Down In Mexico

An outsider may crinkle their brow in confusion as to why I crammed everything I wanted to do into one day. Even more so when they realise that I still had one full day left in San Diego.

From past experience I have learnt to try and get all the city-musts out of the way as soon as possible. Stating the bleedin’ obvious is probably what comes to mind for most of you reading this, but you will be surprised how easy it is to become lazy when travelling. After a travel day, I usually want to do the easiest thing or visit the nearest place to the hostel. Without thinking I waste my first couple of days dithering about and then my plans change and I either don’t have time or have to rush my last days in an effort to fit everything in.

For instance, I had one week in Kyoto, Japan. I thought that was ample time to see everything. I met up with a friend and visited a couple of temples nearby. I stretched that out over my first two or three days. Before I knew it, I was making preparations to leave so I ended up rushing about trying to see everything. I still had a good time but all my procrastinating and “finding my feet” bollocks meant that I didn’t even touch the outskirts of Gion, the famous Geisha district. Abundant with tradition and historic value, I missed out on a tea ceremony or taking a rare snap of a full-time Geisha in her native surroundings. Lonely Planet would weep at my omission.

Regrets are bypassed for me as I know that it is impossible to experience and see everything there is on offer in each country. Perhaps if I had a year in each, I might be able to ensconce myself within the societies and truly learn the culture and history but that’s not my journey this time.

After making loose plans to meet back up with Laura and John, I didn’t want to risk having to choose between seeing them and eating an epic burrito. My efforts were not wasted and I managed to make last-minute plans to visit Tijuana with my new Liverpudlian acquaintances.

Today seemed like Comic-Con’s prime day as Old Town was crawling with creatures from various planets. The bustle of the Comic-Con-goers was interrupted at certain points with an exasperated intercom message – “This is NOT a Comic-Con trolley. Repeat, this is NOT a Comic-Con trolley.” I had visions of someone pushing a shopping trolley full of masked heroes around San Diego. Trolley is not a word I would ever associate with public transport (it's a tram for those not in the know).

Fighting through the noise and crowds, I managed to pick out Laura in the masses and waited whilst John bought day tickets. It was great that the $5 unlimited bus passes also work on selected trolley services. It would cover our trip to and from the Mexican border.

Now more than ever, it became increasingly apparent that cash machines are like gold-dust in some parts of America. We never thought that San Diego would be one of them. John and Laura needed cash so we took a trolley to downtown and from there we would take the necessary tram to reach the border. As Laura and I stared out the windows to figure out when our stop would come, John made conversation with an American veteran. John later told me that veterans have some of the best stories to tell. He wasn’t wrong, this guy was teeming with tales littered with interesting titbits about his country.

Perhaps I was exaggerating slightly by comparing ATMs to gold-dust, but instead of saying “I need to go to a hole in the wall” (a common expression when there is a need to visit an ATM in England), I would say “I need to find a random shop that might have a stand-alone cash machine stashed somewhere.” But most of these were situated in pawn shops or other establishments that look equally dodgy.

It was slightly frustrating as a relatively simple act of withdrawing money becomes a treasure hunt. It didn’t help that we were all pretty hungry. Our fuses were short but became happily distracted with the pretty leaflet and freebie droppers. One particular girl hypnotised many tourists and locals alike with her swaying fishnet-clad hips. I still can’t remember what she was promoting but I remember exactly what she was wearing. Is that worrying?

As if we were under a spell, the three of us inadvertently followed the siren. We were soon brought back down to earth when two gleeful Americans shoved packets of Slim Jim jerky in our hands. This could solve our hunger problems temporarily at least.

Rounding the corner, a cash machine stood out like a bright beacon. We scurried across as the sooner we get the money the sooner we can make it across the border and stuff our faces. Slim Jim was not enough to satiate us completely.

Whilst John withdrew his money, Laura and I clocked the Slim Jim mothership. As well as holding a hoard of Slim Jim packets, there were carnival games that anyone could take part in. My competitive nature coupled with my desire to gain more free stuff meant that I practically stormed through the small group of bystanders.

Not surprisingly, we had to sign a disclaimer stating that we wouldn’t sue Slim Jim if we injure ourselves. Good ol’ America.

Our choices were an arm wrestling game, the classic high striker (hammer and bell) or a punch bag. The punch bag looked like the easiest one so we went for that. I had a lot of weight behind me at that point so I hoped I could use that to my advantage for once.

John and I limbered up like we were entering the Olympics. Laura simply took off her bag and went straight into it. I stood back and watched to gauge what techniques were needed to accomplish the perfect punch. There was a specific spot to hit and a certain way to push your weight forward to get the most points. It did seem like the fattest people were gaining the most points over the seemingly stronger-looking opponents. It’s better to be fat than fit at this point. Perfect!

