Interstate 10 cuts right through the center of El Paso. All cities contain borders within them but not many are borders themselves. In a city born of and defined by borders I-10 is the second most significant after the Rio Grande itself. I-10 separates the rich from the poor, the nice parts of town from the not nice ones, the malls from the swap meets. For the hundreds of thousands of people that pass through El Paso on their way to or from some larger city I-10 also offers their closest view into Mexico. Soon after crossing the NM state line into Texas approaching from the west, I-10 squeezes between mountains on one side and the border on the other. The colorful small homes of the Anapra neighborhood of Juarez dot the hills on the Mexican side and seem close enough to touch. However, upon closer look there’s another stretch of road that’s even closer to Mexico. Where I-10 clings to the mountains on the American side, this road hugs the Border fence. As I-10 meanders slightly north to cut through El Paso’s downtown this road remains hugging the fence, passing under two of the three international crossing bridges in the city, and leading drivers all the way to the third one. It never veers off the border with Mexico for as long as possible, and even when it’s forced to it then becomes a border to the city itself, encircling it completely cutting through mountains until it returns back to it’s place as close as possible to the border.
In a city full of borders and demarcations this highway is the most border thing in it. The true edge of the edge in almost every way.. As a child every weekly drive to Juarez we’d go through this highway. My childhood church was a few blocks away from it. The state facility my older sister was moved to is right next to an exit off this highway. When we finally bought a home it was 5 houses away from it and it’s always in view. My middle school and highschool are washed by the sounds of cars rushing through it. I took it every single day I went to college. When I was dating my wife I’d drive to and from her house on it every day. As an adult I’d take it every weekend to go to church. I’ve now left El Paso for Dallas but everytime I drive back, a few yards after the “El Paso City limits” sign on I-10 approaching from the east I exit onto this highway, and that is when I’m truly home.
Situated right on the outskirts of everything it’s been privy not just to views of the S-Mart and La X in Juarez but it has also seen the joy in El Paso’s parks and defunct amusement parks, the frustrations in the growing lines to cross to and from the cities on either side of the bridges that it passes under. The laughter of the children that run in the school playgrounds on it’s banks that have grown accustomed to the clouds of dusts la migra’s childish driving spit up onto the air. It’s seen fences get taller, and military bases get larger. It’s also seen a city grow to the point that where it was once interrupted by traffic lights and surface level streets it’s now fully connected.
If I-10 has shaped El Paso more than any other highway, this highway is the one that shaped the entirety of my life. This highway has taken me to or from innumerable significant experiences in my life. Almost every single exit on this stretch of road has some meaning or memory attached to it. Its location right against the edge of America simultaneously shows how different this side is while also proving the differences aren’t as big as they want to make me believe. If you’re not from El Paso chances are you don’t know it, but if you are you almost can’t avoid it. It’s not in the heart of anything, it’s on the outskirts. It borders everything. When drivers drive around I-10 feeling they can almost touch Juarez, there’s a whole world between the interstate and Mexico.
That’s where this is.
This is the Border Highway.
In this project I will tell stories that all share The Border Highway in common. Taking a trip down this road making a stop at almost every exit before finding myself back at the border again. As always my goal is to communicate something about the border and the city I grew up in and love that only someone from there knows, while at the same time attempting to understand myself. As one of my favorite writers, Roberto Andrade Franco once said, You can never leave the border behind.