Tramel's Tijuana travelblog: Red-Light District is alarmingly normalized
In the barber shops of Zona Norte near downtown Tijuana, Mexicans get their hair cut even though the sun has set.
People come and go out of a Chinese takeout joint – Mexicans love Chinese food, I’m told.
A family-run food cart sits on the corner, serving up chicken and pork, helped out by a 10-year-old girl who looked like she had come straight from school.
And prostitutes leaned against the exterior walls, not 15 feet from any of the everyday activities.
Zona Norte is the most notorious Red-Light District in North America. Prostitution is legal in Zona Norte – companionship, it’s called.
And Zona Norte was our final assignment on the mission trip of adults from Norman’s Antioch Community Church.
On Friday night, mission teams from Antioch churches in Norman and Raleigh, North Carolina, arrived at Selah House, just off the Avenida Constitución, one of the prime boulevards of Tijuana’s Red-Light District.
Selah House is run by Anna, a Mexican psychologist who discovered a calling to help the prostitutes in Tijuana. Selah House is a Christian coffee shop by day but becomes a worship center two nights a week.
Tijuana Christians and visiting mission teams gather at Selah House and sing worship songs, while designated representatives go out to minister to the prostitutes.
Each group Friday night consisted of a translator, three women appointed to speak with the working girls and a male whose sole job is to look out for the group and make sure they’re not accosted. I was one of the bodyguards.
Our women’s task was to introduce themselves, offer a gift – a small bag with a variety of products -- to each prostitute they encountered, then ask if there’s anything they could pray with the girls about. Strict instructions to avoid condemnation or discussions about leaving the lifestyle.
Just let the girls know someone cares about them.
My group talked to maybe 20 prostitutes. None rejected my friends. A few of the working girls seemed disinterested, but most were pleasant. Some were quite receptive. Each was given a coupon for a free coffee at Selah House; the hope is they pop in sometime and find some respite.
Anna warned us that we wouldn’t go to the worst parts of the Red-Light District. Human trafficking is big in Tijuana. There are places that aren’t safe. Places that are beyond dark.
I read up on some of the world’s most notorious prostitution districts. For example, in Reeperbahn, Germany, the sex-trade area is restricted. Children and non-working women not allowed.
But in Tijuana, the Red-Light District of Zona Norte is like the other blocks of downtown Tijuana, only with prostitutes lining the streets, leaning against the buildings.
At the end of the night, Anna prayed that what we experienced would be washed off us. But truthfully, I was more alarmed about what I didn't see than what I did.
Apathy. Normalcy. Acceptance.
I wanted to go stand in the middle of the street, raise my arms and ask if no one was paying attention. That Tijuanans were going about their lives in the middle of this sex trade, and one or the other ought to leave the premises.
It made me wonder about back home. Not prostitution, necessarily, but what else do we just let slide until it becomes normal? Violence. Poverty. Inequality.
What is our Red-Light District?
Twenty-four hours after leaving Avenida Constitución, I was back in Oklahoma. But I will long remember Tijuana.
Thursday: Chess in the park with Tijuana's old men
Tico likes to talk. His native tongue is Spanish, but he knows a little English, so he's ready to use either, if it means someone will listen.
Amid the revelry of Parque Teniente Guerrero, Tito and I stood around as several men, most of them old, sat on concrete stools in front of concrete chess tables, playing the ancient game.
Tito claimed to be a grand master. He also suggested move after move for the competitors who sought no help. Shhhhhh!, one of the players kept saying.
Our mission team from Antioch Community Church spent Thursday afternoon in the downtown park. We had interpreters, but it wasn't a 1:1 ratio, and I'm lost if we're talking Spanish.
So I tried to make non-verbal connections. As Mexican performers played in the central plaza and residents danced to the music and children enjoyed the playground and merchants wheeled their treats through the park, I stood watching chess. Call it a country for old men.
But they played chess unlike anything I've ever seen. Only on occasion was a move pondered for more than three seconds. Late in the game, they might actually study the board, but mostly, they played like they had a train to catch.
Here we were, in the middle of a dangerous metropolis, and contentment and pleasantness reigned. Mexicans, plus a few gringos, enjoying a nice day.
The original table of three rotating players soon waved off Tito to another table and eventually packed up. I moved over to Tito's table and watched a new set of competitors.
