Running Amok at the Mexican Border

You always knew I was an angel, didn't you?

Well -- maybe I'm not!

I wonder if my sister remembers this:

There's a bit of a story behind it.

Back in 1985, DOTH (Daughter Of The House) and I travelled to California to visit my sister (and her MOTH - Man Of The House).

While we were there the three of us girls took a trip down to Mexico. We crossed over at the San Ysidro border into Tijuana to do some shopping.

If the name San Ysidro rings a bell, it's probably because just the year before, in 1984, there was a shooting massacre at the San Ysidro McDonalds - a disgruntled employee killed 22 people and injured 19 others. Mass murders were not so prevalent in those days; I guess that's why I remember the name of that area of San Diego  (DOTH was quite amazed that I remembered, by the way). 

I understand that it wouldn't be very wise to cross over into Tijuana these days, but back then it was kind of a fun thing to do.

(click on photos to enlarge)

This is what the border crossing loooked like. Cars drove into Mexico on the left. People walking in through the turnstyle on the right. There was no problem at all going in - I don't think we were even questioned. But coming out?  Well, that was another matter.

But first, as we walked the pathway into Tijuana we were accosted on all sides by ragged women and children, some with oozing, open sores, begging for money. The pathway ran alongside an open drain that ran throughout the town, and the smell was overpowering.

Finally we reached the centre of town, and we could start shopping at...

The Grand Shopping Centre!

It was all a lot of fun, actually, and I really got into the bargaining. We wandered all around the little booths, which were offering everything under the sun that tourists would love. You've all been there, done that, somewhere in the world, so you know what I am talking about.

I can't remember everything that I bought, but I do recall a beautiful tablecloth, that I was so proud of 'winning' for $10 -- and which, after washing was reduced to the size of a postage stamp!

But my prize possession, for the past 26 years, has been this little creche (minus the stable)

I saw it immediately, as we walked into the first booth, and fell in love with it. 

 "I give eet you for only $25 - worth mucho more..." was the cry from the vendor.

"No, no - too much", I said.

 

"But no -- eet made by hand - looook, special, 'and-painted!"

"No, sorry...but I'll give you $10"

"Ah, no -- tis tooo leettle!"

So I waved my hand and walked away. He didn't even call me back...just shrugged his shoulders and turned to the next American.

I saw similar nativity sets in a number of other booths, but it was always the same bargaining scenario; couldn't get them below $25. So I decided to go back to the first vendor and try once more with an offer of $20 - because I REALLY wanted it!  It had been the first booth we entered, and would also be the last, since it was on the way to the exit from Tijuana, and -- surprise, surprise!  There was a different vendor there! To make a long story short, I managed to bargain him down to $5 - I was SO proud of myself!

I must admit, that, having been on the mission field for many years now, and having seen how people in third world countries have to make a living, I have often felt quite guilty about how much I paid for it. It wasn't worth $25, but I wasn't poor and could have made his day by paying more than just $5 for it. But even that hasn't ever taken away my joy of owning it!

The figurines are only about 2.5" high, the cows a little longer, and the smallest sheep is only about 3/4" high,

and it has pride of place among our decorations every Christmas. Everytime someone new sees it, I get to tell the story all over again.

But the rest of the story wasn't so much fun. We made our way back toward the border joyfully clutching our aquisitions, where this time we received the 3rd Degree.

DOTH and my sister passed with flying colours, but much to my horror, the border guard, with rifle hung over his shoulder and flanked by a couple of similarly attired guards, kept flipping back and forth through my passport, with mumblings that got louder and louder with every flip.

My knees were trembling, and I almost fainted when he yelled,

"Where is your veeesa?"

I was travelling on a British Passport at the time, and none of us had remembered that I would need a visa to get into Mexico. DOTH and sister were ok, with American and Canadian passports.

I guess at that point I must have gone into denial, as I do remember that he was wanting to walk us down the hall to some office or other, but I honestly cannot remember what happened next and how we managed to get back into the U.S.  I think DOTH, too, must have gone into shock as she has absolutely no memory of this incident at all.

Suffice to say, I didn't land in jail, but I think in 2011, I just might have.

My sister probably remembers more, and can fill in the details.

Years later, and having had multitudes of  'incidents' at borders in Eastern Europe, I am now an old pro - but this was my first ever. Makes a great story whenever there are lapses in conversation: 

 "Did I ever tell you about the time...?"