We stand and look out over the Rio Grande River. It is smaller than we thought. You could probably 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 USA. We have reached Piedra Negras. The most peaceful border town between the USA and Mexico. That is, the one with the least 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 far too bad Spanish with a reasonable English. It will now be nice to be able to express ourselves, ask deeper questions, understand the jokes when people laugh at us, or with us? It will also be nice not to be addressed as 'Gringo' several times a day. Having said that, 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 across at the freshly 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 still stayed next to us, and started talking. He told us about the 25 years he had lived in the US, with his wife and children. But now he had been deported. He is back in his hometown, lives with his mother, works for his brother. He can just about make ends meet. In the US he had a good life, he had a job, had money, had a car, but was caught 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 his 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 accepted.

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

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

Max and Kenneth are the same age. It makes you think about your own life, 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's amazing. It's about being together. Like when we ate at Max's. It's a cozy space where you're just with each other. Even when we eat at a restaurant, or at a taco stand, we feel the Mexicans' love for the whole situation around the meal. Everyone talks together. Everyone participates. There's always life and conversation around the meal. You could choose to be annoyed that you can never eat in peace, but we enjoy the warm relationship that is created around the meal. It's an uncomplicated and cozy way to be together and get to know each other better.

Our favorite foods are the very simple tacos and gorditas. They are a bit the same, and yet so. They are both small tortillas, made from corn flour. On a taco you put a little meat, chopped onion and cilantro 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 fillings in. Usually you can get bean paste, cheese, eggs with salsa, cactus, or meat in different forms. But the fillings are always small dishes in themselves, which have been simmering over the stove 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 that we don't have names for in Danish. Goodbye to food cultures that test our taste buds. Goodbye to being chased by barking dogs that really just want to be petted and cuddled.

But we don't know if we'll have to say goodbye to curious people who love talking to strangers. We don't know how we'll be received in the US. But we do know that we'll think back to the lovely, warm, hospitable people who have looked after us. Invited us in. Wanted to share their lives with us; the strange strangers on bicycles.

One day we had seen a number of motorcyclists driving the opposite way. We were curious about where they were going and who they were. We met hundreds of them, with badges on their backs, on big, noisy machines. When a few stopped by the side of the road, with a broken down motorcycle, we saw our chance to find out what was going on.

At first they weren't very talkative, but as soon as they heard that 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 up with several thousand other motorcyclists. We had a nice long chat, and they all made videos on their phones, where they wanted us to join in clever skits in Spanish, which we didn't quite understand. But it was fun, and spirits were high. When we wanted to drive on, the biggest of them all put their hand in their pocket, fished out their wallet, and handed Kenneth 100 pesos. We protested, but immediately saw that it wasn't about the money, but partly about a shared love of traveling on the road, a sincere desire to help us, and a desire to establish a bond of friendship. We accepted the bill. And then there were big hugs and goodbyes.

A few days later, in a larger city, a guy waved us over to his car while we were waiting for a red light. He wanted to hear what we were doing on the bikes. We quickly told him about the trip. When the light 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 that 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 for anything. But still, people look after us and make sure we have a good time in their country. They are very attentive to whether we have had, and still have, a good experience in their country.

For most Mexicans we meet, 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 our tent for the night, Marcos pulled over in his car and asked if we wanted to come home to him and his family to sleep. We followed his car on our bikes, and when we arrived, he was just about to tell his wife that he had guests, because as he said “She’s not used to me inviting people home”. But she took it very calmly.