Tito was playing this time, and he wasn't kidding. He was quite good. Not a grandmaster, but an attacker of the highest rate.
I guess Tito wore out his welcome there, too, because one of the men handed Tito a set of pieces and motioned to go play at another table. So Tito asked me to play with him.
Tito is from Honduras. Been playing chess for seven years. Seemed to drink a little. A friend brought him a bottle of goldish liquid; my better angels thought maybe it was apple juice, but in all likelihood it was tequila.
Tito beat me with relative ease, got up and announced that my friend David, from Antioch-Raleigh, should play me. But David wanted to play Tito, so back down Tito sat.
David is a thinker. A contemplator. He takes more than three seconds to make a move. Sometimes, it seems like he takes three minutes.
That threw Tito off his game, and David won.
Tito wanted David to play again, but David wanted me to play Tito, because he went to fetch our interpreter. He had a story he wanted to tell Tito.
So I played Tito again, and soon enough here came David and Gisela, a lovely woman who translated all week for us. David started telling his story to Tito, of depression and suicide attempts and mental despair, and how he was rescued by Christ.
Tito wasn't paying much attention. He uttered a "Oh, I'm sorry," a time or two, but he was too busy making a move in three seconds, and I wasn't taking much longer. When in Rome, or Tijuana...
But David seemed to be registering with Tito, because Tito started making mistakes. I captured a rook to even the game and then got his queen.
Tito became quite agitated and angry. He said some things to Gisele that we found out later quite upset her and should have. Tito eventually cleared the chess board, conceding the game to a vastly inferior player.
Then Tito calmed down. When David and Ben, Antioch-Raleigh's leader, asked Tito if they could pray for him, he acquiesced. He even wrapped his arms around their shoulders as they prayed, and as they left, he asked them to keep praying for him.
He turned and gave me a hug. I gave him a flier about All Peoples Church in Tijuana and told him to get there on Sunday. Good people who would help him.
Ministry can be rough. Ministry can be messy. Ministry can be frustrating. We'll likely never know if we impacted Tito.
But he impacted me. He taught me to play chess fast and reminded me that a rough spirit can turn quickly and made me wonder what I'm missing by spending few afternoons in the city park.
A few other things I haven't mentioned about Tijuana:
* The toilet-paper issue would be a hard sell for some Tijuana visitors. Residents and visitors are not supposed to dispose of their toiler paper in the toilet. Tijuana's plumbing just isn't equipped to handle it.
Being the crack investigative reporter that I am, I asked the obvious question. What are we supposed to do with it? The answer: throw it in the trash can.
I'm a team player. In the trash can it has gone for almost a week. I can report two things: 1) no discernible smells have arisen, though I don't have a world-class odor-detector; and 2) our room at the Hotel Jatay was cleaned on Monday but not again until Friday, so there's a limit to what my nose can't smell.
* Playas de Tijuana, the borough we're staying in near the beach, actually mimics California quite a bit. Playas de Tijuana isn't like a posh suburb of Los Angeles or San Diego. It's no La Jolla or Pasadena or Malibu. But you could plop Playas de Tijuana right in the middle of Fullerton or Pomana, and nobody would know the difference except for a few commercial signs.
Down the street from Wal-Mart is a Calimax grocery store that is first-rate, much like our Crest. Across the street from All People's Church is an Ashley furniture store.
Like I said, the beachfront is quite rustic and rugged by American standards. And the farther away from the beach you get, more towards downtown, the more you realize this isn't California.
But Playas de Tijuana is California-like.
* Our food has been great. We've eaten all of our dinners at the private home of a woman from All People's Church. Veronica is our cook, and she's been outstanding. Grilled tacos, chile rellenos, shrimp pasta. It's been fabulous. It's always fun to try new restaurants, but Veronica's cooking made every night an adventure.
We visited the Hidalgo Market, a huge marketplace in downtown Tijuana, on Friday, and I got a chile relleno. Not in Veronica's league.
I also bought a bag of dried shrimp, which some people eat as a snack. Uh, not a fan. I love seafood, but dried shrimp is sort of like dried fruit. I'll pass.
I ate a fish taco on the beachfront one day at lunch, and it was excellent. We typically had sack lunches at the church, but I often gave mine away. Wasn't all that hungry -- breakfast was included at our hotel.
