What I found most fascinating about my trip to Tijuana, Mexico three weeks ago to attend the NORCECA Volleyball Confederation conference, was the facility with which I crossed the border from San Diego by bus which contrasted sharply with the return journey four days later.
Following a reunion with many of my Caribbean colleagues in Miami International Airport, a six-hour wait and a five-hour flight from Miami to San Diego, we were all concerned about the intended one hour bus ride across the border to Tijuana. However, the delay of almost an hour in biting cold in the parking lot of San Diego Airport was more annoying as we waited for another delegate who was supposed to arrive “every since”.
When we finally departed and headed for the border, we waited with uncertainty when the bus was stopped and an armed officer approached the vehicle. A cursory spotting of a torchlight under a few seats, a dismissive wave and we headed off for Grand Tijuana Hotel.
The return trip was a complete contrast as we had decided to leave the hotel early in the morning to cross the border and spend the day in San Diego as our flight was not until 10:30 p.m. Expecting a similar passage which we enjoyed on arrival we looked out of our air-conditioned bus with sympathy at the hundreds of Mexicans who lined the area seeking clearance to cross into San Diego to work.
That sympathy turned to empathy when the driver told us that we had to get off with our luggage and join the line. Shocked, we tried to join an express line to be told that United States visas were not adequate . . . we needed a green card to join that line.
Ninety minutes later we finally cleared Immigration with a very pretty female telling me, “I have always wanted to visit your country.” At that stage I could only force something akin to a smile to do some service to our tourism marketing.
However, we then encountered another problem on exiting the building when we realized that we could not find the bus. That annoyed the females among us as they had targeted at least six hours to raid the stores in San Diego.
Mercifully, the bus turned up an hour later with the driver indicating that he fell asleep waiting to clear the border checks.
In between the arrival and departure, I was once again shocked by the cold temperatures of Mexico which contrast with the old westerns of dessert, sun and dust. The juxtaposition of humble Baja, California, next to the opulence of San Diego was also seen in the housing stock in Tijuana.
Thousands of shanty houses were precariously perched on sloping landscapes which were also interspersed with houses which suggest better financial status. The deep gorges cut by obviously torrential rains caused concern for the stability of those houses clinging to such terrain.
This trip just like the ones to Mexico City, Monterrey and Guadalajara, reinforced my view of the mixed financial status of the Mexicans as well as their love for spicy foods. I made the mistake of asking the cook to put everything in my omelet for breakfast and I needed a forklift to move the food and a fire extinguisher to cool my mouth and other areas.
However, with the hotel following the adage of breakfast being the most important meal, I soon learnt that I should eat and drink heavily for breakfast as lunch and dinner paled in comparison to what was on offer during the morning. One of those offerings was a green concoction which, once you held your breath, was very tasty and filling.
