"It was 2:07pm when we
walked past the cafe Baristi in the sun and it did not look like it was even beginning
to open, although their website listed a start time of 2:00pm, which already
seemed quite late.
Time slides here, like ink across the page.
A lone girl in a
cafe writing about how and why she couldn’t sleep with a women from the bar she
met the night before. Her thoughts filling the page of a notebook she would
close and stuff into her purse and then take out with her info the world….
My friend took me to his
favorite café instead, a place called La Stazione, for a drink that was not
coffee but instead grapefruit with a jasmine tea. There I was surprised with the
slow pace with which the barista squeezed the grapefruit juice into the glass.
I was surprised that he used an entire grapefruit for this drink, and squeezed
its juice by hand into the cup. It was like watching someone do it for the
first time. His pace set the pace for the entire trip. Everything moves slowly.
The pace of one’s walking was slow - to avoid potholes and dog poop no doubt.
The service at a restaurant or cafe was slow. Double the time anything takes in
America. No one rushes. No one checks their watches. I am alone in my worry of
time.
We concluded the evening
by having dinner and red wine on the top balcony of the Telefonica Gastro park.
I didn’t see the sun set, I just watch the sky change colors and the lights
come on overhead. It was peaceful, sublime.
Later that night we
ventured out to every gay bar in TJ and we did not return until 5:30 in the
morning. I had intended it to be this way. I would have been disappointed if it
had been any other way.
At one point, we were
sitting at Dandy Del Sur, the oldest bar in Tijuana. It was so crowded there
was no room to stand, even line up at the bar. So we moved between tables,
between couples sitting down, so that my body practically brushed up against
their faces. My friend said they didn’t mind, probably didn’t even notice it.
When we finally had a chance to grab a table after one couple left, the three
of us were sitting close enough to kiss. I remarked how unusual that was in
American culture. We had only just met and it would be uncomfortable to sit so
close. My American friend explained that in
Mexico people live on top of each other so that no one has any personal space.
They don’t mind pushing past each other in a crowded bar, or having their limbs
touch others in public spaces. I told him it was like sitting in the middle seat
of an airplane, and asking the person beside you to move so you can use the
bathroom. Then instead of getting up out of their seat, they just tuck their
chin in. We laughed."
- Excerpt from my
Diary, October 21, 2017
