Tijuana Diaries 2018

I thought I would return to Tijuana with a head full of new information on the city from all the books I would read. But instead I returned knowing only more about myself, not the city. Perhaps that was the topic that would be most relevant to my journey back. That it was really about me all along, not the city. And that until I knew more about myself, I could not embrace new knowledge of the city. I needed my new eyes and ears and mind to be able to grasp it, and hold on to it, and live it and dream it.

I needed to form my own impression of the city, my own narrative before I could understand and learn from the narratives of others. Their perceptions are not insightful or alarming until I have a perception of my own. Until I have some context in which to understand the city. The images and smells and feelings color my own story. And I weave the stories of other’s through that.

I woke up today at 8:00am when my friend left for work, then I decided to go back to sleep. I woke again at 10:00am and ate my leftover pasta. Then I went back to bed and woke at 11:30. I cannot remember the last time I allowed myself to sleep in so much. 

This morning, it was as though I was sleeping-in three different times, three days in a row. It was glorious. It was mine. The bed was so comfortable, the room so dark and cool and quiet. And I am free. 

Yesterday at the San Diego airport I was overwhelmed with this sensation of freeness. It is a feel that only comes to me when I am alone, and when I am traveling.As I was walking through the airport to go to the rideshare pick up zone, I realized suddenly that I was free. I had not one with me to consider, no where to be urgently, nothing that I must do. If I wanted, I could have taken a seat by the cinnamon role stand and sat there for as long as I liked. I could have walked slowly past the tree that stood in the center of the sky bridge to see if they really were fig trees, as I suspected. I didn’t have anywhere urgent to be. That's how I felt again when I awoke this morning. The sun would be waiting for me when I woke up all the same. The lavender coffee would still be delicious. And, because I know it’s Mexico, the cafe would not be busy until night and lunch doesn’t even start until 1:00pm. I could have stayed n that bed all day if I wished. I had no one else to consider but myself and it was glorious.

I stepped out onto the street at a quarter past noon and the fierce sun greeted me with onyx shows and gold-plated neighborhoods. It is a sun I only know on this latitude.

I am so happy to be here. I am smiling without anyone looking at me. Smiling not out of kindness or human connection, but out of joy. That’s not all too common of me, I’ve realized.

 I asked my friend later why he lived in Tijuana. He recited a line from a church song he learned as a child, “Oh what peace we often forfeit, oh what needless pain we bare.”

When he lived in other cities, he had a fear-of-missing-out all the time. He felt like he needed to go out every night or else the world would continue on without him. But in Tijuana, because the partying happens every night consistently, he feels like he is not missing anything. He gives himself permission to get off and back on when he wants. The party will still be there for him. This city gives the illusion that every opportunity is available to you all the time. Time and age and experience and circumstance will never eliminate the choices you have. This is perhaps the fantasy. In everywhere else in the world, it is known that if you wait too long you will miss your chance. But here, the options will be handed to you, tonight, and overnight, but not in endless monotony or repetition, because the city reinvents itself constantly, so the choices are forever new….

- Except from my diary, January 12, 2018

Tijuana: the highs and lows

Tijuana is a place on contradictions. One of the most murderous cities in the world also happens to be one of the most fun. In one day lunch might be a $1 street taco and dinner might be a $60 chef’s tasting menu. 

I don’t do a “highs and lows” post for every city. In fact, I’ve only done this one for an entire country (Pakistan) and once for an entire region (SE Asia). I seem to be inspired to do posts like these when I there is a clash of feelings, like I shouldn’t love a place but somehow I do. I felt this clash in Pakistan. I felt the clash throughout my 6 months in SE Asia and the many ups and downs I had there. 

Tijuana is still different. I did not have a set of extreme experiences there, but rather, it is a city of extremes in and of itself. Take a look at my list and decide which outweighs the other.