* Traffic isn't anything like southern California. We hit a few jams getting out of downtown after missions, but nothing that trumps even Oklahoma City.
There aren't a ton of new cars toiling around Tijuana, but heck, for all I know, there aren't a ton of new cars toiling around Oklahoma. Tijuana cars generally are smaller than what we see back home. Fewer pickups and far fewer SUVs.
* My take on Tijuana: not necessarily a nice place to live, and you wouldn't want to visit there, but lots of interesting and good people.
Wednesday: Mexican military & refugee camp
Four circus acrobats finished an impromptu performance on the corner across the street, just as we arrived at the Movimiento Juventud refugee camp in downtown Tijuana on Wednesday.
Soon enough, the circus van departed, the performance for the refugees having been completed, and in its wake came three Mexican military pickups, sporting soldiers with automatic weapons. They stopped in parking spaces under shade trees, across from the industrial refugee camp, and assumed their positions.
Some stood guard with rifles in hand. Some sat in the trucks. Others loitered with tailgates down, eating watermelon. Twelve to 15 guardsmen in all.
I don’t think we’re in Oklahoma anymore. Our missions team from Antioch Community Church in Norman had come to minister to the refugees, mostly the kids, and here was the Mexican military standing watch.
Some of our crew was intimidated. I felt safer than ever. Remember my brother’s advice that if you encounter trouble in Mexico, go to the military instead of the police? Some locals here in Tijuana endorsed such a policy.
The military patrols the streets of major Mexican cities, in its war on the drug cartels. The soldiers set up checkpoints, stopping suspicious cars, and displaying quite the presence. The military apparently was dispatched to Movimiento Juventud because Americans were on the scene. Tijuana wants no problems for American visitors.
The Mexican soldiers had set up a checkpoint on the street about halfway through our three hours at Movimiento Juventud; they eventually moved on.
In recent years, more and more soldiers have been dispatched to Tijuana, known for its drug and human trafficking. It’s estimated almost 4,000 national guardsmen are deployed in Tijuana.
The camp on this day consisted 24 tents on the concrete floor, housing refugees from Venezuela, Honduras, El Salvador and Haiti.
Camp is a word that both fits and doesn’t. The warehouse, with metal walls and corrugated steel roof (with gaps to allow for air floor), measures maybe 100 feet by 55 feet. On this day, maybe a third of the floor space is covered by the tents, which house the 63 people currently waiting for ruling on their political asylum applications. The place can accommodate 170; 170 would be crowded. Really crowded.
The refugee camp is made up mostly of families. They arrived at Movimiento Juventud only in the past couple of weeks, after a virtual miracle – all 80 camp refugees were summoned to the Promised Land of the United States, after months and months at Movimiento Juventud.
Our team and partners from the Antioch Church in Raleigh, North Carolina, plus a group of Peruvian youth, set up a sidewalk carnival, with face-painting, bracelet-making, sidewalk chalking and some very narrow soccer. That sort of thing. Whatever you could squeeze onto a sidewalk.
I'm told the refugees rarely take their kids out. Too dangerous. The parents have come a long way to get their children this near the U.S. border, without adding additional risk.
Movimiento Juventud is not far from the border, which in a way can be excruciating for the refugees, most of whom have fled gang violence in their homeland. The tall, iron fence separating California from Baja California can be seen merely by walking a few steps down the street to Avenida Constitución.
Refugee camps are sprinkled all over Tijuana. When refugees arrive in the area, they present themselves to authority – or are picked up – and receive a number, which establishes their place in line for the “credible fear” interview. Most refugee camps are financed by humanitarian organizations.
Our host, All Peoples Church-Tijuana, routinely ministers at Movimiento Juventud, and we had come to help All Peoples.
So our team played with the kids and encouraged the adults. The Peruvians gave a cool demonstration about dental hygiene, the Raleigh team performed a drama about Christ and eventually we all helped distribute a pizza party.
Twenty-five pepperoni pizzas from Little Caesar’s. Let me tell you, it will make your day to see the smile on the face of a kid from El Salvador, being handed a slice of pizza. Might have made us as popular as the circus acrobats.
Tuesday: Hope Zone fights hardscrabble life in Tijuana
Before the people show up, Zona de Esperanza fits in quite well with the rest of Zona Centro, the downtown district of Tijuana, Mexico.
Crumbled sidewalks out front. Iron gates. Empty, cemented lot.
