Earlier in the day, when I was done with my work obligations, we took a trip to Tijuana, something I wanted to do just so I could say I'd been to Mexico. We parked at the border and took a shuttle bus over to the downtown. We spent less time in Tijuana, dodging touts, than we would ultimately spend in the bus waiting to get back over the border. I might have liked to buy some jewelry or something, but the hard sell made it practically impossible to look at anything without being asked to sign away your firstborn.
Once we got off the main tourist strip things were more interesting. I was struck by how a lot of things reminded me of poorer neighborhoods at home, even though we were on the opposite end of Latin America: something about the flavor of the crowd, the sidewalk stalls, the impatience with niceties of personal space and traffic laws, the achingly sincere handpainted signs, the way every female between the ages of 12 and 40 acts like a demure little heartbreaker. We spent some time in a busy church decorated with much gilt paint, and tons of candles lit by the faithful. I liked that part. I managed to buy a rosary for my collection from a lady outside, so I wouldn't go back entirely empty-handed. Then we ducked into a supermarket, hoping to buy some amusingly-named snacks or something, but in the end all we got was bottled water. Something tells me I'll have to go to Mexico again before I can say what I think of it.