So we met with the august immigration guy, who had the de rigeur bare cement walls and metal desk, and he declared with a decisive flourish that those of us without passports would not be allowed to pass.   Hmmmm.  Ryk and I didn't have passports....  So we did the logical thing:   we walked out of the office, boarded The Buss, and drove right through into Mexico.

American auto insurance doesn't cover us reckless souls who venture down south, so we had to buy a little extra insurance.   They didn't want to sell insurance to us on the grounds that we're a "bus", but Sammy sweet talked them into calling it a mobile home.

And then wham, we're in Mexico, and everything's different.  There are none of the familiar corporate presences, not even any of the familiar public works:  that's the main highway, suddenly a flash lake thanks to the morning's moderate storm.

Even the horses in Mexico are better endowed.