists. A few politicosrnwho have made the mistake of tryingrnto reform the PRI have met their fates atrnthe barrel end of a gun. Investigationsrninto these murders implicate brothers,rnsisters, in-laws, and cousins of major PRIrnfigures. The web of intrigue and incestrnis so complex that it makes the plot ofrna Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel seemrnsimplistic. No, you can’t blame Mexicansrnfor their cynical view of politicians.rnThe next day you find yourself in Zacatecasrnafter another comfortable ride inrnanother first-class Mexican bus. Zacatecasrnis an old silver mining town nearlyrn9,000 feet in the mountains. The mainrncathedral and several government buildingsrnwere built in an extremely ornaternand lavish fashion by 18th-century silverrnbarons. These buildings are a marvel.rnBut the rest of the town is comprised ofrnnondescript houses of concrete built uprnthe sides of the mountains. A cable earrntakes you up to the highest peak. Thernview is disappointingly unspectacular,rnthough you find a huge monument tornPancho Villa, one of Mexico’s more colorfulrnheroes. It was Villa’s brilliant capturernof Zacatecas in 1914 that turned therntide of the second phase of the MexicanrnRevolution.rnIn Villa’s day, bandit-revolutionariesrnwere up-front and honest about their intentions.rnThey wore their guns outside ofrntheir pants. Villa once sacked two Americanrntowns, then dared the United StatesrnArmy to come and get him. They came,rnbut failed to get their man. Today’srnMexican bandit-revolutionaries hide behindrnface masks and a cordon of RedrnCross personnel in the southern state ofrnChiapas. Mexicans appear to be as cynicalrnabout the semimystcrious subcomandanternMarcos of the Zapatista NationalrnLiberation Army as they arc about thernPRI.rnThe following morning is spent hoppingrnon and off numerous second-classrnbuses in an attempt to get to Guanajua-rn40/CHRONICLESrnrnrn