Mexico - Criminals Armed And Dangerous

[doc2rn]

Wouldn't go right now, but I really liked Rosa Rita.

 

[Aguila Blanca]

Criminals are armed with a wide array of sophisticated weapons. In some cases, assailants have worn full or partial police or military uniforms and have used vehicles that resemble police vehicles.

What's that old saying? Oh, yeah --

"If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck ... it might be a duck."

So the bad guys wear police or military uniforms and drive vehicles that "resemble" police vehicles, eh? Nothing "resembles" a police vehicle more than a police vehicle.

 

[mr.72]

We go to the tourist towns in Mexico about once a year. We were in Cancun, Cozumel and Progreso earlier this year. I wouldn't have minded being armed in any of these places. We have also been to Playa Del Carmen and Isla Mujeres. Gorgeous places, fantastic people. But in reality, you get very far away from the main tourist area where 50% of the people there are Americans or Europeans and this place turns in to a third world country. I would never consider driving into or through Mexico, and I would not go into a border town. Fly straight to a resort town? Yeah. Anything else? Nope, not really armed or unarmed. I don't want to get into a shootout with kidnappers.

 

[yokel]

I cannot think of a more senseless policy than to underwrite a government whose corrupt practices and continuing slide towards utter lawlessness are endangering our national security.

 

[owlhoot]

Why go? I just sit on the porch and wait for it to come to me.

Seriously, unless things have changed substantially for the better in the past few years, an American tourist has more to fear from the police than from the criminal element.

 

[rantingredneck]

My wife has mentioned going to one of the resorts down there at some point.

I don't think so.

 

[sailortoo]

Twenty some years ago, wife and I went to Puerto Vallarta for a week. Nice visit, most natives were very pleasant. The police were a "Keystone Kops" joke, but the military was scarey! Haven't come up with a good reason to return to any part of Mexico, armed (no way!) or not. As stated in previous posts, sit still and let them come to you. Our stucco crew knew zero English, our concrete block crew knew zero English - but boy were they workers!
sailortoo

 

[theotherwaldo]

The last time someone from my family went to Mexico it was to help break some Marines from his unit out of the Tijuana slammer.

Nothing I need in Mexico.

 

[OOOXOOO]

Been there, done that. Not again. The hard part about Mexico is telling the bad guys from the really bad guys. I live in Arizona and speak Spanish so it is not a language barrier. I can get any thing I need from Mexico three blocks from my house.

 

[wrench]

I have been to Mexico many times for pleasure, most recently in March.
Usually travel to rural areas, far away from the tourist cities. I speak a little Spanish, the places I visit rarely have anyone who speaks English.
Nevertheless, I find the Mexican people caring, warm, and friendly.
In March, my friends and I visited a small Mexican town while they were having their Easter Fiesta.
They treated us like long lost relatives, feeding us and plying us with cervecas, all 'gratis'-they would not accept any money.
I love it there, and will certainly visit again.
That said, we saw LOTS of armed police, militia, and soldiers of all flavors.
Never felt unsafe.

 

[JerryM]

I would not go at this time either armed or unarmed or escorted by Mexican police or army.

If anyone thinks that his being armed would be any use if drug dealers decided to rob or kill him he is about like one who would buy the Brooklyn Bridge.

Best,
Jerry

 

[T J]

Talked to a friend last night who has an employee who had to take off to go to Matamoros across from Brownsville to wait and see if a ransom call comes in. His son and a friend of the son were kidnapped. A ransom call may come, or the two guys may already be dead, or may be beaten into submission to run drugs or whatever. They are hispanic by the way.
For years we would go across into Mexico periodically and never encountered any problems. I don't think I would go back now with things like they are. I have even heard of armed incurrsions into the U.S. by drug runners with a lot of fire power. Doesn't seem to make the news much though. I believe the ranchers near the border are armed pretty much all the time.

 

[jackstinson]

Of course the criminals are well-armed.
I travel to Mexico as little as possible these days. I used to work there full time and travel around the country a bit on business. Now I do that via phone, PC, video conferencing; and I stay out of Mexico as much as possible. Not in fear of the drug cartels, but because "law enforcement" can be worse than the criminals more often than not. The worst situations I've experienced were with local Policia, not criminals. Well okay, when I worked down there our HR guy was kidnapped for 2 weeks for the ransom money. But most of the US employee's worries were what lame petty excuses the local Policia were going to use to stop us and extort cash.
No more for me if I can avoid it.
Jack

 

[Sav .250]

No reason to go to Mexico.