Things I loved 

• Gourmet food: Mision 19 may be one of the best meals I have ever had. And my favorite octopus pizza at La Justina is not to be missed. 
• Street food: ubiquitous and abundant, everything can be found on the street in all delicious varieties. I have yet to get sick from eating anything. 
• Nostalgia: Tijuana evokes memories from me of places all over the world. Perhaps because the city itself is a crossroads of sorts, harboring refugees from Haiti and Latin America, a confluence of people of many cultures. No wonder the city reminds me of all places at one. 
• Cars stop for pedestrians: of all the safety concerns you may have in Tijuana, getting hit by a car should not be one of them. 
• The nights: while days can be plenty hot, nights are cool and breezy. Going out at 10:00 or 11:00pm is the perfect time to savor Tijuana’s nightlight outdoors. 
• Uber English: Uber is easier to use than ever! 
• Fluid queer culture: there is a thriving gay scene in Tijuana that attracts people of all genders, ages, races, abilities, and life circumstances. It was great to see so much diversity. 
• Pace of time: time moves slowly and quickly in Tijuana. Slowly, when you are in the moment, and you can savor ever bit of the presence, but quickly because the days pass in an instant. As my friend calls it “Time slides” 
• Coffee flavors: The lavender lattes cannot be beat. And the vanilla doesn’t taste like vanilla anywhere else in the world. 
• Sunsets: magical moments that can be appreciated from any street corner or rooftop in the city

My not-so-favorite-things 

• Random shooting: I would put Narco-vioence in a big category of “what sucks about Tijuana” but the worst is when innocent bystanders are shot simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 
• Drugs: Not only are there plenty of drugs flowing from Mexico into the US thanks to warring cartels, but there are plenty of drugs swimming in Tijuana. Syringes on the street are a commons sight, as are junkies. As a foreigner, I also have to worry about being harassed by police who think I might be buying drugs. 
• The sidewalks and roads: One of the very legitimate dangers of Tijiana is it’s poorly constructed roads. Drivers have to worry about seriously deep pot holes, while as pedestrians we worry about gaping cracks in the pavement and huge curbs. 
• Trash and sanitation: parts of the city are very, very dirty and the trash can be overwhelming. For my friend who lives there, sometimes the water can get shut off and there will be other basic issues with infrastructure. 
• Things open late, or not at all: Many cafes and restaurants are simply not open until 12:00 or 1:00pm. If you are early to rise, I have no idea what you will do to pass your morning. Also, businesses might show they are open online or have hours posted, but be closed. It seems every place has a relaxed about when to open. 
• Aggressive street hawkers and taxi drivers: Only on Revolucion blvd will you get called at by hawkers. It’s annoying but they are easy to ignore. Taxi drivers are aggressive and scary. I avoid them at all costs.

Border Crossing: Tijuana

Tijuana’s border crossing has both literal, and metaphorical meaning in my life. I wrote about the latter in my previous post on life transitions, but in this one I want to write about the former: The very real and tangible border crossing – the busiest in the world.

Technically, there is one border but two points of crossing: El Chaparral  vs San Ysidro. There are some differences between the two: El Chaparral  is newer, San Ysidro has a trolly stop. At certain times of day the lines are longer in one than the other. People cross from Tijuana everyday to work in San Diego, then return to their homes at night. I never cross with car. The waits had be four hours sometimes. On foot, it is a mere 15 minutes.

In this diary entry, I describe my passage on foot from San Ysidro:

"There was a moment of frantic panic when I didn’t find my friend at the boarder. The Lyft dropped me off at a circular drop-off point, as he should have, and I walked all the way to the revolving door, where I could see - like the metal doors in an amusement park - that once I went through there was no easy way to return. Also, perhaps strangely or intentionally, I had no cellphone service at the border. From inside I could not reach my friend, so I walked back.

Walking toward the entrance to Mexico, carrying one bag in each hand felt primitive. Something primitive about a journey on foot. But when I turned around at the gate and walked back the opposite direction, the face of every stranger met me in confusion. Why am I walking back, they wondered. I felt embarrassed, but not enough change the pace of my walk or the determination that I must find my friend. I walked as far away as I could from the border in order to get cellphone signal. This took me back to the trolly station and a sad dirty street of currency exchange places and American fast food chains. The signal came and I got a text from my friend to meet him in front of the McDonalds. Right where I was. I waiting in the shade as the sun picked up force. I ran to hug him as he approached.

Almost as soon as we crossed the border it felt hotter. That Mexican sun that William Burroughs wrote about. Everything is different in that sun. Walking out of the building, there were rows of women with small children selling chicklets gum. It was clear the children were placed there for sympathy. We kept walking. I’m not sure why I expected to emerge into a city as soon as we crossed, but I was surprised to find little at the border. Dirt. Heat. Dilapidated buildings. My second expectation was that we could get an Uber or taxi. Instead my friend directed me to what he called a “bus” - colectivo is Spanish.  It was actually a giant van that could hold not more than 25 people. And it was already packed. Every seat taken, arms and knees spilling out into the aisle. We thought we would have to stand but there was a row of seats in the back. My thighs were pressed between my friend’s and a girl beside me. We were handed a paper ticket, the quality of the paper was so bad it could not have been used for newspaper. I wondered if the ink would rub off on my hand. The windows were up and there was no AC. It was hot but not a long journey. As soon as the bus moved, a man got up, walked through the aisles and sold chocolate. I wondered if that chocolate was completely melted in this heat. He was not a pushy salesman, just letting everyone know that he had chocolate to sell.

