I visited San Juan Bosco, a migrant shelter wedged halfway up a steep incline where clusters of houses clung precariously to the dusty hillside. There, I photographed migrants from El Salvador, Honduras, Guatemala and Mexico – many of whom had been caught by U.S. Border Patrol as they tried to cross illegally into the United States and were subsequently held in private detention facilities in Arizona before being deported to Mexico.

Nothing along the border is simple. In the region surrounding Nogales, in the Mexican state of Sonora, smugglers, known as polleros continue to operate as semi-autonomous agents. But they must pay a certain percentage of their earnings to the drug cartels that control the business of drug smuggling, human trafficking and the smuggling of undocumented migrants. Along other parts of the border, the drug cartels have either chased out or killed off the polleros in order to fully control the trade. Nothing passes through the desert corridor without the consent of local drug lords. Needless to say, getting any kind of access to this illicit activity is next to impossible.

It took eight days, but finally, with the help of my fixer, Jorge, two local journalists and a four-wheel drive pickup we rented from a guy called El Arabe, we succeeded in traveling to Altar, a small town about two and a half hours south of Nogales that is basically a staging ground for illegal immigration. The town is lined with small kiosks and shops selling knock-off brand backpacks, Virgen de Guadalupe memorabilia, bandanas, phone cards, crudely made slippers with pieces of carpeting sewn along the bottom to obliterate footprints, black plastic water jugs – necessary items for making the desert crossing in the punishing, suffocating heat. Cheap flophouses and hostels offer lodging for a night or two, as migrants await money transfers from relatives. Deals are struck. Eventually, migrants will be packed into one of the many vans parked near the square to be transported along a dusty, rutted road to Sasabe 90 kilometers northwest, near the Mexico – Arizona border.

In Altar, we have breakfast and wait for mass to begin and end at the colonial era church off the main plaza. In the cramped side chapel, migrants kneel and pray as candles flicker and a framed picture of La Virgen de Guadalupe smiles benevolently. After the mass ends, we talk to the priest. I show him a copy of the 8×8 Destino book I designed using Blurb – it’s forty images and the lyrics from the Manu Choa song, Clandestino, by now stained and worn from the many hands that have handled it over the course of the week. The priest nods. He taps a number into his cell phone. A quick exchange and we’ve been granted safe passage from Altar to Sasabe.

Three hours later, we arrive in Sasabe with our internal organs intact but seemingly redistributed. Small shrines to Saint Judas and La Virgen appear alongside the road. Ancient Saguaro cactuses brood among the ocotillo and cholla shrubs. The vegetation is hostile; the light is getting good. In Sasabe, I find a large group of mostly Central American migrants dodging the heat within the cavernous cool interior of a cantina that seems to alternately function as a kind of rooming house. Along the far wall, several migrants rest on grimy mattresses. A crowd gathers. I show them the 8×8 book. They tell me their personal stories. I take pictures until a man steps inside and tells me to stop. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, about to cross the street and I squeeze off one more frame. And then we get the hell out of there.

San Juan Bosco migrant shelter, Nogales, Sonora

Migrants, La Mariposa, Sonora

Shrine along the road to Sásabe

Guatemalan migrant, Sásabe, Sonora

Migrant, La Mariposa, Sonora

Dying saguaro

La Ladrillera, Sásabe, Sonora

Migrants, La Mariposa, Sonora

Migrant, Sásabe, Sonora

Special thanks to my Mexican twin and new friend, Luis Cordona pictured here with his son Jose. Un agradecimineto especial a mi gemelo Mejicano y nuevo amigo, Luis retratado con su hijito Jose.

Thank you to everyone who backed, Destino, a photography book project portraying the epic journey across Mexico by freight train of undocumented Central American migrants as they attempt to enter the United States in pursuit of a better life. Please visit the project homepage on KICKSTARTER to learn more.

For additional project information, check out the following interviews:

The Image, Deconstructed

Interview from TID continues on the PJ Photo Editors blog

Photo-eye Blog

Thanks to DJ extraordinair Chris Laich for keeping the line moving smoothly and soulfully! Huge round of applause for Assistant Director of Catering at the Four Seasons, Tina Nader.

Most of all though, congratulations, Rea and Emmett. The wedding was memorable. I look forward to a lasting friendship and Thai food when I get back from Mexico.

Congratulations Meredith and Tiffany!