Life is difficult in Tijuana. Life is hard here on Avenue 5 de Mayo and the hardscrabble neighborhood surrounding it. Safety is scarce. Money is tight.
Tijuana’s notorious Red Light District is only a few blocks away.
But twice a week, Zona de Esperanza (Hope Zone) springs to life. Dozens of kids, most accompanied by at least one guardian, flood the rough space, which is transformed into a makeshift adventure park.
A rock-climbing wall. An outdoor pool table. A jungle gym. Cornhole. Other games. The revelry eventually gives way to a worship service, which eventually gives way to individual classes, including those for adults.
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This is how you change a city. One family at a time.
Hope Zone’s stated vision: “God-centered families loving their neighbors.”
Amanda Nino founded Hope Zone 12 years ago. She encountered a mother prostituting her 6-year-old daughter. Lots of us say something must be done. Nino is one of those people who does something.
She started a program in a park, partnered with Youth With a Mission (Y-Wam), a worldwide organization, and eventually secured this vacant lot in a rough spot of a rough city.
Hope Zone has no building. Small bathrooms were constructed and a couple of small storage areas were added. Two sides of the property are high-walled concrete. A third side is the four-floor building next door. Plus the iron-gated front. Part of the property is protected by razor-wire fence.
A couple of nice tarps protect some of the concrete floor from the sun.
Our missions team from Antioch Community Church in Norman has come to Tijuana, and maybe this is the reason. To spend a few hours with people making a life where it’s not so easy to do so. Not to necessarily to help them. So they can help us.
Tramel's Tijuana travelblog: A fascinating but dangerous city in an idyllic setting
Part of my duties Tuesday were to accompany three Hope Zone staff members around the neighborhood, inviting people to the event. Hope Zone has regulars who attend but always seeks more.
My partners all were females, somewhere around 18- to 22-year-olds, and only Camellia, from Chile, spoke Spanish. The language barrier is much more pronounced than I anticipated. I figured a border city would have a bigger English presence, to prop up the idiots like me who never bothered to learn another language. So Camellia did the heavy lifting.
Antioch and our host church in Tijuana, All Peoples, are big on security. At our hotel back over in Playas de Tijuana, near the Pacific, we're not supposed to get off the main drag, Avenida del Pacifico, and we’re not supposed to go out in groups of less than three.
We travel to our ministry events with hired security.
But there was no security as we set out to invite people to Hope Zone. The Hope Zone leaders like to send out at least one male with each group. I guess I was the security.
We saw the hardscrabble life. Block after block of either boarded-up buildings or people selling various items on the streetfront. Some of the people were friendly; some not. Some busy; some not. Some interested in Hope Zone; some not.
We even wandered through a block of the Red Light District, where prostitution is legal and at 4 p.m. a couple of working girls stood in front of a hotel. How do you raise kids in that kind of environment?
Tramel's Tijuana travelblog: Feeling at home in All Peoples Church
That’s where Hope Zone comes in.
Nino started the ministry in a park, focusing on children. Eventually, the mothers who brought their children asked Nino if she had anything to offer them. So Nino started a mom’s program. A dad was bringing his children. He asked for a dad’s program.
Now, Hope Zone now ministers to all ages. While the kids are having their classes, men and women have their own virtual life groups.
Four or five men from the neighborhood participated Tuesday. I met Solis, who spoke solid English, his eyes welling as he told me his story, how he's trying to be a good husband and father, but how hard it can be.
He had a good spirit. I told him that was half the battle; wanting to. Before Solis left, he introduced his 7-year-old daughter, Gia. A sweetheart. I'll remember Solis for a long time.
"The family unit is where change really happens," Nino said. "The families are all capable of great things.”
Changing Tijuana, one family at a time.
Monday: Tijuana an idyllic setting in a dangerous city
The sand is the same. The waves are no different. The weather identical – 10 months of virtual perfection, with only May Gray and June Gloom interrupting.
But the glorious settings of Tijuana and San Diego have produced drastically different results. A walk along the beachfront in Playas de Tijuana, the western-most borough in Mexico’s second-most populous city, tells the story.
The three-tiered setting should be functional and picturesque perfect. Commerce on Avenida del Pacifico, with the back side looking out over the ocean. A short descent, via steps, to a boardwalk that extends probably a mile. Another short descent to the sand itself.
