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Daytrippin’, Border crossing, Mezcal and Art WRITTEN AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY: ErIK HALE
You may wonder what made me want to venture to a place so many are anxious to escape? Was there something to all of the warnings that made me curious or tempted to check it out for myself? I would not classify myself as a thrill seeker. I’m adventurous but certainly not a risk taker. I would gladly visit India, but I wouldn’t dance with a cobra. I would love to visit Africa, just not the “Blood Diamond” or “Blackhawk Down” versions Hollywood has shown me.
PrIvAtE guIDED tOur PrOvIDED BY: turIStA LIBrE www.TuristaLibre.com
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My girlfriend and I drove through Tijuana last December at midnight after a fun weekend at the Hotel San Nicolas in Ensenada. I did not feel safe at all while we got lost looking for the border crossing. We would have made for hilarious you’re-onhidden-camera TV as we navigated unsuccessfully through a very dark part of town. “Babe! Don’t slow down,” my girlfriend yelled. “I know, F#%* these stop signs,” I agreed in chorus. You would have thought we were being hunted down by members of the Tijuana Cartel instead of cruising solo (in circles) through quiet, empty streets without a soul caring about our existence. So, what would make me feel safe? What compelling sites could I hope to see that would make the reward worth the risk? I searched the web for something unique, but I still
| Indian Summer 2013 Issue
wanted to experience Tijuana in the same way I made LOCALE, “Like a Local.” I decided to place our fate in the hands of a thirty-year-old expatriot and former journalist that had taken up residence in Tijuana six years ago. Derrik Chinn is the owner of the self proclaimed “Rad Tijuana Touring” company called Turista Libre that promises atypical trips to museums, markets, concerts, sporting events, parks, breweries, wineries, gastronomic gems, architectural delights and other cultural hotspots in Tijuana. Perfect. I had found my Tijuana sherpa. The day of our trip approached, and we followed Derrik’s instructions the best we could. We left our home and just kept driving south, exiting at the last possible exit, finding the closest long-term parking lot and waited for him to pick us up. Normally you would exit, then head over the bridge, find a parking lot and wait at the McDonalds for the person holding the Turista Libre sign or take the trolley to the very last stop (San Ysidro) and do the same. We found our pay lot, took our ticket and found a space for our 2012 model car. I only point out the year of our vehicle, because it was easily a half-decade newer than any of the other 300 cars we had parked among. Maybe I was
just stereotyping what I was about to see. Maybe this close together, countries that had stood shoulder to shoulder for so long, started to look like each other and take on the other’s attributes naturally. All my visual influences, however, like this parking lot’s trash-strewn spaces, the pedicabs, signs in Spanish and the towering Mexican flag waving high nearby, made me feel that we were already South of the border. “Beep, beep.” Derrik had pulled up to the right of us, undetected, as I stood gawking. We made our introductions, asked about his career at the UT and found out about the weekly excursions that had become daily excursions. We asked about his reasoning, his motivation to not only call Tijuana home but also spend all of his time giving tours of the area. It was so hard to get your head around someone wanting to live in Tijuana. We weren’t there yet. We hadn’t even crossed the border, but I had obviously made decisions about the city. He was going to have to convince me as to why he had chosen to live here. Luckily for me, he was patient. Maybe he was predisposed to patience, maybe he had answered the questions so many times they were now commonplace and no