 

[Bwana John]

I camp on the beach quite a bit in Baja California and Baja California Sur, some times as many as 75 days a year.



I do avoid the TJ/Tecate/Ensenada triangle, and end up driving at least 100-200 miles each trip on bad dirt roads to avoid this area. It is especially bad in this part with police stations shot up, non-corrupt police asasinated, and whole police forces being known to be bad. The Military is the only real law in this area. Thier deployment into areas calm them right down, with road checkpoints and patrols.

I dont drive at night, I dont drink in public, and I try to camp in places that are hard to get to. The drug problem does seem to be getting much worse lately, with thefts and hijackings of small private planes and boats in places that had been concidered "safe" receintly.

While it is compairing apples to oranges I do feel "safer" in many rural areas of Baja than I feel in most of Pheonix.

 

[MarcusWendt]

I've been to Mexico a bunch of times, as recently as last November and I've never had a problem.

I think most of this stuff is up around the border.

 

[Synergy]

I was in TJ, beginning of this year and have not much interest in going back. I was with a couple of friends that are Hispanic and one's son lives in TJ, we got hassled by the cops non-stop. My friend had to call and ex-pat who now lives in Mexico, to name drop a judge, just to get the cops to leave us alone.

We have enough Mexican culture in LA, I don't need to visit the homeland.

 

[Soybomb]

I camp on the beach quite a bit in Baja California and Baja California Sur, some times as many as 75 days a year.

That reminds me of this article http://www.surfline.com/surfnews/surfwire.cfm?id=10923

A Warning for Baja Bound Surfers and Kiters
By: Roger
September 4, 2007
Early Friday morning August 31 at 4:00 a.m. myself and two buddies--all of us North County local surfers and kitesurfers that had grown up along the beach--headed down to San Carlos, Baja California for the holiday weekend for a surfing and kitesurfing trip. All three of us--Duke, Walt and I--have been traveling to Baja for over 20 years. Duke and I speak fluent Spanish--I with a Gringo accent and Duke with the native tongue. We had been to San Carlos a number of times and were looking forward to the oncoming south swell and un-crowded surf with the pending protest at the border, which was to close south bound traffic on Friday. Hence we left early.

We drove in two trucks, a Honda Ridgeline loaded down with three surfboards, four kiteboards, six kites, a dirt bike and all the camping gear and food to hold us out through Tuesday--didn't want to get stuck in the returning border traffic on Monday. Myself and Duke were in the Honda. Behind us followed our buddy Walt in a Toyota Tundra loaded down with five surfboards another three kites, two kiteboards and more camping gear. Oh and we had some beer, margarita mix and Hornitos Tequila.

We crossed the border at 4:30 a.m. and proceeded to the toll road, driving along the road that hugs the border and then climbs the steep hill to the coast. As the road turns south and descends, less than a half a mile from the border and a couple miles from the toll road, we see blue flashing lights in the mirror. We were being pulled over. We knew the drill. Duke gave me all his cash except for $40 for the cop to pay the judge for whatever bull**** reason they said we were being pulled over for.

"Open the door, " he said to me as I rolled down the window. I look to my right and saw a gun at eye level. "Open the ****ing door," he said a second time as he slammed the gun against my right temple and reached in and pulled the door open.

I was being dragged out of the truck by my shirt at gun point by a man wearing a cut-off black wetsuit ski mask. "Here, take my wallet, " I said in a horsed unsteady tone. "Take the car, everything. Let me be."

To my left, I saw Duke had a gun to his head and was being lead out of the car. Walt, behind us, alone in his truck, pulled over--we were in a caravan for safety. He was immediately accosted by two additional gunman, head slammed against the dash and dragged out of the car. He was pushed face down and bent head first over the guard rail, with a gun pressed against the back of his head.