John faired very well and Laura sourced some hidden anger and punched respectably. I wanted to win. I didn’t care what it was that I actually won, I just wanted victory.

My first punch slipped off the bag and my score was pathetic. I only had two chances left. I made the second shot count and my score rocketed but it still wasn’t enough to win a prize, ergo it wasn’t good enough. I thought back to what had riled me over the years and used that as a stimulant. It ruddy worked and I got a top score and won a belt. Random, but I didn’t care. The guy running the stand said I was one of the top punching girls of the day. Perhaps he was just trying to make me feel better, but I smothered my skepticism and smiled. Yes, I am the champion!

It would have been so easy to spend the afternoon playing games and winning tat but Tijuana awaited us. We caught the next trolley and walked across the border unquestioned. Our hassle free entry into Mexico had us laughing nervously. Surely it can’t be this easy? Pedestrians aren’t deemed as dangerous so it seems but if you have a car you have to have the patience of a saint as you’ll be waiting a while.

Sheesh!

Me and Laura have time to pose with a packet of Slim Jim overlooking queueing traffic

Even though this sounds like the oldest cliché ever created, it did feel like walking into another world. We left cloudy-grey San Diego for sunny Mexico. Tall modern buildings were replaced with grungy one-storey structures. Macy’s and Abercrombie and Fitch morphed into rows of tourists shops all selling the same crap. Each establishment was owned by a middle-aged man trying every trick in the book to get us to come in. They had no luck with us but we did enjoy the efforts many went to. It felt like they were all reading from the same book as every guy commented on how lucky John was to have two “senoritas”. John happily played along. Tijuana is very lively and busy if a little surreal.

Photo opportunity with a zebra-donkey?

Imaginative

Our stomachs growled in protest so we decided to look for somewhere to eat. Along the way we met an American guy called Brad. He was visiting with family but exploring Tijuana alone that day. Brad was searching for a market nearby and asked if we too were looking for the same market as he was a little lost. We got to talking and decided to hang out for a while.

All the restaurants looked the same so we struggled to differentiate between the places that are kosher or ones that would have us clinging to the toilet bowl for the next few days. Most of the places looked busy so we settled upon a place that had seating outside.

Other than tacos and enchiladas, I did not understand anything that was written on the menu. To begin with I was going to stick to the usual tacos, especially as they were cheap, but everything sounded so tasty.

Two lovely waitresses served us homemade chips, dips and took our orders. We awkwardly asked questions about the menu as we were all equally clueless.  I ordered quesadilla even though I still didn’t really know what that was. The picture looked nice though!

Education, politics, travel experiences and social differences were subjects of talk whilst we waited for our food. Brad shared stories about his time living in Turkey and I got to hear more about Laura and John’s adventures.

Our food arrived promptly and nobody hesitated in digging in. It was a feast.

It's not all for me!

Me, Laura and Brad with our lovely waitresses

Me, Laura, Brad and John moments before we tucked into our grub

Time slipped away as we realised that a good couple of hours had passed by. We bid farewell to the ladies and took to the streets in search of this elusive market.

It didn’t take us long to find what we were looking for. The market sure had a lot of character.

Those aren't sultanas, they're wasps. Yuck!

I'm not sure what the idea behind this was!

It was definitely popular with the locals. We bounced around and ricocheted off people like a ball-bearing firing through a pinball machine. I believe this is where we lost Brad. With no mobile phone to call, we shrugged and carried on walking around. Brad left our lives as seamlessly as he entered it.

In no direct correlation to what had just happened we entered a church. I’m not religious at all in that I have no strong beliefs either way. It was still interesting to watch others worship and pray. Some sat in silence, others clenched prayer beads and many knelt down in the aisle briefly as a sign of respect. Church etiquette is well above and beyond my knowledge so I was soon ready to go.

Somehow the day was coming to a close already. We walked back to cross the border. There was no avoiding one bar owner we met when we first entered. We made the fateful mistake of telling him that we’d come back and maybe have a drink. Of course he remembered us. One drink wasn’t going to do any harm and we couldn’t exactly argue over the pricing.

Mister bar owner fussed over us as we were pretty much his only customers at that point. Perhaps their avoidance tactics were better than ours - we have a lot to learn.

Sipping our dirt-cheap Coronas, we played a couple of games of pool. I sucked as always. As we started to play another game, a guy came over and asked if we fancied playing a game of doubles – Laura and John versus me and this guy. Why not? The woman he came in with was stood at the bar watching and later walked into one of the back rooms.

