Day Tripping to Tijuana for Tequila Taste-Testing (I'm Tongue-Tied)...

When I would speak of travelling her native country, my mother always used to say to me, “Go to San Diego, but DON’T go to Tijuana”. Ignoring all parental advice, once in San Diego, I saw no other option than to cross this notorious border despite the U.S Department of State’s travel alert and mother dearest.


Border towns in general have bad reputations for people smuggling, and kidnappings, but Tijuana is ranked highly amongst the worst. However, on this day the colour and vibrancy of Mexico are calling to me.

I’ve met Breno, a Brazilian guy, at the USA Hostel, and he accompanies me on this day trip. We take a short fifteen minute tram ride from downtown San Diego, to the last stop – Tijuana Border Crossing.

We walk, with many others, across the border and into Mexico. This is more than easy to do, and there are no check points whatsoever. The walk feels exciting, like some great, big adventure with the prospect of facing danger - we’ve been warned of the violence and troubles of Tijuana, shoot-outs and gangs. I’m just coming for the Tequila and quesadillas man! And that’s exactly what we do.

We see the long curving line of the border, the fence that protects against illegal immigrants jumping across to the great and mighty United States of America. Breno and I attempt to take photos from the top of the ramp; a massive Mexican flag sails in the midst of the crowded sprawl of the city. Special police units yell at us from below, “No photos”! I guess they really take their border protection seriously. I don’t know what they thought our pictures would reveal – a hole in the wall?

We catch a five dollar taxi into town (although you can walk) and spend the day browsing markets, inquiring about and tasting local street vendor fare, and wandering the streets ambling in and out of different churches, shops and districts.

Pretty “school girls” with smudged lipstick sell themselves on the streets of the red light district. There are so many, it makes my heart hurt. I know I’m not seeing the worse, and I feel so innocent and naive. We look, but we try not to stare.

The pavement is often cracked and buildings are in ill-repair, but for the moment I am glad not to be in America. It’s a different taste of reality. Breno and I go in search of lunch – what shall we have? Mexican of course! A horse is a horse!

We end up in the tourist headquarters – the Avenida Revolucion, deciding to play it safe. We have fajitas and burritos and wash them down with Mexican beers, while musicians amble over and offer to play a tune. I happily oblige to pay a few dollars, and the first song is festive as one of the old men plays his accordion and sings, and the other fellow strings along. The second song he offers to play is “La Cucaracha”. It must be popular with most tourists, but he doesn’t really seem to know the lyrics or the tune.

Later, we wander through markets and various streets, getting lost and fighting over directions. For a world traveller, I still am often confused! In the cool of afternoon we seek out a dark and grimy bar for Gringo’s, and start our tequila taste-testing.

The tequila really is better in Mexico. Perhaps it is because of the old lady behind the bar who doesn’t speak a word of English, but selects the finest samples for us, offering me cigarettes while sitting back in her chair behind the bar and watching soap operas. A young guy who works on the door begins conversations with Breno and I. Breno speaks enough Spanish (Portuguese being his mother-tongue) to get by, and translates for me. The boy is telling him about how the people-smuggling works in Mexico. Apparently, it costs over 2000 U.S Dollars to get across the border, with the aid of “professionals”, and you only have to pay if it is successful (well, that’s nice isn’t it!). He tells us about various ways this is done, and how many people save for a long time to afford the fee and when they get to the U.S.A they are so poor they become homeless. For others, there are opportunities to be had, work the Americans do not want to do.

I ask the boy a question, and he begins to answer me. The old lady jumps out of her chair and starts yelling at him fiercely. Breno interjects to defend the boy, and I am lost in translation. Breno tells me the lady thinks that I am with him, and that the boy is trying to flirt with me in front of my “boyfriend”. We attempt to explain to her that it is okay, but she sends the boy away, and settles back into her television programs. We drink some more tequila – the Mexican way: First you pour salt over a thick wedge of lime, then you suck from the lime and sip a small part of the tequila, and then you taste the lime again. It is a slower process, and you can savour and enjoy the quality of the gold stuff. My chosen favourite is “Don Julio” and before we leave Tijuana I purchase a bottle from the supermarket.

We catch a taxi back to the border. Our driver tells us that he used to live in America, but he returned to Tijuana, because life is better here now, and he can make more money. Apparently, this is typical of the times – just as the Polish left England for home after the GFC!

Getting back into the U.S is not as easy as leaving (who would have thought?). There are passport checks, baggage scans and a much longer queue to get in. For me, a day in Tijuana is worth the tram fare. I’m sorry Mother Dearest.

