Crossing the Border: El Paso, Texas to Ciudad Juarez, Chihuahua

In the spring of 2025 I took Amtrak from Tucson, Arizona to El Paso, Texas with three things in mind. First, the Franklin Mountains, a range fully within the city limits of El Paso. Second, the Rio Grande. I spent time moving along the river from its source in the southern Colorado Rockies, through the San Luis Valley, Taos, and south to Albuquerque. The third was crossing into Mexico to visit Juárez and explore the possibility of traveling into the Sierra Madre.

El Paso sits on the Texas–New Mexico–Chihuahua border. Across from it is Juárez. Together with Las Cruces, New Mexico, they form a cross-border urban region of over 3 million people with significant economic integration.

A couple of years prior, I spent three months circling the Yucatán Peninsula through Quintana Roo, Yucatán, and Campeche. That gave me general confidence moving through Mexico and using Spanish. But I also knew that time in the Caribbean and Gulf regions is not the same as the border cities in the north.

Juárez was once among the most dangerous cities in the world, with a high homicide rate tied to the drug wars. Those tensions have largely subsided, and it is generally calmer today. This is not intended as a statement about whether Mexico or Juárez is “safe” in any general sense. That said, at the time of writing, I have spent roughly 90 days traveling in Mexico without any major issues and only minor friction.

I arrived in El Paso via Amtrak from Tucson. Upon arrival there were severe sand storms, low visibility, and generally unpleasant weather. The train station is pretty close to the border. The first evening I walked close enough just to get a sense of what was going on. Interestingly, the first thing I saw was a school bus dropping off dozens of elementary aged children who proceeded to walk over the bridge of the heavily guarded Rio Grande. I then Uber'ed north to my hotel and spent the night casually researching both Juarez and the Franklin Mountains. The skies were still blurry and although the mountains were very close by, they were invisible.

I woke up the next day intending to visit the state park and not cross the border just yet. The weather had improved, but not enough to make hiking and flying a drone in a desert mountain range especially appealing. After a few hours of laundry, remote work, and ruminating, I decided, alright, I guess I'm having dinner in Mexico.

I left the hotel with just my wallet and passport, took an Uber to the train station, and began walking toward the border. Maybe it was arrogance, or maybe it was the experience of being on the road full-time, but I'd be lying if I said I felt overwhelmingly scared or even nervous. As I approached the bridge, which rises to a steep incline, I did feel a small rush of adrenaline. I was walking across an international border into the unknown. At the crest of the bridge, over the mostly dry riverbed of the Rio Grande, I tried to take in the view through some barricades but decided it was best to keep moving. As the bridge began to descend, I felt slightly more nervous—but it wasn't fear of being harmed. It was the anticipation of being bombarded by merchants, like stepping off a cruise ship or walking through the tourist districts of the Yucatán.

When I reached the bottom of the bridge and entered Juárez, it was anticlimactic. The street wasn’t lined with souvenir sellers, and no one really looked at me or acknowledged my presence. I walked past rows of shuttered shops and dental clinics. A few vendors appeared, but they weren’t selling to tourists—just goods and fruit for locals. I’d gone about a mile without being engaged. Then the first person spoke to me. Expecting a pitch, I asked him to repeat himself. He had simply said, in Spanish, that I had beautiful eyes.

I reached the main plaza—a large outdoor mall with local restaurants, a few American chains, cell phone shops, and preachers. There wasn’t another tourist in sight. It had a local, semi–big-city feel. I turned back, stopped for a few tacos and a Coke, then made my way toward the bridge. It was just before sunset.

Interestingly, I didn’t have to show a passport to enter Mexico, and for a moment it seemed I might not need one on the way back either. That changed once I reached the immigration center, which made more sense in hindsight. It wasn’t very busy. I moved through the line quickly. The officer’s demeanor matched what I had expected—mildly brusque—but the process took about five minutes. I was soon back on the street in El Paso, in another Uber, heading to the hotel.

When I returned to the hotel that night, I honestly didn't have any profound thoughts about my brief trip across the border. I knew Juárez wasn't a particularly tourist-oriented city, but I was a little surprised by just how absent tourism seemed to be. I was also mildly surprised by how invisible I felt as the only obvious gringo walking around. Beyond that, I didn't dwell on it. There was no epiphany or great insight. It was just another fairly mundane evening after 15 months on the road. The tacos were pretty good.

When I woke up on my third day in El Paso, the sky was clear and the sun was shining. My attention quickly shifted back to the mountains, and before long I was in an Uber on my way to Franklin Mountains State Park. This was the main objective of my time in El Paso. An added benefit was that the park allowed drone flight, which is often restricted in otherwise ideal locations or, even when permitted, met with hostility. When I checked in with the park ranger, he was actually very interested in drones and asked a lot of questions about what I was doing.