I had my game face on

This stranger was very odd looking. He looked a lot older than he probably was. His prematurely-aged skin creased together like a bulldog. With zero dress sense and tacky jewellery, this guy seemed harmless. Perhaps this was all himself or done purposely as he tried so hard to hustle us out of money. Now I can be a little too trusting but even I saw through his act. At first he played worse than me and then every now and again he’d pull out a pretty good shot. The game would end and he’d ask us to play for money – “Just for fun”. He’s barking up the wrong tree in asking a backpacker to cough up money for nothing!

A couple of games later we called it a day finished our beers and left. Laura and John laughed as we left but I didn’t get the joke at first. It turns out the guy was a pimp and the woman he came in with was taking care of business whilst he tried making a bit of extra cash himself. I was completely oblivious to the goings on. Typical.

It was a strange way to finish our time in Tijuana but equally as funny. It was the only bar we went to as we didn’t really have time to hang about. Crossing back into America proved a lengthier process than our breezy entrance. We firstly had to queue and then answer random questions about our travels to American officials.

Having gotten the trolley back to Old Town it was time to say goodbye to Laura and John. There was a possibility that we’d be in San Fran at the same time but it felt like this was going to be our last meet. It’d be nice to see them again in their hometown of Liverpool and I could show them the sights of York if they were ever in the area.

My bus wasn’t due for a while so I waited with them and waved goodbye as their bus pulled away. I walked across to where I thought my bus was. The correctly numbered bus was sat in the terminal with its lights off and a bulky driver was sat reading the newspaper. People were stood around curiously as to why the guy wasn’t boarding passengers. It was around five minutes until departure so I guess the guy thought he had time for a break.

This did not go down well with those waiting. I could hear faint murmurings of irritation. Now although there wasn’t a strict queue in place, it was pretty clear who was to board the bus first. This one guy strutted to the front, right outside the door of the bus. If this was England there would be hell to pay. I wasn’t exactly ready to pummel this guy or anything but I wasn’t best pleased. I detest queue jumpers and I am usually one of those people who either pipes up or pushes back.

It was interesting to see how this rolled out. Up to now, I’ve heard many an angry American and love it. They get so wound up and shout all sorts of expletives – “Asshole” and “douche bag” – are my favourites. Neither was uttered in this instance though. Instead, I could see a tall black guy shifting from side to side and I could see he wasn’t happy. The guy who pushed in turned to him and asked if there was a problem for which the guy replied, “Naaa, I aint trippin’.”

What!? I’ve seen many depictions of the plethora of racial stereotypes in America but I never actually thought that there were people who spoke like that. I thought it was a caricature! I just wanted to carry on listening to this guy speak!

This revelation was disrupted by the bulky driver exiting the bus. A mammoth of a guy slowly waddled across the street and replaced him. It took him a good few minutes to heave himself onto his seat and set everything up. By the time he sorted himself out and everyone boarded, the bus was around ten minutes late. Pointless! In the meantime, the guy who wasn’t trippin’ made sure that the two young Asian girls with suitcases bigger than their petite frame boarded the bus first. He bellowed – “Ladies first!” He shamed the stupid queue-jumping idiot as well as all the males. What a gentlemen. Normally it’s every man and woman for themselves when it comes to public transport but not today.

Back at the hostel I dumped my stuff and went straight to my laptop. I needed to check if I’d had an responses to my couchsurf requests for San Francisco. As there wasn’t a lot that I fancied doing in LA, I decided to stay in a hostel before embarking on my seven day tour to San Fran. I’ll be there just over a week so it was ambitious to think that one person would host me for that long. The average stay for most surfers is two nights. Ideally, I needed three hosts which is going to be incredibly difficult to pull off.

Couchsurfing originated in San Fran which I thought would work in my favour in that there are a shit-load of hosts there. What I didn’t anticipate was that my requests were amongst a gazillion others as every other backpacker is thinking the exact same thing as me. I needed to stand out. I had already sent out a handful of requests but it looked like I need to send out a heck of a lot more. It is surprisingly time-consuming going through people’s profiles and finding a good host, or perhaps I’m just picky!

My efforts failed at the first hurdle as my battery died. Shit! The hostel I was staying in is so rundown that there are no plug sockets in the room itself. There were two outlets in the bathroom but the front plastic shield hangs off the wall slightly. For fear of electrocuting myself, I avoided using it entirely. I didn’t have that long left to make arrangements so I diced with death and plugged in my laptop. The cable didn’t stretch to my bed which was on the opposite side of the room. Instead I sat on the toilet typing away. It did make for an unusual sight. I just hoped it was worth it and everything would find a way of working out in San Fran.