La Paz, Baja California, Mexico

1,181 miles from San Francisco

We had to ask. Just had to. 

Perched lazily on the rear bumper of our car, we waited on a loading dock to board the 18-hour ferry from La Paz, a port city in eastern Baja California Sur, to Mazatlan, a port city in Mainland Mexico’s state of Sinaloa. Aside from ourselves, the guest list of our 35-year-old, Dutch-built vessel consisted entirely of truck drivers from all over Mexico. And there, directly next to us, he stood. Steel-faced, tattooed – he donned a sombrero that, while tattered, still carried an air of effortless cool. Yet our eyes were drawn to a different part of his ensemble. A tank top. But not just any sleeveless garment, it was from a Pepperdine University sorority’s annual ‘Anchor Splash’ party. This celebration also occurs annually at both of our alma maters, and it wasn’t among the clothing varieties we expected to encounter in this setting.

So, we asked.

“Can we take a picture of that shirt? It’s from a party that we’ve been to!” Rubén obliged us with a laugh, and from there our conversation began.

Originally from Mexico City, Rubén crossed the border illegally and lived and worked in Escondido - a suburb in northeastern San Diego county. His method of crossing sounded straightforward in theory. He and a friend planned to, simply put, walk across. They did so near Jamul, a southeastern San Diego suburb close to where the border fence ends. The route snakes through a series of mountains, eventually leading to a road. From there, they took a taxi and reached Escondido, roughly one hour by car from the border, for a total border-crossing-price of $100 (all of which was for the cab). 

While in San Diego county, construction was Rubén’s employ and he cherished it. Despite the demanding physical labor, he appreciated being able to use his body as part of his work – a freedom that he has missed sorely since. During his time in San Diego he helped to build homes all over town, from La Jolla to Rancho Bernardo, and was very proud of the ability he’d gained to communicate with his coworkers and managers. To do so, he relied on an extensive vocabulary consisting of the full scope of supplies and tools used in the building process. Rubén also spoke fondly of his employers, stating that despite not knowing his legal status, they consistently treated him with respect and admired his ambition and energy. 

Unfortunately, and very suddenly, that chapter ended. After getting coffee one morning prior to work, Rubén came home to find border patrol agents waiting for him. He had no guess as to how they found him, but find him they did. They asked him for documents that he did not have, and before long he was in Tijuana – deported and without any of his possessions and savings (which were still at his residence in Escondido). A friend ended up bringing everything across, and Rubén was left there to start anew.

He soon landed on his feet, securing a position as a truck driver for a company that exports limes out of Mexico into the US. Rubén had driven some large equipment as part of his stint in construction, so the transition to 18 wheels was met with little resistance. While happy to be employed, his description of life as a long-haul trucker in Mexico is, in short, agonizing. 

He drives 12,000 km per month (7,440 miles) in weekly shifts that run 72 hours. Straight. 

He doesn’t sleep, relying on a cocktail of Coca-Cola, coffee, cigarettes and, dangerously, energy boosting/appetite suppressing weight-loss medication. The combination mutes any and all pangs of hunger, and drastically increases his ability to stay awake. Upon reaching his destination, he spoke of sleeping for 24 consecutive hours and then devouring plates of food for almost as many more – having neither rested nor eaten for the entire route. Then, the next week, he does it again. Without going into detail on the danger of these routes, both in terms of road quality and criminal activity, the pace required shows little regard for the lives of those behind the wheel. This was proven further by Rubén’s description of the life insurance policy that his employer provides as “worthless.”

So there we found ourselves. Rubén, with a small break from his usual route – as an unexpected need in Baja allowed him to drive to La Paz, rather than overland via Sonora. Us, very wary of the rough seas and “Octopus Surprise” dinner that lay ahead.  Rubén expressed his ambition of returning to the US, as trucking there was much more regulated and thus humane. Despite his deportation, he spoke to a lawyer who gave him an 80% chance of securing a US visa. 

Before he left us to load his 40+ foot yellow truck onto the boat, he reminded us that “todo es divertido.” Challenges current and past aside, Rubén carried himself with genuine enthusiasm and optimism for what the future holds and, after meeting him, we couldn’t help but to leave the conversation carrying a bit of that same energy.