And indeed, visitors flock to the beach. Mostly Mexicans, it appears, but some internationals, too.
Yet Tijuana’s idyllic setting is not thriving. Some of the buildings overlooking the Pacific are rustic, to put it kindly. Others are dilapidated. Some are gone, merely empty lots.
A few renovated residences are sprinkled among the ramshackle line of businesses on Avenida del Pacifico. But no hotels, at least not along the mile or so of beachfront that I walked.
I am in Tijuana for a missions trip with Antioch Community Church, and we’re staying at the Hotel Jatay, on the non-beach side of Avenida del Pacifico. A one-minute walk to the boardwalk.
Summer is here. The beach beckons. The Hotel Jatay is not luxury lodging, but it’s a perfectly fine hotel with some beach views and incredible access to the Pacific. And nightly rates are about $80.
A local who owns a very nice house on the non-beach side of Avenida del Pacifico said a small lot overlooking the beach would probably cost $30,000. I figured the same lot on the north side of the border would cost $3 million.
Why has Tijuana not exploded as a tourist destination? Locals say government corruption. Certainly, Tijuana’s reputation as a crime-ridden, poverty-stricken city doesn’t help.
Our hosts at All People’s Church, a few blocks from the beach in Playas de Tijuana, don’t sugarcoat the city’s problems. What you’ve heard about Tijuana is true, they say.
The traffickers in drugs and humans have exacted a heavy toll on the city. The sex trade, including a legal Red Light District, is abundant.
Tijuana is home to many migrants, people coming from other parts of Mexico or Central America or South America, hoping to cross the border. A massive iron fence, which extends 300 feet into the Pacific, is a constant reminder that Tijuana is a border city.
After 9/11, U.S. border patrols increased, security intensified and long waits developed to get back into the U.S. American visitors to Tijuana dropped sharply.
Drug violence also caused a drop in visitors. Many of Tijuana’s elite moved to California, taking investment opportunities with them.
Tijuana is a dangerous place. Playas de Tijuana is relatively safe, a few miles away are the neighborhoods and boroughs we won’t be visiting.
Still, safety is paramount. We have a two-man security force with us when we head out for ministry. Even just walking around the beachfront near our hotel, we’re required by our Antioch leaders to stay in groups of at least three. We have a 9 p.m. curfew, which is no problem but still a little startling considering I'm a year-and-a-half into my 60s.
Before we left, Trish the Dish was required to sign a hostage negotiation release form. That will sober you up.
My brother has visited Tijuana. He told me if I encountered any trouble, don’t go to the police. Go to the military. I have no idea if he knows what he’s talking about, but he was serious.
With all that said, I don’t feel uncomfortable. I'm breaking no protocols, but I would have no qualms walking alone down Avenida del Pacifico or the neighborhoods around All People’s Church, as long as it was daylight.
The people of Tijuana seem like the people of Oklahoma. Most friendly, a few not. People who are busy living their lives, whether it’s delivering goods or baking pastries or buying groceries or sitting in the Dairy Queen drive-through lane.
Tijuana was incorporated in 1889 and has been a tourist destination since at least the 1880s. Curio shops, food, thermal baths, horse racing and boxing brought visitors to Tijuana back then.
During U.S. prohibition, drinking and gambling were legal in Tijuana.
In 1928, the Agua Caliente hotel opened and became an instant magnet. Hollywood stars and gangsters routinely came to Tijuana. Rita Hayworth was discovered at the Agua Caliente. But in 1935, Mexican President Lazaro Cardenas del Rio ordered casinos and gambling to close in Baja California.
The tourism boom was over. The economy diversified – Tijuana today claims to be the medical device manufacturing capital of North America – and massive population growth ensued.
Tijuana’s population in 1940 was 22,000. Today it is 1.9 million. Tijuana gained half a million people in the 1990s alone.
Tijuana is a fascinating city, but a troubled city. A city that is not what it could be.
Sunday: Feeling at home in All Peoples Church
All Peoples Church sits off an alleyway, a few blocks from the Pacific Ocean. That’s prime real estate most places this close to the beach, but not in Tijuana, the Mexican state of Baja California.
Tijuana hasn’t leveraged its physiographical advantages — separated from San Diego, the USA’s geographical jewel, only by a border — and can come off as a rough place.
