We stand and look out over the Rio Grande River. It is smaller than we thought. You could probably easily swim across if you really wanted to. Many have tried. Many have succeeded. But on the other side of the river, they will be stopped and sent back to where they came from. On the other side is the United States. We have reached Piedra Negras. The most peaceful US-Mexico border town. That is the one with the least amount of drug trafficking. Our bike ride through Latin America ends here, and over on the other side of the bridge, the next chapter of the adventure begins. For the rest of the trip, we can replace our too-bad Spanish with fairly good English. It will now be nice to be able to express yourself, ask deeper questions, understand the jokes when people laugh at us, or with us? It will also be nice not to be called 'Gringo' several times a day. That being said, there are things we will miss. And that is precisely why we have a little sadness in our hearts as we stand here by the river, looking over at the newly mowed lawn, on the other side.

We think back to the day we met Max. We were missing the last 5km to the nearest town where we wanted to camp. Max came riding his bike, at full speed. He was about to overtake us, but kept to our side anyway, and started talking. He talked about the 25 years he had lived in the United States with his wife and children. But now he had been deported. He is back in his hometown, living with his mother, working for his brother. Can just make it through. In the US he had a good life, he had a job, had money, had a car, but was caught for drunk driving, went to jail, and was deported. His wife has found another man in the US, one of Max's good friends. His children still live there, but maybe the daughter will come to visit this summer. Maybe.

Despite Max's situation, he still invited us to his and his mother's house so we could sleep there. We agreed.

During the afternoon we drank a beer while Max told the same story again and again. He is a broken man. It is difficult for him to understand that he had the good life, and from one day to the next, it disappeared from his hands. But still, despite the black hole he's balancing on the edge of, he was a really nice and likable guy. And generous.

We brought a mattress so we could sleep in a room next to the kitchen. His mother cooked for us. Later that evening, his girlfriend came, as she does every night, and we ate together. Finally we went to sleep. Max and the girlfriend in their bed in the kitchen. We lay in the room next door, without a door, so all 4 of us could hear each other whisper and tickle. The mother had her own room next door. With closed door.

Max and Kenneth are the same age. It makes you think about your own life, and the choices you make, and the choices life makes for you.

The food in Mexico is amazing. But it's not just about the food itself. It's the whole situation around the food that is fantastic. It's about being together. Just like when we ate at Max's. It's a cozy space where you can just be with each other. Even when we eat at a restaurant or at a taco stand, we feel the Mexicans' love for the whole situation surrounding the meal. Everyone talks together. Everyone participates. There is always life and talk around the meal. You could choose to be annoyed at never being able to eat in peace, but we enjoy the warm relationship that is created around the meal. It is an uncomplicated and pleasant way to be together and get to know each other better.

Our favorite food is the simple tacos and gorditas. It's kind of the same, and yet. They are both small tortillas, made from corn flour. On a taco, you put a bit of meat, chopped onion and coriander on top, and salsa of your choice. A gordita is eaten more like a small pita bread. You open it and put different kinds of filling in. As a rule, you can get mashed beans, cheese, eggs with salsa, cactus, or meat in different shades. But the filling is always small dishes themselves, which have been simmering over the flame all day.

Latin America has been a chaos of new sounds, smells, colors, cultures, people, all at full blast. And we have LOVED it. Every single day. We have to say goodbye to colorful markets where you can buy fruit and vegetables for which we have no names in Danish. Farewell to food cultures that put our taste buds to the test. Say goodbye to being chased by barking dogs who really just want to be petted and cuddled.

But we don't know if we should say goodbye to curious people who love to talk to strangers. We do not know how we will be received in the United States. But we know that we will think back to lovely, warm, hospitable people who looked after us. Invited us inside. Desire to share their lives with us; the strange strangers on bicycles.

One day we had seen quite a few motorcyclists driving the opposite way. We were curious about where they were going and who they were. Hundreds we met, with back marks, on big noisy machines. When a few stopped by the side of the road, with a broken motorcycle, we saw our cut to find out what was going on.

