Last Thursday I spent the day in Tijuana with a friend who is also named Joel. He speaks fluent Spanish and has traveled to every country in Latin and South America at least once, though Ecuador is easily his favorite. We met before noon at the Old Town trolley station which has a large, free parking lot next to it, and took the bright red tram the thirty or so miles south to the Mexican border. For the $1.75 price of a ticket, it’s a cheap way to get around without worrying about parking or buying Mexican auto insurance.

The day was sunny and exceptionally clear, with about 40 miles of visibility and temperatures in the low 70’s. Just in case it got cold after sunset, I tied a sweatshirt around my waist, and had a warm scarf and gloves tucked away in the pockets of the utility jacket that I liked to wear when traveling. They would come in handy later.

Tijuana is basically a third world city, and always jarring to see the contrasts and rough edges of its teaming streets, when compared with the more pristine and genteel vistas of San Diego. There was an interesting article recently in the Los Angeles Times that had some good insights about Tijuana and its unique, strategic place as a border megalopolis.

Our first destination was an outdoor street fair in the downtown commercial district. We quickly made our way across the pedestrian ramps leading to the border, through the clanking turnstiles and past the boundary marker that told us we were in Mexico. There were no customs inspections or other formalities. Apparently Mexico doesn’t have a problem with goods being smuggled into it’s borders. The weekday streets were crowded with shoppers, diesel trucks and buses, vendors moving taco and fresh fruit stands to different locations, Indian women and their children begging for loose change, and an array of exotic sensory distractions, smells of chickens being barbecued, colors of pinatas hanging in doorways.

No one knows for certain just how many people make their home in Tijuana. San Diego is the 7th largest city in the U.S. I think Tijuana is larger, with estimates ranging between 1-2 million. It is a sprawling city with new neighborhoods or "colonias" popping up all the time, literally. In fact, tides of people will move into unoccupied parts of town as squatters, and then demand water and sewer services. There doesn’t seem to be much in the way of building codes, or city planning as we are used to the term. Buildings are often erected as monuments to a political regime. Streets will have gaping holes in the pavement, vacant lots are filled with litter. Yet it is also vibrant, filled with energy, hopes, dreams, surprises. I always feel safe in Tijuana, though I’d rather be a pedestrian than coping with the traffic and potholes.

Soon we had reached the downtown business district, walked past the tourist traps along Avenida Revolution, and found the streets that were blocked to automobiles along Avenida Constitution. Piles of colorful woven blankets were on tables in the middle of the streets, along with children’s toys, blue jeans, towels and housewares. The vendor’s tables were shaded by vinyl sheeting that hung from iron scaffolds, and also supported lighting fixtures. Past the dry goods were the food concessions. My friend discussed the menu with a woman who was running one of the stands. He was looking for a particular hot cornmeal, chocolate and cinnamon drink called huarache that is served at this time of the year. The woman at this stand didn’t have it, but she asked around among the other stands, and soon two steaming Styrofoam cups filled with a brown paste were on the counter in front of us. It tasted quite good, and we sipped it while our meal was cooked on the grill in front of us. We had ordered a dish called champurado. First dough was kneaded and rolled between two sheets of plastic, then carefully peeled free and slid into some bubbling oil. Then the fried batter was drained, dried, and covered with beans and tomato paste, shredded cheese, and strips of cooked meat. A flat cactus was cooked on the grill, flipped over, sliced, and served as garnish to the open-faced sandwich, along with sour cream and a very spicy salsa. My guess was that this dish somehow didn’t make it on the Pritikin or Weight-Watchers diet. It was delicious, and the cactus tasted a little like asparagus. To my delight, the hostess served up an extra portion of it. Cost of lunch was $3 for each of us, and we were totally stuffed.

After lunch we walked through the remainder of the street fair, and I looked into a nearby Catholic church that I had passed another time when a wedding was in progress. Outside the church were stands selling candles, religious medals, statues of the saints, Christmas ornaments, and remedies for baldness and more serious diseases. From the boxes I could see that the ingredients included rattlesnake venom, shark cartilage, herbs, and other exotica. On a nearby street we found a waiting red station wagon which served as a taxi or jitney that plied a fixed route for three pesos, or 30 cents. I believe these cabs are called "pesadores". Through an open tailgate we climbed into the rear facing back seat and settled in for about a 3-mile ride to a part of town near the Tijuana golf course. Christmas music was playing on the radio. Traffic was very heavy, but soon we had reached our destination and exited. Our goal was to explore an upscale neighborhood between the golf course and Agua Caliente Racetrack in the hills southwest of the downtown area. By then it was about mid-afternoon. We climbed a hill on a street lined with gated homes, past the consulate of the Peoples Republic of China. Speed bumps in the roadway could be seen instead of potholes. Everything had a well cared for look. The homes were on modest lots. Some had backyard pools and tennis courts, protected by high walls, locked gates, and security cameras. Some of the homes had plaques outside announcing who they were built for. Architectural styles were varied. Some had very high ceilings, and were multi-storied, others were more compact. Some of the details and trim were beautiful, hand-finished woodwork and tile around the entrances, fountains in courtyards, even the attention to finishing touches and recessed lighting by garage doors. The views were also lovely. One could see the mountains that surround Tijuana, the golf course, the area around the border, and in the distance some twenty miles to the north, downtown San Diego, and the bridge going across the bay to Coronado. At one point a private security guard sitting by the curb with a dog next to him told us in Spanish that there was no outlet on the street to our left, but he seemed to be friendly, and pointed in the direction that would take us back to the main road. Perhaps the home he was guarding belonged to a prominent public official. Since a Japanese businessman was kidnapped a few months earlier, and released after his company paid a large ransom for his safe return, people here may be even more security conscious.