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 upset all the time. And suddenly it all happened very quickly. Marcos told us that the neighbor, like so many others in Mexico, practices their original culture, from before the Spanish invaded with Catholicism. He asked if we wanted to help them remove the bad spirits from the child. And like the dutiful people we are, we of course said 'yes', if we can help, please do. Before we could look around, they had sat Kenneth on a chair in the middle of the porch, put the child in his arms, and while the child lay there howling and screaming, Marie was supposed to 'cleanse' him by running a bunch of herbs 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 being scratched all over his head with herbs. The whole séance was over before it even started, and while we were standing around, the neighbor cracked an egg into a glass to see if any bubbles appeared, along with the egg white. It's a way of checking if there are still evil spirits at play. The reasoning behind it all was that because we're travelers, we might have some good spirits with us who could benefit the child. We were a little confused by the whole thing, and tried hard to understand it all. When the neighbor disappeared, we had to give up trying to make any of it make sense. We just wanted to help the little guy. Back on the porch, Marcos said he didn't believe a single bit of all that hocus-pocus, and shrugged. "That child always cries anyway." And that was the end of it.

In the evening when we were going to bed, Marcos' wife asked if we were married. We answered honestly that we were lovers, which caused a slightly embarrassing phase, because it was not entirely good to invite an unmarried couple into the house to sleep in the same bed. Marcos showed his generosity again, and with a laugh he said that Marie could sleep on the floor, and Kenneth in the bed. Then there was no more comment 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-scale transport of drugs across the border to the United States. All the northern states in Mexico are notorious for the violence and murder of drug cartels. And the closer we got to the border, the more we were warned against cycling at night and camping out in the countryside. At the same time, we also knew that the crime mostly happens between gangs, and that tourists are rarely involved in the cases.

Still, it made an impression when a few days ago we were having trouble finding a place to camp. Time was running out for us. Normally we aim to have a place to sleep by five o'clock, but now it was approaching six, 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 land 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 parked out front, which we took as a sign of security, knowing that the police in Mexico can be even more greedy and corrupt than anyone else.

We entered the small room and crossed our fingers that we would be allowed to pitch the tent, out in the backyard. An older woman came out 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 have understood our request and told us to wait. A little later her daughter came out. Smiling and happy, she said that we could pitch the tent wherever we wanted, that we could use the restroom in the restaurant, and that they would be happy to offer us dinner. We breathed a sigh of relief that we had the camping situation under control and once again praised ourselves for being lucky to meet nice, hospitable people.

At no time, despite the many warnings, have we met people who wanted us to do anything bad. We have always been welcomed and invited in. If we didn't know that there was a bad story under the surface, we would never believe that there could be problems in this area. But it is probably here, just like it is in Nørrebro. That there are a lot of ordinary, nice and lovely people who enjoy life. And then there are a few idiots who attract attention because of their criminal actions and who ruin the reputation of the area.

The other day we were sitting in a small Comedor (food stall) and Marie noticed how we have gotten used to what it looks like here.

We each sit on a plastic garden chair. The table is a folding table that 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, with a Bible quote. The other two are purely religious quotes. There is an old refrigerator in the corner. There is a large table that functions 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, for making tortillas. There is a gas stove, with a few pots. They contain different fillings for tortillas. A naked bulb hangs from the ceiling. Half of one wall is open to the road, where cars rumble by, in noise and traffic. That's all.

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

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

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

On our journey through Latin America we have experienced the wild and magnificent nature, which can take your breath away and make everyone feel like a small insignificant grain of sand in the great universe. We have experienced different cultures, which draw roots far back in time, and which anchor themselves in a connection with nature. We have seen the cultures expressed in rituals, which to Western eyes are peculiar and enchanting.

Here in Mexico we have experienced the basic goodness of humanity. We have experienced the strong bonds that bind us all together. And we have experienced how much it means to a stranger to be welcomed and received with kindness and curiosity.

We have cycled a little over 18,000km. There are about 10,000 more to go to Alaska. We looked at a map. Right now we are at the same level as northern Africa. Then we just have to cycle back to Denmark – and then continue on to the North Cape. That is approximately the distance and the latitudes we need to cover.

We are still full of courage and anticipation. We are looking forward to the change of scene. We are looking forward to trying something new. In the USA, hopefully, many more great experiences await.

Bring it on…