We slept very little and none too well. Brandyn, DJ, Laura and I managed to fall into some sort of Del Mar/Hot Tub/Coors Light time warp beginning at about 11:30 AM, and by the time we fell out of the warp it had somehow become midnight without anyone’s permission. I ate a whole chicken and went to bed, waking up the next morning with a particularly sore head. Nonetheless Laura and I had vowed to see Tijuana, and nothing could stand in our way.
Tijuana was just as I remembered it. I liken Tijuana to the naughty-boy theme park "Pleasure Island" that Pinocchio visited in the Disney movie: where the youth do whatever they want and transform, to their dismay, into donkeys. For anyone who has ever been to Tijuana or is aware of its notorious reputation, any double entendre with this comparison is purely coincidental.
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Laura and I parked her car at the last stop in the United States and walked across the border. I was nervous to have her with me, especially as we walked across the no-man’s-land bridge that spans a dirty, rubbished-filled cesspool that defines the border in that area. We were eyed and sized up by teenagers that, despite being about seven years my junior, terrified me. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that, just as with a bear, I would only have to outrun Laura to ensure my safety.
Nothing bad happened as we ventured around, and it was actually very enjoyable. We ate lunch in a small, dingy basement that made us uncomfortable at first, but by the end of the meal we had befriended the patron of the restaurant: a short old man with a duckbill haircut straight out of a 1930s gangster movie, a tattered zoot-suit to match his hair, and a crooked smile that made us laugh whether or not we understood the joke he was telling.
Laura found a beautiful coat in a small curbside stand. The coat is yellow and black, double-breasted, and best of all cost her only fifteen dollars (though, like most things on the Avenida, probably cost the vendor about two dollars). It was our greatest find of the trip, in my opinion, and her appreciation of the item is surpassed only by how beautiful she looks wearing it.
We ate freshly fried churros from street vendors whenever we happened upon them, and wandered the streets for most of the day. I bought a switchblade knife that Brandyn had asked for, and a San Diego Chargers poncho for DJ. I was unaware at the time that I would have to hide the knife in my inner coat pocket as we crossed back into the United States because apparently the US border patrol is a little more strict upon re-entry then the Mexican border patrol; there is, literally, nothing more than an unguarded revolving door as you enter on the Mexican side.
Brandyn’s cousin Jessica celebrated her 21st Birthday in the gas lamp district of San Diego that night and we joined the festivities. The nightlife in San Diego is incredible, and I highly recommend it for anyone who enjoys the nightlife/club scene. DJ continued to be nothing less than perfectly generous and hospitable the entire evening, and we spent one last night in his home before heading back to Reno for Christmas the following day.
Before we left San Diego, Laura and I went to my Grandma Ringler’s house. We had tea and lunch, which made me very happy. We were on a tight schedule to get back for Christmas Eve, but as luck would have it we met up with my Aunt Ann and my cousin’s girlfriend while we were out for lunch! The drive back was a straight shot up Highway 395, with only a brief stop at sunset in the desert to fire off the .38 special into the nothingness of Death Valley.
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