Nothing says Christmas in southern California, like a visit to Mexico. You’re reminded of the spirit of giving because most of the people there live well below the poverty line, so you can’t but accept humility and appreciate everything you have that’s separated by the iron wall cutting through the natural beauty of the Pacific Coast. Crossing into Tijuana, my cell phone lost signal faster than the drug cartels push a kilo of coke. Which is pretty fast I hear. My best friend advised me that driving down to some remote spot between Ensenada and Rosarito was not a good idea. She reminded me that there have been repeated stories of violence and gang warfare all throughout Mexico for the past decade. But where she saw an intimidating and potentially life threatening experience, I saw a chance to embrace my perpetual masochism, and get my third world country on. This certainly wasn’t the first time.
There are several ways to tempt death in Mexico. Driving is a huge one, people down there don’t give a damn if you have insurance. Eating the food. Sanitation standards are different if not nonexistent. Drinking the water is not advised so I stick to beer, which might lead to the ingestion of small amounts of rust, or other carcinogenic impurities because they reuse glass bottles and don’t clean them. And then there’s the police force, who are bent, twisted mo-fo’s that’ll take you for everything you’re worth. Useful tip: keep an extra forty bucks in your shoe. So whether you buy useless trinkets from an eight-year-old peddling the street, or you’re forced to give a cop everything you have, the spirit is all around you in Mexico.
But I’m not an idiot. I would never go to Mexico by myself, or with a group of white people. Instead, I went with three Mexicans. If you don’t have any Mexican friends I recommend that you get some or at least hire some for the trip, it makes life a lot easier and you’re in for a good time. Mexican people love to socialize over long meals and exponential drinking.
We played chicken a few times with oncoming traffic, escaped collision by mere inches. We rolled past check points where soldiers stood at the ready with semi-automatic weapons, loaded or not, they made you stare. And about an hour after we crossed the border, we crept slowly down the dirt road that lead to our destination, a seaside spot that felt like a secret.
The view was spectacular, tide pools framed in black rocks lead our eyes out to sea, the sun slowly setting into a dark wall of clouds sitting on the horizon. A man in the distance was scouring the rocks for muscles or clams. The sun, on fire, echoed the heat coming off a green chili and shrimp dish that I pretended wasn’t so spicy. We drank with the waiter, who was probably underage, and told embarrassing stories about each other. The sun went down and we all stopped.
It’s moments like these, when the world seems to stop spinning, that I feel the happiest. I love the ocean because it’s a natural reminder of how small we are. Waves crashing onto rocks supposes a metaphorical perspective. A cleansing of the old, and hope for the future. It’s something you feel, not something you can ever know. This is what the season is all about. So forget the gifts, tell the people you care about, that you care about them. Make some Mexican friends and go to Mexico.
Happy Holidays everyone. I wish you love and beautiful sunsets.
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