On Sunday, I headed to Mexico for lunch.
Actually, if you want to see a Californians’ face almost crack an expression, then tell one that you are planning to go to Mexico! The receptionist, the concierge, the barber at the hotel all almost registered shock... I swear I saw their eyebrows give the slightest soupcon of a twitch. But while their Stepford death mask of platitude held firm, their tone of disapproval betrayed them all…! Tijuana is clearly beyond the pale.
I decided despite the warnings that I would go. Am I ever likely to be 15 minutes away from a new country and pass up the chance to go?!
The border crossing between San Diego and Tijuana is the most crossed border point in the whole world. Going from San Diego to Mexico was not difficult though. After driving to the border I parked up and headed towards the ‘foot passenger’ border. I walked along a pavement from the car park, through a metal turnstile and found myself at a Mexican taxi rank! There wasn’t even anyone to look at my passport.
To add to the Stepfordesque feel of Southern California, everyone to whom I mentioned going to Mexico to, said the same thing: “It’s another world down there…” And I found it to be so… a real world, where people look pissed off and grumpy at having to work a Sunday, but were also capable of demonstrating actual warmth, interest and cheerfulness.
After walking up one side of the Avenida Revolucion, avoiding touts from the profuse number of leather goods shops, I walked down the other side of the Avenida Revolucion avoiding touts for the profusion of strip joints (that were operating at lunchtime on a Sunday in Catholic Mexico). I ended up playing pool in a tequila bar, washing down a taco lunch with a couple of bottles of Corona. All very laid back, a bit seedy, but oddly more vital and alive than semi-comatose Southern Cal.
The walk back into the US was just as easy as going to Mexico, but the roads were horrendously busy. A three hour wait to cross into the States, compared to a 10 minute wait to drive South into Mexico.
Actually, if you want to see a Californians’ face almost crack an expression, then tell one that you are planning to go to Mexico! The receptionist, the concierge, the barber at the hotel all almost registered shock... I swear I saw their eyebrows give the slightest soupcon of a twitch. But while their Stepford death mask of platitude held firm, their tone of disapproval betrayed them all…! Tijuana is clearly beyond the pale.
I decided despite the warnings that I would go. Am I ever likely to be 15 minutes away from a new country and pass up the chance to go?!
The border crossing between San Diego and Tijuana is the most crossed border point in the whole world. Going from San Diego to Mexico was not difficult though. After driving to the border I parked up and headed towards the ‘foot passenger’ border. I walked along a pavement from the car park, through a metal turnstile and found myself at a Mexican taxi rank! There wasn’t even anyone to look at my passport.
To add to the Stepfordesque feel of Southern California, everyone to whom I mentioned going to Mexico to, said the same thing: “It’s another world down there…” And I found it to be so… a real world, where people look pissed off and grumpy at having to work a Sunday, but were also capable of demonstrating actual warmth, interest and cheerfulness.
After walking up one side of the Avenida Revolucion, avoiding touts from the profuse number of leather goods shops, I walked down the other side of the Avenida Revolucion avoiding touts for the profusion of strip joints (that were operating at lunchtime on a Sunday in Catholic Mexico). I ended up playing pool in a tequila bar, washing down a taco lunch with a couple of bottles of Corona. All very laid back, a bit seedy, but oddly more vital and alive than semi-comatose Southern Cal.
The walk back into the US was just as easy as going to Mexico, but the roads were horrendously busy. A three hour wait to cross into the States, compared to a 10 minute wait to drive South into Mexico.
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