The first thing my phone told me when my alarm went off at six thirty was that it’s Veterans Day. I wondered to myself if this is a holiday at my workplace. I was quite happy to discover a short while later it indeed was! Minutes after that I had a whole new plan for the day. I was on the road, coffee’d up and heading south, by eight.
My old friend The Keep told the stories that first got me interested in going to Tijuana. Mind you, I am too old to live out any of those stories now. In all honesty, I probably couldn’t have even done them justice back in the day. But still, the draw was there and I knew from the start, being this close, I had to go.
A little research told me this was going to be a walking adventure. I could have taken the van over there, into Mexico, I think that would have been no problem. If I had wanted to stay a few days, I think it could have blended in just fine. But coming back across the border could easily turn into a nightmare. The furnace vent is on the drivers side when I would pull up to the border inspector. When they look underneath it I have some pipes and extra wire, not to mention the cage holding the propane tanks. They wouldn’t miss that stuff. There is no way I would get across without them wanting to search the van. Once into it, the BV is literally packed with nooks and crannies of storage spots as I try to utilize every single cubic inch of my living space. They could spend hours digging through it. No, there is no way I would take it across for a short trip. To Mexico City at some point in the future though? Eh, maybe.
The first hop of the journey was to San Diego. This is where I first noticed a sharp uptick in the number of homeless. The vibe of the city was darker. I had lots of trouble finding overnight parking that seemed safe. The line between too fancy, where I would stick out, and too sketch, was really thin. Finally in Little Italy I found a spot. Unfortunately it was a diagonal parking spot. I hate those. They cause the floor to both pitch and yaw, the front passenger wheel being low. It makes for a funny balance issue, even when the lights are on, to move around in the van. I was constantly flirting with falling into the downhill wall.
Saturday morning after a top up with some $6.29 gas I drove to the border parking lot and walked across a long bridge into Mexico. I travel so little I asked to have my passport stamped. For this I had to fill out a form, answer some questions and after another wait in line, get my passport stamped. …With ink, so faint, it can *almost* be read in full sunlight. I had to search through my book twice to even find the page it was on. My advice? Don’t be that guy. Skip the passport stamping.
My only other real out of the country travel (we all know Canada doesn’t count) is going to Italy. I felt much different in Mexico than I do in Italy. Maybe I am just naive but I have yet to walk in an area of Italy where I felt the least bit unsafe. Almost the opposite of Mexico. I did a few loops around the downtown I felt like there could have been some really good photo opportunities down some of the side streets. But I elected, almost uncharacteristically so, to not head down those streets.
Poverty was common. I have been a few places where there were are people begging for change. Nothing at this density however. The mile walk from the border to the downtown is primarily pharmacies. Medicines are much cheaper in Mexico and many Americans cross the border to buy them. Almost any medicine can be bought without a prescription.
In one of my loops around the downtown I walked through about three blocks of prostitutes. They were advertising, and in some cases even displaying, their wares, on the sidewalks in front of hotel doors. This was a new experience for me as well. I was surprised there were that many out at two in the afternoon. I can’t imagine what it looks like at eleven o’clock at night.
ATM machines are very difficult to find and you will typically have to wait in line to use one. I found a spot where there was a wall of about a dozen of them. Roughly half of them were out of order. Even then there was a five minute wait in line to use one. The first time through, not understanding what I was doing, I took out the wrong amount. I had to figure out what I had done and get back in line. Traveling to Europe the advice is to not exchange cash in America but to just hit ATM machines in your destination. Ironic, I always ignore this advice traveling to Italy, decided to follow it in Mexico and that was a mistake. There were cash exchange places all along the border.
I bought a Molcajete. I picked out the biggest one I could lug the two miles back to the border. I am *pretty sure* this is a real one and not a cast concrete copy. I would be positive, but there is one line, on one leg, that looks a little bit suspicious. Maybe it is a seam in the mould, meaning a cast concrete fake. I hope it is just a mistake in the grinding of the original stone. I will season it and report back. If it is the real thing it will it will bond with the seasoning and last for years. If it is fake, the concrete isn’t hard enough to hold up to the grinding with the pestle. There will be grit in the salsa. I guess I can always plant a cactus in it.
It was fun, after buying the Molcajete, the shop owner asked me if I wanted to try a shot of tequila. I didn’t even answer, I raised one eyebrow with an, “are you joking” look, crossing any language barrier. He poured me what he called a soft tequila. All I know was it was super smooth and nice. The smoothest tequila I have ever had. I really wanted to buy a bottle from him. I have just the friend who would love me for life for a gift like that. But the weight and the fact it was glass just seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.
Walking around I was getting thirsty. Originally I had been thinking about having a beer, when it came to me. “OMG, I am in MEXICO, I should have a margarita!” I whipped out my phone, found a margarita place with a cool name, walked there and ordered. Between the first and second margarita I posted this amazing adventure to Facebook. An hour later when I checked back in I had a bunch of “ooooh, I would avoid the margaritas” messages. It seems I had forgotten the properties of what make up ice. Reading these messages, in my mind, I quickly created a venn diagram. In one circle, the ingredient list for ice. In the other, the top item on a list of what you should never drink in Mexico. Writing this I am on Montezuma watch. Over 24 hours, not yet 48.
See you on the other side?
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