Down Mexico Way

• The one-day bus trip from Hemet to Mexico was an eye-opener about real poverty.
  

• Crossing the border at Tijuana, it appears the majority of the city’s 3.5 million population lives in slums where housing consists of falling down shacks with broken walls and no windows and in some cases discarded cardboard boxes that formerly housed refrigerators or other large appliances. Tijuana’s ordinary level of poverty is apparently getting worse, impacted by the failing world economy in combination with bad publicity about the violent struggle between drug cartels and the government.
  

• Immediately obvious upon entering Mexico is “The Fence” intended to thwart illegal entry to the US. Behind the menacing old fence that appears to have been cobbled together using sheets of rusty corrugated metal rises its under-construction replacement – looking razor-sharp and likely loaded with electricity.

• South of the city, the rising hills are dotted with a mixture of shacks mixed and incredibly nice houses, most several stories high, brightly painted and surrounded by manicured lawns. In some places on the beach-side the view is completely blocked by high-rise condos and hotels. Some look partially complete, others look abandoned and the finished ones all have ‘for sale’ signs. One complex was draped with a huge picture of Donald Trump inviting investment. Good luck on that one!
  

• The streets of the Puerto Nuevo beach town are usually lined with buses waiting for the tourists who enjoy shopping and meals at any of a dozen lobster-specialty roof-top restaurants. When my tour bus turned into the main street, there were no other buses in sight. Only two restaurants were open; the others and all the leather and souvenir shops were closed because of the economy. The two restaurant owners ran into the street vying for business by lowering their prices on the spot. I opted for a lunch featuring two lobster tails and a margarita for $10.
  

• A rickety staircase led to the restaurant’s rickety roof-top patio; ragged sheets of worn-looking plywood with chipped lime green paint. Feeling the plywood bounce beneath my feet, I heeded the waiter’s warning to step carefully. The view was spectacular – the rolling ocean and pounding waves on a white beach as far as the eye could see! Smartly dressed in grey trousers, white shirts, red ties and navy blazers, a two-man mariachi band lugged their guitars to the rooftop and grinned from ear-to-ear as they belted out a few cheerful Mexican tunes in exchange for $5.
  

• Meandering along the bumpy coastal road, the bus stopped for shopportunities at a few of the endless shack/shops that are almost hidden behind the clutter of their wares. There were bargains to be had on the stacks of orangey-brown adobe pots in all shapes and sizes, grey concrete fountains and garden statues, fire places, racks of shiny Mexican dishes painted with vivid blues, greens and yellows, and bright oil paintings of Mexican scenery, available either on canvas or pieces of broken wooden board.
  

• Arriving back in Tijuana, the view in all directions is rolling hills. Many hilltops are lined with thousands of cheek-to-jowl town houses. Newer houses are all the same colour and older ones are brightly painted; orange with royal blue trim, lime green with purple, bright pink with red - all kinds of combinations. Between the hills are more slums. One hillside looked quite eroded with houses precariously perched and seemingly held in place only by layers of old rubber tires. I presume that sooner or later those houses will just fall down on the shacks below.
  

• Arriving in the heart of the Tijuana tourist area, ours was once again the only tour bus in sight. Street vendors and shop owners gathered like vulchers, all jockeying for position in front of the bus door. Peddling everything from chewing gum to silver jewelry and leather goods, it seemed the merchandise meant nothing to the vendors who unilaterally reduced their prices to a quarter or less of their original asking price just to get their hands on some cash.
  

• Back at the border, there was again a lack of tour buses whereas the car line-ups and walk-across lines were backed up for blocks. One car was getting a “full inspection” from a half-dozen uniformed guards who busily checked the vehicle’s every nook and cranny while another half dozen of their counterparts stood sentinel with machine guns. Like the proverbial head on a stick outside a village, I suspect some of these conspicuous inspections are performed simply to serve as a warning to others.
  

• Passengers had to carry all their personal possessions off the bus – from new purchases to jackets, bag-lunches and water bottles. Passports were checked and possessions placed on a conveyor belt running through an x-ray machine. Outside, the bus was getting a once-over from inspectors. Armed guards were everywhere!

• Needless to say, I was happy to be back onboard the bus and heading north away from the border!