Strolling Santa Monica and Venice Beach (Los Angeles)

Think over 300 days of sunshine a year, boulevards lined with palm trees and busty blonde women driving sleek convertibles with tiny dogs sitting in the passenger side wearing sunglasses, and ‘where’ comes to mind? The ‘City of Angels’ – I’m in Los Angeles, of course!

Getting off the plane I knew I had arrived. From the moment I saw that lady and her doggy in the car, and again when I saw a flock of paparazzi chasing a waifish woman into a parking lot, and finally when a limousine turned the corner with personalised plates revealing “Mr Lush”. Everybody is somebody in L.A, and they’re not too proud to admit it.

An urban concrete jungle, L.A in reality is one giant playground offering spectacles and events for any taste with Disneyland and Hollywood (same-same?), Rodeo Drive, the Sunset Strip, Beverly Hills and Universal Studios to name a few. Combine this with epic rock bands, grungy whiskey bars, and delicious Mexican food, L.A presents itself as a montage of colour and grime, cultures and sub cultures, and the archetypal rat race. Where do I sign up?

Luckily, I checked off most the tourist hotspots on my list when I was here last. I take a shuttle bus to Santa Monica and opt to go for the beach atmosphere and great shopping. I’m a block away from the glitzy shopping district of the ‘Third Street Promenade’. After a deep, comatose sleep to knock back my jet-lag, I wake up to another beautiful Los Angeles day – not even a spot of smog in sight! I walk a block (I love how American’s use “blocks”) to Ocean Avenue and walk towards the famous Santa Monica Pier, which has just celebrated its centennial.

I cross the bridge that leads straight down to the pier. To the right, a large blue and yellow striped tent has been put up for the ‘Cirque du Soleil’, and along the platform I see circus performers twirling purple and orange parasols and oversized vanity fans as they hand out brochures to onlookers. Santa Monica’s leisure pier is equipped with an amusement park called ‘Pacific Park’, a carousel, a trapeze school (why not?), an aquarium, arcade, shops, pubs and restaurants. I see caricature artists at their stalls, food vendors selling fresh fruit cups and churros (a Spanish doughnut), and one man engages a group of tourists with his colourful Macaw parrots, blue and green. Relaxed anglers try to get a bite.

A stroll along Santa Monica Beach transports me onto the set of ‘Baywatch’. I can almost see Mitch and CC running past me, waving. Towards Venice Beach the wide path is shared with people rollerblading, cycling and skate-boarding. On the suspiciously broad stretches of sand there are volleyball nets and gymnasium equipment, while surfers carry their boards out to catch a wave. I stop for a fresh juice at one of the beach cafes and people-watch for a while, an entertaining way to soak up the L.A lifestyle, as the American people show off their outgoing personalities.

In Venice Beach I stumble right into the commotion of the markets. Hippies of all ages, sizes and kinds are selling their wares. Again, the people-watching is extraordinary and I get caught up in a lengthy conversation, about Lemmy from ‘Motorhead’ (due bragging rights if you have spotted him around) with a local character. To my amusement, I see Botox clinics squeezed in next to ‘Medical Marijuana Evaluation’ centres. The people of L.A know how to get what they need...just a day on the coast!

Venice Beach is really funky. It has a street culture touch emphasised by graffiti art, surf shops and numerous tattoo and piercing spots. Not to mention the infamous basketball courts (where many-a NBA star has been scouted), prison-looking tennis courts and ‘Muscle Beach' (an outdoors body-building complex). Venice Beach pushes the concept of a “public space” to the max. A whole day can be spent simply exploring this stretch.

I make a quiet exit from the scene to find a little bohemian street I heard about. Literally, referred to as “the Street”, Abbot Kinney Boulevard is named after Venice’s founder, a tobacco giant who dug miles of canals just to drain the marshes for residential areas and built Venice from ground up. This creative district has been the stamping ground for artsy types since the Beat Generation made its explosion in the 50’s and 60’s, and on “the Street” I’m reminded why: modest art galleries and antique stores neighbour each other and boutiques theme designer-meets-vintage. I find a charming cafe, fittingly called ‘Abbot’s Habit’, which has great coffee and a selection of mouth-watering sandwiches and bagels. But more interestingly perhaps are the people the coffee shop attracts – low-key, informal, off beat. In fact, a replica of what Venice represents.

Choose a day, a location and an attraction and you can lose yourself for hours in Los Angeles, and when you wake you’re in the thick of a giant, colourful playground, watching as the merry-goes-round in “La La Land”.