Welcomed by the narcos

We cycle on the country road and are happy that we don't have to do everything on the main road, that would still be 400 kilometers. Our fun soon gets killed when a car stops in the bushes. The man gestures to stop and warns with the words "it's dangerous here." "Why" do we ask? To be sure it's not about traffic. "The gangs rule in this area," he says. "When I saw that you were a woman, I had to warn you," he now speaks to Zoë. "They take women. You better cycle on the main road, there it is "tranquilo" he advises us. Zoë feels the warning down to her toes. "We are going off the road now and we are going to follow the main road!," she says firmly. "We've played enough with the rules, we are not going to take any risks just to skip boring roads." Our plan changes straight away and we ‘safely’ cycle the last 400 kilometers through Mexico along the main road. Not exactly how we had expected it to be, so to keep it fun we start the competitive engines.

We cycle 146 kilometers the first day. That is a record distance on the entire trip. We have an average of 24 kilometers per hour when we stop and enter a "rancho" far from civilization. A rancho apperently is not just one big farm like Zoë aways thought, but a mini village of 300 people, if they are there. We say ‘buenas tardes’ past a high fence and the dog does its job well, a younger man appears with his father. A old cowboy. They are suspicious and curious at the same time. After some questions the old man says "my wife and cousin have been shot in their cars, since then I have little faith, but I see it in your eyes. You are good people ". Father and son need to whisper to gain confidence. We give the time and meanwhile we talk about how they can see in our eyes that we are good. The man turns with open arms and says "pasale" "come in, come in!". The gate opens and a sleeping spot under the carport quickly becomes a bed in the chic and expensive house of the sister who is not at home. They cook us lunch and are invited later in the evening to a neighbour in a much poorer house to eat egg and beans. People are so hospitable, but clearly also on their guard. When we ask if it is dangerous, they shake their head assured of themselves "no, no, tranquilo." We relax and gain confidence, no danger here. The next at least five persons asked to make a photo with us, but when we look for a place to sleep along the main road that evening, the landlord tells us from behind the fence with sturdy locks “I don't know if I can trust you , I would really like to help, but how do I know if I should trust you? ”We are a little perplexed. You don't see it in our eyes, Olivier thinks accused. Of course the man is right and has al right to stay what he says but it is a hand in the face we haven’t experienced yet. Off course we prefer to tell the man that we can be trusted, but that only sounds lush. "So you can't help us" Zoë asks for confirmation. "That's right". Fortunately, Olivier keeps hope on the only other house for the coming kilometers. He turns to it as if his heart has not just gotten a dunk but an energy boost. This friendly boy and his girlfriend can't be left alone along the road. The farmer let us stay the night on his field. We hang our hammock on an old rusty container and have recovered with the warmth of this man.

We will complete the last part of our journey to America with confidence. We are still following the main road, or thats what we think. The GPS shows a nice dark orange line up to the border, which tells us that we are on the main road, but when we turn left the road is very small. It is quiet and there are few cars. That must be due to the fact that no one crosses the border, we think. The road, both left and right are full with oil fields. Along the road there are dozens of signs with information about the wells. “ strange, what that man is doing over there," says Zoë. A man stands useless in the grass on the roadside. "It must be an oil worker," says Olivier. When we approach him, Zoë feels uncomfortable. "He has a walkie talkie," Zoë says without conclusion. We kindly say hello to him, as we always do. "Hmmm" moans Zoë. “Don't you trust it?” Olivier asks in a tone as if there won’t be anything wrong with the guy. "It will be prejudices," she replies, but in her head all the details light up and silent alarms go off. “I don't know, it must be prejudices but his appearance? How his hair was. And the way he said goodbye? There was doubt, it was different. And what about the postage? " We remain silent and the questions remain in the air. "Yes, it will be nothing," we think, just as there is a second guy there. "It must be prejudices" Zoë shouts uncertainly to Olivier when we are past the man. This time Olivier also starts to doubt. "This was really a type," he says. But what are they doing here? Before we have our heads in order there is a third pawn that clearly signals that we must stand still. We cycle on, frightened by the uncertainty and assuming that we always say goodbye to everyone in a friendly way. As soon as we pass it, it goes fast. A red jeep is approaching us with a man who opens the window and very emphatically shows that we will stop. What must we do??! Zoë almost cries. "Stop!" Says Olivier. We have just passed the car when we hit our brakes and Olivier realizes that we should not play games with these people. Just like yesterday, he goes with all kindness to the car as if a new friend wants to come and say hello to us. It often happens to us that a car stops us because they are interested in our story or want to help us. This man is anything but interested and wants to know how these foreigners dare to fight his country. He asks questions that any other friendly passer-by could have asked, but we knew better by now. At least, we do not know who those guests are, that it is better not to drag them along because our gut feeling has clearly told us. "Where are you going", "Where are you from", "What are you doing here", "How did you get here?" They are not friendly questions, they are orders that must be answered. The man is looking at us. "Pasaportes" he says while gesturing with his fingers that they may come quickly. "Of course" says Olivier kindly. Zoë understands the role but think ‘No, not the passports Olivier! How stupid'. Without really thinking about it, she stammers "but you are not from the police." Oh God what am I saying now, Zoë thinks. Of course they are not from the police, but how else should I save our passports! "Phu no, that's not how it works here," says the man with a grin of disbelief. "We are the boss here, passports." "Here you have them," says Olivier. He handed over his identity card. Oh how smart! Zoë thinks that her jaws are stiff with tension. If they drive away now, we will only lose our ID and we can just cross the border. "So you're from Belgium," the man repeats three times. "Yes, just look" Olivier proves with his iD that he is no more than an innocent tourist who just wants to cross their terrain.