Thank you Trevor Blake from MyDeejay for keeping everyone on their feet.

I met Bryce and Boaz back in February. I’ve photographed plenty of lesbian commitment ceremonies and weddings, but thus far, I had never shot a Gay wedding. Boaz and I sort of have mirror experiences, he being born in the U.S., but grew up in Israel while I was born in Jerusalem and grew up in Syracuse. This was going to be one day where I wouldn’t need to worry about stepping on a dress. And I couldn’t wait to meet the Israeli contingent.

Thanks guys! It was a pleasure and an honor. Sidra, one more wedding together makes a trifecta!

I filled a pair of leather saddlebags I had picked up in a market in Mexico City with about 150 small work prints of my Destino project, tossed them over the seat of La Bestia, my brand new 150cc Genuine Scooter, gassed up and headed over the Key Bridge on a warm morning with low humidity and not a lot of traffic. Just past Warrenton, VA, the back tire blew out going 65 miles an hour on the 29 Bypass. At first, it felt like I’d just been buffeted by a huge blast of air, but then La Bestia started yawing back and forth like some plucked marlin flailing on the deck of a boat. I squeezed the breaks trying to slow her down, but she kept fishtailing while dragging hard left. I thought for sure I was going down. So long, sayonara, good night, but somehow, I managed to guide her to the spit of gravel and weeds along the median, my left foot skidding to a trembling halt. Traffic slowed to a crawl, then stopped. People got out of cars to make sure I was OK and then a Sheriff’s Deputy pulled up in a patrol car. I thought I was in for it as I only had my learner’s permit. Instead, he offered to call a tow truck. I thanked him but called the toll free number for Genuine Scooter Company’s two year complimentary road side assistance and the Sheriff’s Deputy waved and drove off. I sat down in the weeds, under a grudging sun as traffic rushed by on 29, chewing on a ham and cheese bagel, pondering whether there would ever be peace in the Middle East and if cats farted or if I was contracting Lyme Disease while waiting for the tow truck to pick me up. At a Warrenton motorcycle shop, a couple of good ol boys marveled that I wasn’t road pizza, saying, “She rode it out like a champ!” They yanked a one inch nail out of the back tire, gave me a cold Diet Pepsi and patched up my tire for free.

By the time I got to Charlottesville, the building on Maine Street where the workshop was taking place was locked, the meet and greet session scheduled for the first day over. I chained La Bestia to a bike rack on the pedestrian mall and sat down at a round metal table outside a restaurant near a giant Antonin Kratochvil photograph, lit a cigarette and ordered a Corona. As the late afternoon sun grew less intense, I sat, slightly lightheaded from an ebbing adrenalin rush and a mild beer buzz. I thought I saw Mary Ellen Mark walk by, trailing long dark braids and a musk-scented effluvium.

Arriaga railyard, Chiapas 2010 (L) Security cameras and Jesus, San Luis Potosi, 2011 (R)

The rather grueling but productive week that followed was spent editing, sequencing and re-sequencing photos and with daily trips to Revolutionary Soup and Java Java. Each day, the eleven diverse projects were critiqued, gradually evolving into a tight edit of paired images.  By the end of each day, everyone was too fried to do much of anything other than stagger back to the dorms on the University of Virginia campus, passing out in the spartan, cell-like rooms made of cinder block walls slick with moisture, amidst the pervasive odor of dorm life: an amalgam of beer-soaked industrial carpeting, socks, generations of sweaty late night grope sessions. The week culminated in a slide show highlighting the work of all three workshops – ours and the two taught by Chris Anderson and Mary Ellen Mark.

Oaxaca, Mexico 2011

The next day, I saddled up La Bestia and made it back to Takoma Park without incident, having one full day to decompress from the week and prepare for Bryce and Boaz’s Tabard Inn wedding.

At Woodend, the light outside was nearly perfect – the time of day when the sun is more color than heat, the grove suffused with muted light. The kind of light photographers and Impressionist painters alike go wild about.

Here is an example of good planning. At three in the afternoon at the end of May, the sun is punishing, the light harsh and contrasty. Colors wash out, shadows accumulate like sink holes. Inside, however, the light reflects and bounces off the white walls. This is what you want on a wedding day:people inside bright rooms when the light outside is harsh, gradually transitioning to outdoors later in the afternoon.