We walked for perhaps another hour, this time going down the hill. As we descended from Olympus, the homes became more modest, rubble filled open lots, curbs disappeared, graffiti could be seen on walls. Our next stop was an area called El Cinco y Diez, 5 & 10 in English. This turned out to be a highly congested commercial area, with stores surrounding a very busy intersection, and an elaborate pedestrian overhead walkway branching out and connecting both sides of the street. We did a little exploring, and I enjoyed a fresh fruit drink at a table in a cafe, realizing that I was parched and tired from all the walking.

Our strategy was to catch a jitney back to an area of town called the Rio District, near the Tijuana Cultural Center. We were told that these communal taxis were painted green and white, and got directions to the street corner where they would stop. On the way over there, walking past the late afternoon crowds, and people waiting for buses to take them to their colonias, I saw a bowling alley behind a large parking lot. On an impulse, I convinced my friend to join me. I hadn’t bowled in years, maybe decades, but thought it would be very quirky to go bowling in Mexico. There were 12 lanes, and we had our choice of all of them. Shoes cost the equivalent of 75 cents to rent, and each game cost $2.00. We bought cans of Tecate beer, found balls that weren’t too badly gouged and bowled away. My high game was my first, 105. We had a blast. Two TV sets tuned to different Mexican stations announced the day’s calamities -- hit and run accidents, collapsing building cranes, the latest news about the hostages in Lima, Peru, a labor dispute.

By the time we got outside, it was dark and surprisingly cold. Avoiding the sudden craters in the sidewalks, we crossed some railroad tracks and a large intersection, and patiently waited for our pesadoro to arrive. There was no room in the first two cars, but finally we got a ride squeezed into the back seat. About 3-4 miles later, we exited again into the cold night air, and walked a few blocks towards the cultural center. A sign outside the building announced the showing of a film, by yet another Joel, Joel and Ethan Cohn. The movie was the very quirky Hudsucker Proxy. This month’s exhibit at the cultural center was all about sharks. Usually the museum has interesting exhibits. When I was there last time, about three months ago, the exhibit was about European and medieval instruments of torture. Mexicans love a good scare.

We decided to have dinner at an elegant Italian restaurant called La Dolce Vita in the Zona Rio district. The large open dining room had frescos on the walls depicting the three muses, dancing amidst crumbling columns. The menu was in Italian. I could make out chicken, scampi and pasta dishes. I settled on a stuffed chicken breast that included creamed mushrooms, cheese and ham. It was served with creamed potatoes and vegetables, and I also ordered a side dish of pasta, and a margarita. My friend ordered quail served with eggplant and a small steak, along with a special dark Christmas beer. The food was too salty, but otherwise excellent. For appetizers we were served a complimentary foccaccio, a toasted slice of bread topped with cheese, olive oil, and fresh tomatoes. The margarita was absolutely yummy and I ordered another. With coffee and mineral water, the bill came to $14 for each of us. In San Diego, that would have barely covered the drinks. When dinner was over, the owner, a man named Carlo came over to chat with us. We learned that he was from Tuscany, had married a Mexican woman, and also operated a restaurant in San Diego called La Strada. He solicited comments and suggestions. I tried to be tactful when I mentioned the salt content. He seemed to agree, and said that he was bringing in a new chef from Italy who would do a much better job with the food preparation. He told us about his plans to put in a large video screen in one area, and play trendy disco music. We wished him luck.

The walk back to the border took about 20 minutes. There was hardly any line at all going through U.S. Custom and Immigration. We breezed through, walked the few feet to the trolley station, and soon were on our way back to San Diego, tired but pleased with what we had seen and done. Viva Mexico!

For another view of Tijuana, and beyond, see John & Linda Lipman's excellent perspective of a more traditional tourist visit.