Day 303

Confession: The farthest I’ve ever been from home was Tijuana, Mexico.

I was in San Diego, on a Leaders Retreat for YoungLife (YL is “a Christian mission loving teens in their world encouraging them to know Jesus Christ”).

I roadtripped down in a packed van—convoy style—and was at a hostel with everyone when I decided I wanted to go to Mexico. Everyone else was going to the Zoo or amusement park, but I was so close to another country, I could taste it.

As I was at the front desk gently interrogating the receptionist, a large Mexican man overheard me and informed me it was my lucky day because he was a tour guide who was leaving shortly to Tijuana and I could follow along for free. As I was thinking how uncool it would be to get trafficked, a Dutch woman came down the stairs followed by Koreans, and other travellers, surrounding my suspected criminal. They were ready for Mexico and I decided fuck it so am I.

But when I asked my boss-man he said no way José (inappropriate pun?), unless I could get some people from our group to join me.

Bet.

I went directly to the youngest of our crew (people I genuinely enjoyed) and manipulated them into what I assume I said would be the adventure of a lifetime.

A quick trolley ride, then maneuvering through some guns, and we were in Mexico.

It was magic. In all seriousness, I will never forget leaving the border building and walking into another world. The heat changed immediately because of the tall hills, hiding the ocean on the other side. A massive Mexican flag stood on top, slowly rippling in the breeze I couldnt feel. 

We followed the tour group. He wanted to show us the real Tijuana. We walked for a while until we came to a courtyard surrounded by shops. Children ran past with piñatas, giggling.  An elderly man sang to himself, tucked away alone at a table cutting cacti. Our tour guide fed me dried mango, placing it in my mouth.

Shit was good.

But it was time to go our separate ways. As they headed for wine and a show, my posse and I had a curfew. We worked our way back to the border, exploring—aka looking for a toilet to use.

I came across a shop with a little boy. No one else. I knew the word baños and he knew where one was, so I followed his little steps to a white door where he confidently pointed to a pay-to-use restroom. Fair. I put money in. Nothing happened. He looked at me and shrugged. Before I could say anything else, the business man was gone. If he heard me, you couldn’t tell.

My buddies and I did eventually succeed in scoring a toilet, and finding our way back. But this is where the day gets dark.

Going through to Mexico is one thing.  Going from Mexico to the USA is another.

Going to Mexico, you walk into a building, press a button, and if it goes green you go to Mexico. If it goes red, your bag gets checked, and you go to Mexico.

Going to the USA…you get put in fences. You walk through gates like they use for cattle where you go one way and cant go back the other way. You’re all squished together; some in the heat, some in shade, and some close enough to the liquor store they have set up in the wall. Some lay on the ground sleeping or passed out. Some smoke. We saw a woman being too rough with her child, out of exhaustion or bitterness we’ll never know. We were there for a long time. And when we finally saw the end of the line, we were made to feel really uncomfortable by the US Border Guards. 

I saw many sides of Tijuana, and many things I haven’t written here today, and people often raise their eyebrows when I say I went there.

But, you know what? I loved it for exactly what it was.

Sound of the day: Braulio Lam – Friday Night https://youtu.be/wcJX23G7heA?si=GNrr4YFhZo7wq_iN