At first they weren't very talkative, but as soon as they heard we were on our way from Argentina to Alaska, they burst out laughing and thought we were both crazy and funny. They themselves were on their way to meet several thousand other motorcyclists. We had a good long chat and they were all making videos on their phones where they wanted us to do clever skits in Spanish that we didn't quite understand. But it was fun and spirits were high. When we wanted to drive on, the biggest bread of them all put his hand in his pocket, fished out his wallet, and gave Kenneth 100 pesos. We protested, but immediately saw that it was not about the money, but partly about a shared love of traveling on the road, a sincere desire to help us, and a desire to form a bond of friendship. We accepted the banknote. And then there were big hugs and goodbyes.

A few days later, in a bigger city, a guy waved us over to his car while we were waiting at a red light. He wanted to hear what we were doing on the bikes. We quickly talked about the trip. When it turned green he said "Unfortunately I don't have any money here, but follow me to the bank so I can withdraw some for you". We thanked him for his thought, but said we didn't need to.

Later in the day we met him again. He wanted to buy us a meal, but we had just eaten.

These are just some of the experiences we have had in Mexico, where people are really helpful and nice to us. You can't even imagine how overwhelming it is to be greeted with such warmth. We don't lack anything. But still, people look after us and make sure that we feel good in their country. They are very aware of whether we have had, and still have, a good experience in their country.

For most Mexicans we meet, it is true that they are extremely tired of the corrupt government, but on the other hand, they are extremely proud of their human way of being, and of their food.

In Vera Cruz we met Marcos and his family. Just as we were about to look for a place to pitch the tent for the night, Marcos pulled up to the side in his car and asked if we wanted to come home to him and his family to sleep. We followed his car, on the bikes, and when we got there, he just had to tell his wife that he had guests with him, because, as he said, "She's not used to me inviting people home". But she took it very easy now.

Marcos and his children and wife, live with her parents in a 'parcel house'. That is three generations. It works fine, although Marcos indicated that he would like them to move into a house of their own. He is building a house, but it takes time. Time = money.

The neighbor had recently had a son. A little baby who was a little too upset, all the time. And suddenly it all went very fast. Marcos said that the neighbor, like so many others in Mexico, practices their original culture from before the Spanish invaded with Catholicism. He asked if we would help them remove the bad spirits from the child. And as the dutiful people we are, we of course said 'yes', if we can help, we would be happy to. Before we had looked around, they had put Kenneth on a chair in the middle of the veranda, put the child in his arms, and while the child lay there howling and screaming, Marie had to 'cleanse' him by running a tuft of herbs over all over his body. It may not have gone quite as the neighbor had imagined, so she ended up leading Marie's hand with the herbs. The child screamed louder and louder, Kenneth tried helplessly to comfort the poor guy while he was scratched with herbs all over his head. The whole session was over before it started, and while we were still waiting, the neighbor cracked an egg into a glass to see if bubbles came up, along with the egg white. It is a way of ascertaining whether evil spirits are still at play. The reasoning behind it all was that because we are travelers, we might have some good spirits with us that could benefit the child. We were slightly confused by the whole setup and tried hard to make sense of it all. When the neighbor disappeared we had to give up on making any of it make sense. We just wanted to help the little guy. Back on the porch, Marcos said he didn't believe any of the hocus pocus and shrugged. "That child always cries anyway". And that was the end of it.

In the evening when we were going to sleep, Marcos' wife asked if we were married. We answered honestly that we are lovers, which caused a slightly embarrassing phase, because it was not very good to invite an unmarried couple into the house to sleep in the same bed. Marcos again showed his magnanimity, and with a laugh he said that Marie must sleep on the floor and Kenneth in the bed. Then no further comment was made on it. They had their backs free and we did as we wanted.