Nice moment + nice light = good picture.

The indefatigable Matt Odom from Venice Beach, CA, without a doubt, the coolest videographer I’ve ever met.

A perfect transition from outdoors to in. The natural light now almost completely gone, I switch over to my remote controlled strobes mounted up high on light stands,  bouncing them into the cream colored walls. This helps create that same soft but modeled natural light effect as having a large window letting in a lot of indirect light that bounces around the room. Light is the aesthetic component of photography. It’s the quality that counts. It’s why pictures taken outdoors in the middle of a clear, bright sunny day or pictures taken with direct flash look like crime scene photos. The light is dreadful.

This is more of what I’m going for – the little moments that take place regardless of whether a photographer had been present or not.

Thank you Olivia and Sean for picking me to document your wedding day. Thanks to Alexandra Kovach for recommending me and also to her team who did an outstanding job (as usual). It was also a pleasure to finally meet the wonderful Sidra Forman.

Central American migrants travel through the Mexican state of Chiapas on top of a northbound freight train. Migrants call the train La Bestia - The Beast or El Tren De La Muerte - The Train of Death because of the many hardships endured along the train route, including kidnappings, assaults and injuries suffered from falling off moving trains.

Freddy Niño, Ixtepec, Oaxaca

I had met Freddy Niño back in July at the Home of Mercy migrant shelter in Arriaga. The first thing you notice about Freddy is the deep scars across his face and arms. I asked him about the scars – how he had gotten them. He just looked at me and said, “Son cosas de vida” but he wouldn’t elaborate.

Tierra Blanca, Veracruz

Salvadoran migrant, Casa Cáritas, San Luis Potosi

Honduran and Salvadoran migrants. Casa Cáritas, San Luis Potosi

Salvadoran migrants. Casa Cáritas, San Luis Potosi

Gay migrants. Posada Belen migrant shelter, Saltillo, Coahuila

Young migrant with a cigarette. Casa Cáritas, San Luis Potosi

Migrant getting a haircut. Casa Cáritas, San Luis Potosi

Casa Cáritas migrant shelter, San Luis Potosi

Security cameras and Jesus. Casa Cáritas, San Luis Potosi

Migrant. Casa Cáritas, San Luis Potosi

Old woman. La Partrona near Cordoba, Veracruz

Migrants chasing train. Tierra Blanca, Veracruz

Boy huffing glue. Tierra Blanca, Veracruz

Rosalie and Verner. Hermanos En El Camino migrant shelter, Ixtepec, Oaxaca

Rosalie and Isaac. Hermanos En El Camino migrant shelter, Ixtepec, Oaxaca

Verner. Hermanos En El Camino migrant shelter, Ixtepec, Oaxaca

Hermanos En El Camino migrant shelter, Ixtepec, Oaxaca

Gerald, Hermanos En El Camino migrant shelter, Ixtepec, Oaxaca

I met Gerald on La Bestia, on the leg of the journey from Arriaga in Chiapas to Ixtepec, Oaxaca, as we rode on top of the metal cargo wagon roof baking in the noonday sun. The train lurched past barren hills and windswept fields of China Palms that refracted light like shards of mirrored glass, past mango groves and small villages and towns, where people sometimes waved, as if they were watching a parade passing through. We smoked. Gerald told me he was from Leon in Nicaragua. His mother had abandoned him. He had a sister – a twin who was murdered. He went to El Salvador where he found work. He  married a woman whose son he adopted and with whom he had a daughter. In 2005, he was struck by a high voltage cable and suffered third degree burns to 90 percent of his body. The accident caused massive head trauma and brain injury. He spent a year in the hospital. He lost his job. His wife left him, taking the children. Gerald said he didn’t really have any plans. He stared off a lot, sentences trailing unfinished.

Oaxaca, Mexico

China Palms, Oaxaca, Mexico

To learn more about my ongoing project Destino, please contact me at info@michellefrankfurter.com. Photographs from previous trips are currently on display at The Gallery at Vivid Solutions in Anacostia until June 3.

Jacob with parents Amy and Charles

Jake's brother Eli - a master hula hooper.

Jake's sister Noa

Noa, you're a Stah!

Thriller!

This is going to be me at my niece and nephew's Bat/Bar Mitzvah.

Mazel Tov Dude!

Thank you Amy and Charles for choosing me to document this wonderful day in your lives.