Saturday, April 01, 2006

A picture is worth 465 words ( Tijuana, baby!!!)

We had sipped plenty of margaritas, and walked plenty more miles in search of a hotel. We (my friend Justin and I) finally found one in Rosarito, Baja California, Mexico.

We had walked across the border and through Tijuana to a bus, and then commenced in taking it there. However, once in Rosarito it proved difficult in finding a hotel. We walked around curiously trying to make heads or tails of this new place, while wondering how many more times it would take us to learn that this is what happens when procrastination occurs. We must have walked 10-12 miles that day, and it was HOT. We were almost resigned to sleepin' on the beach, when we found one in our price range (it was spring break, so prices were way up, and we had to go off the beaten path to get away from cardboard cut-out spring breakers and higher prices). It was $40 U.S., with a $2 deposit (we thought that to be strangely disproportional, and odd enough even so). Then we got some beer and scoped out the beach and the surrounding streets. One of the biggest worries was the crazy dogs running around chaotically, as if gringos were not allowed. A couple times they swiped and got Justin's pant leg, but all was fine from that stand point, and most others now that I come to think about it.

Most the night we spent soaking up the sights and stopping at various bars. One in particular we had quite a few weak margaritas at, while resting our road-weary, stinky feet. We actually checked out the spring break area for awhile. It was pretty crazy, quite the party would be an understatement...G-Unit and Busta Rhymes were there performing somewhere amongst dancing bodies and ziggy swaggering lines. However, I couldn't help but think how something was screwed up, because across the street, people who didn't have a pot to piss in tried their best to sell Chicklets or homemade necklaces. Downtrodden, in some cases, was a compliment. It was fifty some dollars cover charge to get into these bars, and they were packed. Across the street, handicapped mothers and willful children pleaded for fifty cents. If I was so concerned why didn't I chew gum versus sipping margaritas?

On the way back we took in as much of the sights in Tijuana as we could. We were worn, as we were crossing a dry riverbed, we witnessed some of Tijuana's finest (coppers) throwing bottles and rocks at a homeless elderly man. Then they stole his bike and zoomed off just as I took this shot. The dog had been there when we went in. And it was there when we left. Most of us really do not know how good we got it.