I spent the day flying, hiking up toward Mundy’s Gap, and watching sunset unfold—east toward Fort Bliss and west toward southern New Mexico and the mountains across the border.

As someone who travels on foot and relies heavily on walking, Uber, buses, and trains, the return was more difficult than expected. While there was general Uber availability in the area, I underestimated how hard it would be to actually get a driver to the park. It sits on a highway and feels like an urban park and major attraction, but this was one of those moments where the edge conditions become obvious.

The first driver accepted the ride, drove for about 20 minutes, passed the entrance, then canceled without contact. When I called, he was defensive. The next driver eventually arrived, but by then it was fully dark and he seemed uneasy about the location. He relaxed quickly, and we ended up talking about hiking and biking. While I was still thinking about the sunset I had just captured, I knew for next time to either leave earlier or rent a car.

The following day I moved into an Airbnb on the west side of El Paso and settled into a more domestic routine—laundry, groceries, restaurants, learning the bus system, walking the city, working online, and processing footage from the mountains.

The Airbnb was dulling my adventurism for a minute, as I was feeling very domestic. I was renting a room in a large historic home owned by a city official. I had quickly established a daily routine, which included being met by the enthusiastic dog of the house. I loved him, but he was dulling my edges. Although in this time I made a long walk to the completely dried river bed of the Rio Grande and had a good time flying the drone and getting imagery of all the mountains. 

I yet again decided to head back over to Juárez. This time much earlier in the day, and I decided to walk over another crossing just for the sake of diversity and understanding the geography. This visit was much different. There was an insane amount of people crossing in both directions, in vehicles and on foot. It was the hottest day of the trip. By the time I arrived in the plaza, I was feeling beat up by the sun. This time there were a few people pitching wares, but still relatively mild. But I wasn't in the mood for anything. I didn't want to see anything else or learn another thing—I just decided to have lunch, get a haircut, and head back.

I did those things and came back through the main crossing I had used bidirectionally the first time. I walked over the initial part, and as I approached the immigration center, my heart dropped as there was a line that seemingly extended to Guatemala. I had instant regret, as I was in absolutely no mood for crowds, lines, and long waits.

It moved relatively quickly, and I ended up in line with the only other American in sight. Which can be nice, but he was talking incessantly about things that I could not care less about. When I got to the agent and they asked me what I was doing in Mexico, I quickly took off my hat and said, “Just a haircut and lunch,” and they instantly waved me along. The first return was no line, long interview. This time was 90 minutes in line and a 9-second interview.

At this point I had been in El Paso for about a week and a half and was feeling really good. I was enjoying the city. I had checked off the Franklin Mountains, the Rio Grande, and I had been to Juárez twice, all while working online every day and maintaining my “normal life.”

It was time to move to another Airbnb on the east side of the city near Fort Bliss to explore a different portion of the Franklin Mountains. The shift was significant. I had been staying in the urban core, surrounded by restaurants, coffee shops, and what felt like an almost exclusively Mexican and Mexican-American community. I was now in a quiet suburban neighborhood with a much more mixed population, including a large presence of military and support staff from Fort Bliss.

Again, I quickly established a day-to-day routine, though it was a bit harder to maintain consistent activity. Using the bus system to commute from this side of the city into downtown took longer than expected. Overall, it was fine.

From here, I went to the McKelligon Canyon portion of the mountain range. I also spent more time hanging out in my rented room due to the added burden of the commute. This third distinct leg of the trip included more chance conversations with locals and bus drivers. It was interesting to note how many Mexican-American people were shocked that I had been crossing the border, as many of them were hesitant to go over there for any reason.

This was my third time heading to Juárez, and I was a bit surprised by how constrained my earlier visits had been. Although I didn’t feel any sense of threat, I also hadn’t built up the momentum or information to go deeper than maybe two miles into the city. The boldest thing I did, in terms of being a non-local, was probably walking beyond the downtown area into a neighborhood to get broader views of the mountains of Juárez and El Paso.

On this trip, I was also trying to locate a car rental office, as I had started researching the idea of renting a car in Mexico and driving out to the nearby mountains and sand dunes. From there, I was thinking about laying the groundwork for a longer trip south into the state of Chihuahua, exploring the Sierra Madre range and taking the train. I’ll save the suspense: none of that ended up happening.

As I was thinking through my next steps in El Paso, my older brother invited me to visit him in Los Angeles, and I ended up taking the Amtrak from El Paso to LA instead of heading deeper into Mexico.

Back to that day—I was happy with the photos I got from the hilltop. I walked back down toward the border. The only additional stop was a bar that had once been owned by Al Capone, and what might be the truest American tourist trap on that strip. I generally avoid drinking on days like this. I had intended to stop in for a photo and leave. But when I walked in, it felt more like a local dive bar than I expected, and when I made eye contact with the bartender, I felt awkward just taking a photo and leaving. So I sat down for a quick beer and then headed back.