The last person I met in America was Phil Joel of The Newsboys. He was sitting outside Starbucks. I gave him a copy of Piper’s sermons on the doctrines of grace.
U.S. Customs did a thorough search of my car for drugs, weapons, money, and stolen goods but they did not brandish machine guns like the Mexican police. The place I crossed could not give me tourist or vehicle permits so I had to drive from Reynosa to Camargo. I was stopped by the police in Camargo for speeding and I didn’t understand a word the cop said. I understood a little. He had a machine gun at his side. There are military checkpoints everywhere at intervals but so far I have been waved through each time.
The air smells of either freshly dunged fields or burning. There are fields and tire piles and trash piles on fire. You can see the smoke from a distance and the smell lingers for miles. I was bummed about having to drive to Camargo but once I got my permits I felt a lot better. I would have liked to have made it to Tampico but I only made it to Aldma. I was not able to change my money at the border but thankfully this hotel took my American dollars. The attendant seemed quite pleased when I asked for a room. I think I’m the only one here.
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