We had heard and read a lot about the violent crime that follows in the wake of the large transport of drugs across the border to the USA. All the northern states of Mexico are notorious for the violence and killings of the drug cartels. And the closer we got to the border, the more we were warned against cycling in the evening and camping out in the countryside. At the same time, we also knew that the crime mostly takes place between the gangs, and that tourists are rarely involved in the cases.

Still, it made an impression when, a few days ago, we had difficulty finding a place to camp. Time was running out for us. Normally we aim to have somewhere to sleep by five o'clock, but now it was nearing six o'clock, the sun was low on the horizon and we were driving on an empty highway with barbed wire on both sides. There were a few antenna towers where we tried to find a small spot for the tent, but each time it was impossible to clear one and a half by two meters of ground free of thorns, so that the tent and mattresses could be kept puncture-free. Until we finally spotted a small restaurant on the side of the road. There was even a police car out front, which we took as a sign of reassurance, knowing that the police in Mexico can be even more greedy and corrupt than anyone else.

We stepped inside the small room and crossed our fingers that we would be allowed to pitch the tent, out in the backyard. An older woman came to the counter and listened to our broken Spanish. The policeman sat at a table with his back to us and said nothing. The woman seemed to understand our plea and told us to wait. A little later her daughter came out. Smiling and happy and said that we could pitch the tent where we wanted, that we could use the toilet in the restaurant and that they would like to offer dinner. We breathed a sigh of relief to have the camping situation under control and once again congratulated ourselves for meeting nice, hospitable people.

At no time, despite the many warnings, have we met people who meant us any harm. We have only ever been welcomed and invited in. If we didn't know that there was a bad story under the surface, we would never think that problems could be found in this area. But it's enough here, just like it is in Nørrebro. That there are a lot of ordinary, sweet and lovely people who enjoy life. And then there are a few idiots who attract attention because of their criminal acts and who ruin the area's reputation.

The other day we sat inside a small Comedor (food stall) and Marie notices how we have gotten used to how it looks here.

We each sit on our plastic garden chairs. The table is a folding table, which wobbles a little. It stands on a raw concrete floor. The walls are painted but peeling. There is a strong lime green color on the wall. There are three pictures, randomly placed, on the bare walls. One of Jesus, where there is a Bible quote. The other two are pure quotes of a religious nature. There is an old refrigerator in the corner. There is a large table which serves as a kitchen. The kitchen utensils, pots and pans, are in a large tub on the floor. On the table is a large bowl of cornmeal to make tortillas from. There is a gas stove, with some pots. They contain different fillings for tortillas. A naked bulb hangs from the ceiling. Half of one wall is open to the road, where the cars whiz past, in noise and car traffic. There is nothing more.

We think it's cozy here. We've gotten used to it. The pleasant chat with the other two guests fills the room with warmth. It is enough.

All in all, we have gotten used to a lot. A lot of noise, a lot of colors, a lot of talk, a lot of people who relate to us constantly. We have also gotten used to very little. But we don't need more either.

Now that we can look over at the USA, we think it will be interesting to meet Western society again.

On our journey through Latin America, we have experienced the wild, magnificent nature that can take one's breath away and make anyone feel like a small, insignificant grain of sand in the great universe. We have experienced different cultures which have roots far back in time and which are anchored in a unity with nature. We have seen the cultures expressed in rituals which, with Western eyes, are peculiar and enchanting.

Here in Mexico, we have experienced the basic good soul of man. We have experienced the strong ties that bind us all together. And we have experienced how much it means to a stranger to be welcomed and greeted with kindness and curiosity.

We have driven a little more than 18,000 km. There are about 10,000 left for Alaska. We looked at a map. Right now we are level with northern Africa. Then we just have to cycle home to Denmark - and then continue on to the Nordkapp. That's roughly the distance and the latitudes we need to cover.

We are still full of courage and expectation. We are looking forward to the change of scene. We look forward to trying something new. Hopefully many more great experiences await in the USA.

Bring it on…