The bus moved quickly and we jumped out of our seats every time it went over a pot hole or a mound - I never knew which it was. I remember saying to my friend that if this were a plane, I would be afraid of the turbulence. We took turns quickly and slide into each other. We shook and buzzed and jumped with the bouncy motions of the bus. Someone shouted “Bajar!” and the bus stopped. Our stop would be next, my friend said. But the driver did not announce any stops and I wouldn’t have known when to shout Bahar! I was about to do it but got scared, and thankfully someone else shouted and we stopped at the right place.

After I disembarked from the bus, I was struck by how much the streets reminded me of Laos or Cambodia. The buildings were old and colorful. The streets, dirty and broken concrete. I loved it at once. Nostalgia made me fall in love.”

walking in through San Ysidro pedestrian crossing

the train station at San Ysidro

lots of construction at the border

bus ticket of the Colectivo

Getting back into the United States, for a U.S. citizen like myself should be no more complicated, and indeed, my friend trip back through El Chaparral was without incident. The second time…not so much. 

The Uber driver was supposed to drop me off at the usual gate, but for some reason, police had closed the road, the waved him down another street which both he and I had never traveled. The street was barricaded with cement walls on both sides, no way to turn around or change lanes, and led us right to the car-crossing point. This was a nightmare because neither my driver nor myself had any intention of crossing with the car traffic. He did not have a passport and would have been detained for attempting entry, and I did not have four hours to wait in traffic (I had a flight to catch in San Diego). Cars boxed us in from behind and on both sides, I began to panic. My friend rolled down the window and began a negotiation with a street vendor. We handed the man some cash - $5 USD maybe, and like Moses parting the red seas he motioned to his team of vendors to begin parting the cars. Slowly drivers began moving their cars aside, creating a passage for us to back out, drive over a median, and get out of the border crossing lane.

I tipped the Uber driver in cash and had him drop me off in the city, where I walked, albeit a little far, to the pedestrian crossing. Frazzled and a little jumpy, I calmed down in line and had time to enjoy the strange beauty of El Chaparral. 

signs at El Chaparral 

walking into El Chaparral from the Mexican side

Te Quiero Tijuana sign

Dual Portraits of Mike Pence and Donald Trump show strange resemblance to the portraits of Kim Jong-Il and Kim Il-Sung in North Korea

Why Japanese travel guidebooks are better

The Seoul Guidebook I purchased in a Kobe bookstore

When you live in Japan, you travel like a Japanese person. And Japanese people travel in a very special way. First, most of them don't have or use vacation days, so they only travel on public holidays when offices are closed.  This means that they anticipate crowds and congestion and prepare for it. It also means that their trips are really short and jam-packed with things. Japan has several precious three-day weekend a year, and most people with the travel bug take advantage of that break to visit a nearby (or not so nearby country) for exactly three days.

I will never forget the first time I flew to Japan from Dallas, Texas. I met two Japanese woman in the airport who were having a layover form Orlando, Florida. Where they visited Disneyworld. I asked them about their trip and was shocked to find out it was only three days. By that I mean they left Tokyo and flew to Orlando on Day 1, spent an entire afternoon and evening in Disneyworld on Day 2, and were flying back to Tokyo on Day 3. I met them on Day 3. They literally undertook a 20-hour flight in a three day weekend.

A 2-day 1-Night Itinerary in Seoul from a Japanese guidebook

A decade later, a foreigner living in Japan, I had vacation days and I goddam used them. I didn’t have to follow the same rules, so I could avoid the crowds during those three-day-weekends, but I knew this was not reflective of the experience of my Japanese people. The Japanese people have learned to adapt to their strict work and break schedule and make the most out of their three day weekends, and the travel  industry caters to this kind of traveler. When my friend said “let’s go to Seoul for the three-day-weekend” I thought it was a good chance to see how Japanese people really travel. So I took the all-day journey from my village in rural Japan to Seoul, and I prepared for a tiring, jam-packed schedule or sights and shopping.

