smuggle into mexico

Crossing the pedestrian bridge into Mexico felt intimidating. I was mostly concerned about my inability to speak Spanish. I didn’t know what to expect, as an American you hear horror stories about crime, extortion, trafficking and so on. It was time to find out the truth behind these stereotypes. I took the train to San Ysidro departing from San Diego, it wasn’t a long trip, maybe half an hour or so. The train was kept up nicely, the ride was quiet and comfortable. Upon arrival I felt nervous I mean, what..? The worst that could happen is being turned around and extremely disappointed or I don’t know.. stranded outside of my native country or something. I stopped at McDonalds to clear my head and wait for a good time to enter. My online phone service was now out of range so I’d have to ask around and kind of mimic following people for directions.

I walked up to the terminal building, it had a serious almost incriminating look. The walkway was lined with metal fencing and bobbed wire. Upon entry there were two separate lines, one for Mexican residents and another for foreigners with passports. I had never applied for a passport previously, so I was told to wait in a small office to the side. It was a simple room with carpet, a wooden bench where I waited, a cubicle desk, and an older model computer that seemed to be out of service. A bilingual officer entered the room after about 10 minutes, he asked what my plans in Tijuana were and for my id. He seemed to be entering my info onto a blank computer screen. He pretended to scan my id card and gave me permission to enter the country. Further into the terminal I saw border patrol officers ushering people through x-ray screening. There were patrol dogs monitoring for contraband. The first Spanish word said to me was “passe” meaning go please.

Upon crossing into Mexico there wasn’t much sidewalk. It seemed as if taxi services were recommended as opposed to walking. I decided to walk anyway, it was difficult to navigate the streets in Spanish, I had no clue where I was going. I ran out of sidewalk and had to walk through traffic lanes and jump over a median to get to where I thought I needed to go. I saw shabby looking shed buildings, unsure if they were some sort of automotive repair service, or if they were residential homes. I ended up at a park where I then hailed a taxi to get to my hotel. The trip was about a 5 or 6 minute ride. I felt skeptical cause peso pricing is totally different from how prices are quoted in the US. Items and services in Mexico are quoted in ones and tens place value, while smaller amounts tend to be nonexistent. Most items are rounded up to the nearest dollar bill, and coins there are of very little value. I wasn’t sure when I was being ripped off or how inflation affects pricing in Mexico.

Historic downtown looked like a splitting image of a classic old western. There were street vendors lined all along the sidewalks with all types of items, from second-hand clothing and books, to scissors and utensils. Some vendors weren’t afraid to call out and ask you to have a look or try beverages. I ended up wandering onto a street associated with the red-light district, which wasn’t anything like I imagined. As a typical dressed female, men didn’t really hassle me on the street like in American cities. I assume in the daytime they take their business inside of clubs or either I wasn’t dressed suggestive enough.. I don’t know. I went inside of a nearby strip club, the security guards checked me for weapons and allowed me to enter. It was too early in the day to notice much activity, but the dancers were casually standing around, drinking, just lounging and such. They seemed hospitable even to me as another female. I received compliments on my braids and was socially embraced in a friendly type of way. The overall experience of the district was intriguing. I mean.. yes there was nudity on the street, females were coming and going in their seductive work outfits, but nobody seemed bothered about it.

I saw hotels with hourly rates instead of the usual nightly price. I wish I’d thought to go in or patronize one just to see the quality. I ordered lunch at a modern style restaurant on the second floor of the strip, it was affordable and the food was neatly prepared to perfection. The view from the top floor was busy, a whole entire block filled with street food vendors and restaurants where women in erotic clothing and heavy makeup seemed to be talking and taking breaks. I noticed a husky older woman rampaging down the sidewalk, I could tell she meant business by the expression on her face. Underhandedly someone passed her a mailing envelope. I was curious to know who she was, and if the envelope had cash inside. She then disappeared around a corner into the crowd. I assume she was some kind of head honcho making her daily rounds.  

Structures along the street had a fabricated look, like a personal touch from each different expert. All sorts of buildings with multiple stories and rooftop seating in close proximity. Shady alleyways that mazed through establishments that were open for service, some abandoned, and some that were downright slum. I made my way through a shopping plaza that looked almost like a metal shack. Inside was a multiplex of indoor and outdoor shops, layered with colorful roof panels made from sheer material that slightly exposed a bit of natural sunlight. The walls were covered with graffiti style murals. Birds flew overhead from outdoor courtyards with flower gardens, religious stone statues, and seating areas with masonry patterns. There was rusted wrought iron and welded art displayed in an industrial yet urban type of way. Everything was abstractly in its very own place.

I stopped by a Spanish cathedral, it wasn’t as elaborate as others that I’ve seen. Like most it was massive, had polished cherry wood walls with detailed embordering draping from the ceiling. Stained glass windows reflected the smokey air that smelt of ash and sandalwood from prayer candles burning on podiums along the aisles. The floor was tiled in black and white checkerboard, which was an interesting combination for its Old English setting. The benches were slightly crowded with people silently sitting in prayer.

The streets in Mexico were about as typical as any other public area. I noticed uneven sidewalks and the roads were nothing fancy, just hardened dirt and loose gravel. The main highways were paved just like any other major city. Mexican Authorities circled around on the backs of warlike pickup trucks holding assault rifles. Is being shot down the penalty for breaking the law in Tijuana..? I navigated my way to an outdoor shopping mall with a small cinema upstairs. I purchased a ticket for a murder mystery movie, it was in Spanish and had subtitles. It reminded me of a two-dollar independent film but cost just a bit over. It ended up being a good movie.  

The historic town square area from before seemed different when leaving Mexico. It had an authentic market feel almost like a festival. Brightly colored lanterns and pinatas hung all along the walkway. Vendors with sombreros, wrestling masks, and beaded necklaces displayed everywhere with not an empty spot in sight. The scenery felt unreal, the walkway paved with huge stones, the clunking sound as someone rode past on a skateboard, sales representatives handing out flyers for ridiculously affordable med spa and dentistry treatments. Your selection of t-shirts, magnets, postcards, and any other tourist novelty imaginable, everything beautifully meshed like a vibrant bouquet of colors.

The route for foot traffic was like a maze of bridges and flights of steps that I had to puzzle through. I carefully paced one foot behind the other while crossing an extremely narrow curbside on a busy highway bridge. One pedestrian bridge was about as long as an entire block, it crossed over a wide canal. The stream of water running through it was just small enough to possibly jump across. The concrete stairway leading back to the customs building was dusty with an abandoned set of bleachers and years of built-up dirt along the edges of the path. I approached a long winding sidewalk that led up a concrete ramp. The waiting line came to a stop on a lengthy outdoor walkway. It was lined with metal fencing and a plastic mesh material. Long lines of cars waited to cross the border from both ways. The air was cool and drafty as classic Micheal Jackson played aloud from the street below. People stood with a look of anticipation on their faces. Everyone slowly spiraled up the second floor where border patrol officers stood monitoring the line. One of them had a service dog, he singled me out stopping the line to ask me where I was born. It startled me, I took a moment to remember and hesitantly replied. Was this some type of prejudice being that I was the only African descendant in line? The US customs processing was intense, I had never experienced interrogating to travel from one place to another. I gave my US identification card and had to answer invasive questions about my occupation and employment status. The US customs officer informed me not to leave America without my birth certificate or social security card next time. Crossing back into the States I felt relieved that my phone service was working again. I could now be at ease.