The trip has begun! Maryse (my lovely partner) and I set out from the spine of Turtle Island heading south. First by car for a few miles, then to the nearest train station, a remote outpost where Old West meets the New Millennium. Building momentum with the train, we kicked back and watched the desert roll by to the mantra of a niño chanting ''Alber-kooky, alba-turkey; alba-cookie, I'm a turkey...'' and so on, until we finally did pull in to the ABQ Amtrak station.
Found the bus station, a 15-block hike away, and in the process discovered that despite my best efforts to pack light, I had still managed to bring too much crap. What an absurdity; I want to get out, be free, and experience new things, so I strap as much of my precious (my precioussss...) belongings to my back as I can lift.
Anyway, found the bus terminal and discovered that despite assurances over the phone that a bus would be available later, there wasn't one. Hmm... As it turned out, there was another bus station two blocks away that had a bus at the time I had been told the other station had one. Whatever; all's well that ends well. Leaving our packs at the bus terminal (cold sweat, nail-biting, application of zip-ties to zippers, etc...) we caught city buses to REI and, in that oasis of whiteness and privilege, spent $100 on little luxury items, like a plush sleep mask for each of us, a cable lock for the precious bags, and a couple other things I can't remember.
At the bus stop back, we ran into a guy who started telling me all the intricate political problems with the school I'm thinking about attending, and gave me the inside scoop on ABQ. We made a pretty good connection, and I felt a sense of synchronicity about the whole thing. Leaving him back at the downtown bus terminal and walking back to the station, I started to get that glowing feeling of synchronicity. I'd left my safe and familiar environment, and here life was providing alternate bus stations and people to tell me the information I needed to hear, one way and another.
Back to the bus station for the big wait. This ''station'' was really only one small room, so waiting there wasn't the most thrilling thing ever. We got there just as the security guard was showing up for the long overnight haul. He saw me light a Bidi, and came over from his van to bum one off me. ''Bibis are great,'' he said, ''cloves too, but you can't get em here anymore.'' We talked a bit about various smokeables, and then about Albuquerque, and his job as a security guard. After a while, he dropped the tough-guy pose and started telling me about working at the Greyhound station, his regular post. Mace-ing people was his favorite part of the job, but there was also the fun of hitting people with his Asp extensible baton, searching the ''colored people'' from the coasts, and other joys. He said there was one homeless guy who came back every four days, got drunk in the station, got sprayed, and then did it all over again. He sprayed a hooker, and it turned her on... So he said. I was laughing my ass off at his stories, but damn. He directed us to a lounge where we might while away the hours until the bus finally left, and we headed out.
Speaking of which, my bus from Chihuahua (where I sit sipping fresh-squeezed OJ and writing this blog) to Mexico City is going to leave, and before it does, I need to figure out how to get myself across town to the Central Camiones, so I have to break it off there. Sorry; I at least wanted to get us out of ABQ in this installment, but will have to get back into it later. See you next time, and Vaya con Dios!