With a gun to my head, he lead me over the guard rail and proceeded to escort me into the darkness--an open lot with a pending cliff 30 to 50 yards out--one hand holding me by my t-shirt collar and the other holding a black semi automatic gun to my head. "Take my money," I said as I handed him the $200 Duke had given me. He yanked my shirt, directing me to follow him further into the darkness. I reached into my second pocket and threw a wad of cash at him--the $240 I had for the trip. It fell to the ground. He looked down, grabbed a wad full and left the stray twenty dollar bills. He looked down at the remaining bills--$60 or $80 dollars--then looked at me, jerked me forward again. He wasn't interested.

"Leave me be. I gave you all my money. GO. GO. Take the car. Let me be. Take my shirt. Look I have no more money," I said as I emptied my pockets.

His dark brown eyes stared at me and then twitched. He was high--coke or something--had kept him awake into the morning. His eyes were twitching. Again, he continued to lead me further away from the others, into the darkness.

What was going on in my head? Can I escape? Will he shoot me? Was my life flashing in front of my eyes. Should I resist? Should I follow. NO. I was living in the moment, what little I feared I had left. Instinct drove me, for the better or for the worse.

30 yards out we stopped. Below us hung darkness--a 100 foot cliff, trash and debris below. I stood facing the street, two feet from the edge, my back against the pending overhang. He stared at me--maybe 10 or 15 seconds transpired. He looked to the street.

"Down," he said.

"No. No. Leave me alone," I pleaded.

"Down," he said again.

I turned, looked down and got on my hands and knees and began to crawl down the cliff. It wasn't a straight drop, but more of a steep incline. I made it to about 5 feet down and stood on a lip or secondary ledge. I looked up. It was dark, but I could see. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness. It would be light in about an hour.

He stood there, with the gun pointed at my chest, both hands on the grip. I was now looking up, maybe two feed below his feet. He looked to his left. He stared at me again and turned again to his left, taking his right hand off the handle and pulled the barrel forward and then back, cocking the gun--inserting the bullet in the barrel. He turned back. The gun was again pointed at me. He looked to this left, turned and shot the gun, just above horizon. He said something--couldn't make it out--and jogged slowly towards the vehicles.

I look to my left. Hunched over twenty yards away is Walt. We saw each other. Said nothing--waited 30 seconds, a minute. They were gone. Was it over?

Walt and I slowly crawled up the cliff, peered over the edge and made sure the coast was clear. We both ran to the street. Duke stood next to the road--a look of shock on his face. We were all OK.

Across the street was a parked van. "Nos robaron, nos robaron," I yelled, wondering where he came from.

"We saw. We saw," said an old man in Spanish. "We couldn't do anything," he said twice with a look of helplessness. "Our van just broke down," he explained.

Was he a bad guy? The old man looked much better than the masked gunman I had just faced.

"Ayudenos! Ayudenos!" (Help us, Help us), I yelled.

All three of us ran across the street and around to the passenger side of the 70s style van. The door slid open. Duke and I crawled in.

"No. Let's walk," said Walt peering in with a look of concern on his face. The van started. Walt got in hesitantly. A second Mexican in his late twenties slid the door close behind us. Where did he come from I thought. Funny, I remember him saying he was having engine problems. Oh...must be working now I guessed...and hoped that we were not being kidnapped.

The van accelerated up the steep hill back towards the border. As we crested the hill, to our left we saw the border fence and beyond the dirty Tijuana slew that separated Imperial Beach and San Diego from Mexico. It was still dark, but you could make out the ocean and coastline. The moon was out. Down the hill and to the right was Tijuana. Just below the crest of the hill was parked a Tijuana Police truck.

"Pull over. Pull over," we yelled.

A Tijuana Police officer wearing a bullet proof vest sat in the driver's seat with the window rolled down. In front of the dodge police truck was one of those heavy duty pickup trucks with the four wheels in the back towing a long empty trailer--the kind you would use to haul a tractor or a couple of cars.

I told him we were robbed at gunpoint only a minute ago and quickly described our lost vehicles. Duke gave me his license plate number. Walt didn't remember his. He called on his cell phone and spoke to someone, describing the vehicles and repeating the events I had said. I later wondered why he didn't use his CB Radio.

"They took everything. They took our wallets, our IDs, money and credit cards." I said.
"I still have a couple credit cards," said Duke.