Before my trip, I had the great fortune of find this book, Seoul Jaunt. This book was pretty much made for people like my friend and I, and is structured to accommodate the Japanese three-day-weekend. This book was my gateway to Japanese travel guidebooks, which are a millions times better than American ones.

Japanese travel guidebooks have way more photos, show a variety of food and meal options, and are catered to specific interests. American travel guides are text heavy, have few photos, and usually they are black and white. They spend a lot of time on history and architecture and maps, whereas Japanese guides are more about your experience in a place. American guidebooks focus on tourist sights, and provide all the history and detail of museums, temples, etc. But Japanese guidebooks understand that everything you do in a place is part of your experience, so they over things, like a comprehensive list  street food. American guidebooks may only talk about the traditional cuisine in a place, but Japanese guidebooks will cover anything unique and interesting, even if it is not traditional or typical.

Here are a few side by side examples:

The hotel list in the Japanese book has compelling images of the rooms in each of the hotels they feature. In an American Guidebook, there is only a list with minimal information. How am I supposed to select something from that list without further research?

In the Japanese guidebook, a map with a simple itinerty is featured The map shows street names, intersections, and locations of key destinations. In the American version, there is a ton of text on the background and history of a few places in a particular region, then a massively over-detailed map which no one could realistically use to find anything. 

In the Japanese guidebook, different restaurant options are show with delicious images of food. On the right, observe how text-heavy the American guide is  (who has time to read all that?) - and with only one uncoupling image. In fact, most of the images in the American guidebook were everyday shots of people on the streets, city parks, and buildings, but nothing about food, shopping, or the things I am likely to personally encounter on my trip. 

Even the boring "how to buy bus tickets" and "how to fill out the immigration form" are on colorful well-designed pages, compared to the boring graphic-deficient American book. 

Lastly, here is a page you won't often find in American books. This is a "gift catalog" which shows ideas for things to buy as gifts for family, friends, and colleagues when you return from your trip. Japan has a big gift-giving culture, and if you travel anywhere, you are expected to bring presents for practically everyone once you return. 

Seoul Diaries 2

I had no time to write in Seoul. Traveling with my best friend meant that I had no time alone in cafes. It meant that I constantly had to keep up with her. And she likes to travel, and to shop, so I had little reflection time. I did however manage to scribble some notes in a journal while laying on the bed in our hostel moments before we slept.

The following in an excerpt from that day, Saturday March 22, Seoul, South Korea

The alarm went off at 10:00am but it felt like dawn. Even though we went to bed at 1:00am, not terribly late by the standard of young people traveling, but I was exhausted from the long journey from my rural village to the airport, and the stressful trip from Incheon to our hostel. We allowed ourselves one more hour of sleep and woke up at 11:00am.

The day began with coffee and a cheap lunch around Erwa Women’s University. We walked into a popular restuarnt. Nothing was in English or Japanese. We ordered three dishes by pointed to pictures on the menu, but got four back, and none were the ones we ordered. We laughed about it.

In the afternoon we shopped at Hondae, super crowded form the weekend, but I felt animated moving through the large masses of people. In my rural village, I was using to having a stadium of open air around me at all times. I missed the giant body hug from a swelling urban crowd. I missed touching shoulders and shopping bag. I missing standing so close to someone I could small the perfume on their hair.

Eventually, even we got wiped out from the congestions, and retired to the May Flower café, where we were watch the sun set over the Seoul skyline. We sat at that café for two hours. That may have been the longest time we spent in any one place in Seoul.

Back at the hostel and going to bed just before midnight again, I made a few more observations:

•   Finally saw some gay couples. I'm pretty sure that what they are, because I’ve learned the Korean friends of the same sex are more affectionate, and I believe I can discern when they are more than friends…

•   There seems to be only one kind of beauty for women. It is repeated on all the ads. Double eyelids, pointy jaw with a small chin, high cheek bones.

•   Men are really tall here. Really tall. My Japanese best friend who I'm traveling with is 5’10 and she is easily shorter than most of the men here.

•   Things are just as expensive as Japan. Why did I think they would be cheaper? Who misled me?

•   Different parts of Seoul remind us of different parts of Tokyo: Harajuku’s Takeshita dori, Shibuya 109, Roppongi hills

•   I have not seen nearly as many white-guy-Asian-girl couples as in Japan.

•   This country is obsessed with coffee and cafes, they are on every street corner and they are crowded and loud.