Into Mexico - Tijuana

After nearly 2 months of heading west we finally started to head in the general direction of our goal, Tierra del Fuego, on Saturday. I had a strong urge not to leave the USA which was probably some sort of subconscious trepidation at what lay ahead. After all, we'd been travelling on easy street up until now; everyone spoke English, communications were good and there were few possibilities of being stung, bitten or generally freaked out by creepy crawlies. By heading across the border all that was about to change. From San Diego there is a trolley (cue pedantic colleague's comment to point out that it's a streetcar, tram or a metro) to San Ysidro from where one walks across the border into Tijuana. This was our second border crossing of many, the first being at Newarke 7 weeks ago when we explained to the rather stern faced chappie what we were about to undertake and I suggested to Kerry that this one would be a doddle. That assertion was based on the fact that as I understood it Mexico will let any gringo in so that they can get their hands on your dollars, it's the other way around where you can expect the third degree from US customs officials or to make the crossing illegally under cover of darkness whilst being hunted by gun-toting border patrol and Alsatians intent on relieving you of a buttock. Sure enough we waltzed through along with a multitude of Americans heading for a night of cheap drinking, the only mild hiccup being when I was invited to push a button in front of a guard which, on turning red, preceded a question about the contents of my pack. Something didn't feel quite right to Kerry and thankfully she pressed the guard on stamping our passports which resulted on our being directed to customs proper, completing forms and paying $22.50 each for a visa. Had we not done that we would probably have encountered all sorts of bother later on. Once in Tijuana we were met with a barrage of offers for taxis and everything took on a whole different complexion. The streets were dusty and the pavements littered and cracked, the shops were different, faces were darker and, inexplicably, it felt hotter than it did on the American side. And of course, everything was now in Spanish. We found an hotel after a short walk and gleefully accepted the rate of just £18 per night. Once in the room I just flopped on the bed to digest the last couple of hours and the accompanying culture shock. After a rest we went out to get a feel for the place, walking down the avenida de la revolucion which is the main drag and the focal point for bars, restaurants and souvenirs. You have to retain your sense of humour in countries such as Mexico because your skin colour means you are constantly asked to look at goods on stalls, eat in restaurants, if you want a taxi. It's not always easy to do that of course but I'm determined to make a better fist of it than the last time I was in Mexico when I was an angry young whippersnapper of just 28. I was a bit concerned about the food in Mexico if I'm honest. As I recall I found it a disappointment last time around, plus, of the 55 nights I spent here back in 1999, 48 of them were spent clenching in an effort to stop myself turning inside out. It is fair to say I picked a bug up here which while not exactly ruining things, certainly made for a less than completely satisfactory experience. Also, over the ensuing years whenever I've had a Mexican meal in the UK I've always questioned why when they leave me feeling bloated and a little nauseous. So with more than a little anxiety we sat down to eat on Saturday night but as it turned out it was absolutely delicious. I had a tamiquena which, like most Mexican dishes, consisted of meat, tortillas, rice, beans, peppers and chilies. It was also incredibly cheap, 2 meals with drinks for less than £11. Our money is going to go a long way here which is just as well after the US. As it turned out our waiter spoke reasonable English but it has quickly become apparent in our other dealings how little of the language we know. I can ask for a room and a few other basics, as can Kerry, but we are absolutely floundering and can only sit looking vacant if asked anything in return. It is a pitiful state of affairs and we are trying desperately to pick as much up as we can as quickly as possible but it's not easy. With the plan being to acquaint ourselves with Mexico in Tijuana and then head down the Baja as soon as possible we decided to do a recce at the bus station on Sunday. This is easier said than done though because it's 5km out of town meaning we either had to try and work out the local buses or go against our grain and get a taxi. We asked a taxi driver how much and once he'd chanced his arm with a moronic opening gambit of $25 we sent him on his way with palpable disgust and proceeded to flag down every bus until one confirmed it was headed for the "centro caminera". Once on-board and having parted with our 90p for both our tickets (up yours taxi driver) we then had the problem of knowing when to get off. Our orientation wasn't helped by the bus performing a few pirouette type loops but we eventually reached our goal some 20 minutes later. The buses out here are amazing. They wouldn't be considered roadworthy back home and make an awful racket as they dart through traffic. The seats aren't going to win any prizes for comfort either and when you put the pot-holed roads into the mix you have something akin to a fairground ride. Whilst hotels and food may be cheap in Mexico it seems that long distance travel is not. Our next port of call, Santa Rosalia in Baja California Sur, is going to cost M$1300 or about $100 US. Back in town we had another wander, now feeling more confident and much less fazed by our new surroundings. We brushed off the attentions of the stall holders and restauranteurs with a jovial "no necessito" (I don't need it) or a 'no gracias'. It was fun and brought back a lot of happy memories of Mexico for me. Only difference being that last time I had a 2, 3 and 14 year old with me so the challenges were much greater then. Looking back I have no idea how we did that. 2 months in central America with the children, 2 of whom were tiny tots.  Once we'd had another shufty around the town, nipping back to the hotel twice to deal with an early bout of Montezuma's (sic) revenge for Kerry, we went to the hilarious museum of wax where, if the models bore any resemblance to the real thing, their random placement was also a hoot. Ayatollah Khomeini and JFK were together, Moses and pope John Paul 11. Princess Diana  (looking a little like a constipated Faith Brown) next to Julia Roberts. A random and inexplicable wolf man. We did learn one interesting fact in there though. Tijuana is named after an old lady called aunt Jane (Tia Juana) who would feed travellers as they passed her house here. Coming out of the museum Kerry took a photo of me and as she did a little girl of about 5 was tugging at her skirt trying to get her attention to buy a chicla (chewing gum). She was the sweetest little thing you ever saw and when I asked her how much for her chicla her reply, in the most pitiful and heart rending voice was "un peso". Un peso. 5p. After another delicious meal that evening, albeit with it seeing me probably already at my limit of tortillas and refried beans for now, we went to the town square to watch some sort of talent show, the highlight of which was a young lad dancing like Michael Jackson. He was really good but it seemed somehow out of place in the filthy and rubbish strewn surroundings. Monday was another travel day with our bus leaving at 1600 to head south. We nipped out in the morning and I bought some shoes to replace my soon-to-bite-the-dust Reefs and then we made for the bus station, fully confident after yesterday's recce.  Once there I found chewing gum affixed to my jacket, rucksack, trousers and hand courtesy of our bus seat. That was aggravating enough but I then  contrived to step in a humungous pigeon crap and spread that all over the cafe floor. It was not turning out to be my day but I consoled myself I hadn't had my face tattooed like the burly guy sitting opposite us in the waiting area. He had some writing across his forehead, mostly illegible but the first word was quite plainly "fuck". Did he know this or did his tattooist play some sort of dreadful trick on him? We had some lunch before boarding the bus and were going to round it off with a particularly delicious looking custard filled cream horn until I noticed a fly trapped in the cake display case. How long it had been there, how many eggs it had laid on those cakes and how sick we would be if we ate them did not bear thinking too deeply about! The bus was inevitably late departing though was much more comfortable than those we experienced north of the border. As we left the sprawling shanties of greater Tijuana and travelled down the pacific coast we saw beautiful beaches and rolling surf. Soon the sun set and we had the 10 hours of darkness to endure as our bus careered through the cactus strewn Baja desert. Waking at 0530 to a beautiful Baja sunrise was a treat to behold though I shuddered to think what horrors crawled, shuffled and slithered outside. We arrived at Santa Rosalia at about 0615. A strange place, a former mining town by the looks of things but our hotel has a pool and that is all we're concerned with right now.  We'll probably rest up for a couple of days here in our rather grand room before heading down the coast a bit further.