"Get in," the police officer said" as his colleague got in the passenger door. We hoped in the back of the open pickup truck. He sped down the hill, the wind in our faces. He turned right towards down town Tijuana. After a couple turns he pulled over. We got out. We were at the west end of La Revolucion street. There were still stray partiers out from the previous night. A man danced with a women wearing a short miniskirt in front of a closed disco to a boom box. They were so close they grinded their bodies together. She was probably a prostitute I thought.

"Over there is an ATM," he said. "Go take a cab to El Ministerio Publico where you can file a report." This is not a safe area I thought, wondering why he had not taken us to the police station or the border.

"You write us up the report," I said in Spanish.

"No. You must go to the Ministerio publico to do this. It takes too long. Besides, we are outside our area," he said.

"Take us to el Ministerio Publico," I said. "No. Take us to the border," I said.

Duke and Walt both repeated, "Take us to the border."

A police woman stood at the corner, attempting to get the remaining party goers to go home. You can't sit there, she said to a group of about five men sitting on the side of a fountain.

"Senora," I called. "Ayudenos, por favor," "Help us please. We have been robbed. Can you take us to the ATM so that we can catch a cab."

"Si, Si," she said.

We walked over to her, leaving the two police officers by their truck. She had a mothering care tone in her voice, which was a welcome change. She walked us a half a block past the dancing partners. "In there," She said. I looked behind us and the two other officers drove away.

Duke walked into the glass door to an ATM machine and proceeded to take out money. Two cabs had already pulled over waiting for us. It was now just past 5 a.m. The early morning traffic of Mexicans driving to cross the border and work in the US had already begun.

Within seconds, two men opened the door to the ATM machine and walked in the small booth behind Duke. The vigilant woman officer immediately ran in behind them and stood between them and Duke. They proceeded to the second ATM machine inside the small glass room. She stood in between them until the machine spat out Duke's money. She escorted Duke out and walked us to the first cab.

"Take them directly to the border," she said in Spanish to the taxi driver. "Do not stop for anyone. Go straight to the border."

We got in and all said thank you.

Our taxi driver was a 40 something year old woman who spoke an English slang, learned on the job. We drove a block or two east along with three or four other cars to the border crossing, not more than a couple miles away. We turned left onto a four or five lane one way street and proceeded north at about 20 miles an hour. Walt and I sat in the back. Duke in the front with the Taxi driver. From behind we heard a speeding oncoming car. I looked and saw a four door tan Nissan Frontier pickup truck, not the most recent year model but the immediate past model, barreling down the road at 50 to 70 mph. He passed us close on the right swerved, cutting us off. He slammed on his breaks, skidding sideways to a stop. Behind I could hear a second car barreling down on us. It was a silver Volkswagon Toureg with California plates with three or four good sized Mexican passengers. They were coming right at us; they were trying to box us in. We all screamed, almost in unison, "Go. Go."

The Toureg stopped behind us at an angle, attempting to keep us from backing up and leaving to our immediate right. The nose of their car was almost to the rear right hand side of the passenger door. We were going to be kidnapped we all thought. We were in down town Tijuana on a busy street. A couple cars passed to our right. These guys were not concerned. They owned the streets. They were going to kidnap us.

We still had three or four feet in front of the cab. The Nissan had skidded too far forward. Our Taxi driver punched it and swerved to the right. "Go. Go," we screamed some more. We were getting away. We sped to the border. They were gone.

Duke paid her and we ran past the pedestrian line to an immigration officer. It was over.

Roger

 

[sixgunner455]

I can get any thing I need from Mexico three blocks from my house.

That's pretty much how I feel about it. I live near the border. Our hunting proclamations have a shaded band on the map our state, covering the counties along the border, with the caveat that security issues, border issues, and illegals may affect the quality of hunting in that area.

That's where I live, hike, and hunt year round. Don't need to cross the border to find excitement -- it finds me here!! At least on this side, I can at least try to protect myself.

 

[packnrat]

why should i go to that of a country,
with all the mexicans running around here in america,
i get all the mexican i can stand now.


.

 

[Poper]

I would not travel to Mexico.

There. Fixed it!

Central Az is almost like being there. Why bother to travel?

Poper