Plenty of people have gone to Tijuana. It's almost not worth talking about, but if you've
never been there, here's a little info from our day in the land of painted mules and dirt cheap
trinkets.
Photos from top left to bottom right:
- Going into Mexico. It's easy: Just walk through the turnstiles. Nobody checked us for anything. That cache of weed
masquerading as two healthy double-D's? Smuggled and sold for less than what I would get in the U.S. Hey, I never said I majored in economics.
- It's trinket heaven. I love Mexican art and its use of vibrant
colors and if I weren't a minimalist in my personal living space, I'd probably buy a lot of this stuff, most of it eye-catching items for next-to-nothing.
But there are some serious missteps too...a Raiders logo in stained glass? There's something very wrong about mixing
stained glass with helmets and team mascots.
- That guy hollering behind me is total TJ. Street vendors and restaurant employees are in your face just about every
step of the way, some more physically intrusive than others. If you're highly sensitive, you're not going to like this
human pollution one bit. I was prepared for it, but Elena had some adjusting to do and was about as mad as I've ever seen
her after the nth shark approached her. I think by the time we left, she was frazzled and very ready to get the hell out of there. I know I was maxed out.
- In the macho land of Mexico, this female motorcycle cop blew me away. Given how cute she was, I could only imagine
that she is endlessly harrassed by her male co-workers.
- The mules get zebra stripes painted on them and are available for photo opportunities; they're parked every couple
of blocks. Each mule has its name on a headband so if you have a desire to take a picture with every single one of them,
you can tell who's who. My personal favorite was "Bimbo." The one you see here is lovely "Monica."
- I think Tijuana's Finest is lining up because they're going to have their pictures taken for a drug cartel yearbook
that indicates which ones accept bribes and which ones want to be gunned down because they're trying to uphold the law
and make it a better place to live.
- Here's how you haggle with vendors: Just tell them you're looking around and walk away. Elena was looking at a
piece of stained glass when a guy comes up to us and says, "Normally this is $60 but it's so quiet today I'll give it to
you for $40." We tell him ok and that we'll be looking around. He continues to follow us and says, "If you really like
it I think my boss will let me sell it for $30." We tell him that's great and we'll keep that in mind, as we stroll
around with indifference. Worrying that we'll leave the shop he says, "$28?" I tell him "$25 and I think she'll take
it." He says, "$26" and I say ok. If you don't get the offer you want, don't worry. There are twenty more shops selling
the exact same thing and you can try the aloof routine somewhere else.
- This is a shot from the overpass as we were returning to our car. In the afternoons the flow into Tijuana is very
heavy. The concrete k-rails used to be in zig-zag formation because people fleeing the U.S. in cars would often try to
blow straight through into Mexico. I don't know why it's not that way anymore since people continue to try to crash the
border. (BTW, I tried to take a picture of the border crossing at Tecate, but the guard started screaming at me not to.
I think if a terrorist is serious enough, he can discretely snap a shot from farther off. Was it my pony tail and
spaghetti-strap tank top that made me look like Shiite cleric al-Sadr's bomb-toting flunky?)
A few final notes:
• There aren't gypsies who come up to you in gangs and try to pickpocket you while confusing you to death. The poor
kids who come up to you begging usually give up pretty quickly. Nevertheless, you should be astute because there's
always a wiseguy out there.
• Most of the vendors speak English and take U.S. dollars. No need to learn Spanish or get pesos.
• Park on the east side of the freeway. There's a $4 lot as opposed to the $7 lot on the west side of the freeway
(which is a farther walk anyways).
• Leaving was suprisingly easy considering the last post-9/11 info I heard was that the pedestrian line could
be up to a three hour wait. The officer I handed my license to looked at me, looked at my license, looked at me, looked
at my license, and finally said something to me in Mandarin. I just giggled. Then when Elena handed him her passport he
greeted her in Italian and said the weather was hot. Maybe he knows five lines from every single language.
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