Certainly the beggars, some of them with children, are startling, stationed along the walkway from the border crossing down to Tijuana streets. The roads are rough — no more complaining about American highways — and so is the vibe. The parallel metal fences, standing anywhere from 18 to 27 feet high, the American side also sporting razor wire in spots, separate California from Baja California.
But in the middle of Tijuana, differences are not so stark. People flock to Starbucks on Sunday morning. Wal-Mart is crowded on a Sunday afternoon. The streets are dotted with pedestrians, just like most big cities.
I’m in Tijuana to get out of my comfort zone. Funny thing is, comfort is precisely what I found when walking into All Peoples Church at noon Sunday. It felt like home.
Home being Antioch Community Church in Norman. The rest of Tijuana is not much like my hometown. Norman has its share of grime and roughness. More than its share of people on the brink of hopelessness. A few rough streets.
But nothing like Tijuana, the city of 1.8 million that is adjacent to the paradise of San Diego.
I’m here on a church mission. Antioch believes in going to the nations. On this very week, Antioch has short-term mission teams in Capetown, South Africa; Krakow, Poland; and Tijuana.
At age 61, this is my first mission trip. Never too late to start stretching yourself, even if it’s an inopportune time. I flew out of Will Rogers World Airport on Sunday morning just as the Women’s College World Series went into Oklahoma-overdrive. The Sooners and the Cowgirls are the last teams standing in the winner’s bracket, and a Bedlam showdown in the NCAA championship series seems likely.
But Jenni Carlson and the gang can handle it without me. I’ll miss the WCWS more than the WCWS will miss me. Just like I suspect Tijuana will do more for me than I will do for Tijuana.
That’s already showing. Our flight was so early Sunday – 5:20 a.m. to Denver – that our seven-person team landed in San Diego, took Ubers to the border crossing and walked onto Mexican soil by 11 a.m. Pacific time. Getting through security at the Tijuana border was easier and quicker than getting through airport security back home. Didn’t even have to take off my shoes.
So before noon, we were at All Peoples Church, which was begat by All Peoples-San Diego, an Antioch affiliate. Antioch churches across the nation send mission teams to Tijuana.
And by 12:15, I realized why I had come. All Peoples’ church service seemed very much like Antioch’s, only in Spanish. It’s never a bad thing to remember that people are people.
All Peoples worships in an industrial-type building, but hey, Antioch worships in a renovated bowling alley. Neither church has a steeple that reaches to the sky.
The sanctuary seats about 175 and was almost full for its second service of the day. The people, who seemed to come from all walks, were friendly and warm. Laughter was common. The band consisted of an electric guitar and a keyboard, which doesn’t sound like much, but the duo created a lot of music – and no, it wasn’t too loud. I wonder if Mexican church-goers gripe about music volume the way American church-goers do?
The two-woman vocal group sang mostly in Spanish, with some English mixed in, and most of the lyrics were available in English via two videoboards. I found myself singing about as much as I do at Antioch.
The welcome and the announcements and the sermon all were delivered in Spanish, with English translators. Maybe that’s common in border cities. The messages were much the same as we hear at Antioch – promoting life groups and local outreach and even missions. Turns out, All Peoples does more than receive mission teams coming in. All Peoples sends out mission teams, to places like North Africa, Peru and Mexican locales.
I later asked if All Peoples sends out mission teams to the U.S. The answer is no, perhaps because visas are required, but it seems like a good idea to me. Sometimes, I think the U.S. is the biggest mission field on the globe.
The sermon, delivered by a female staff member, centered around the story of the 10 lepers who were healed by Christ, but only one returned to thank Him. The events took place on the border between Samaria and Galilee.
Sometimes, we Americans think we have the corner on everything, including righteousness. But not so. The sermon culminated in Galatians 3:28. “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”
Watching Mexicans worship on a fine Sunday afternoon humbled me. I came to help them; maybe I was supposed to come so they could help me.
The rest of the day was spent eating a couple of meals at the beach-area home of a church member who has been in the restaurant business and has been commissioned to supply meals for us all week. We had fantastic grilled tacos at midday, then some chicken and rice in the evening. Excellent all the way around. There will be no weight loss on this trip.
We made a Wal-Mart run for bottled water – yes, we’re told to not drink the water – and other than the Mexican brands and the prices in pesos, it seemed like any other Wal-Mart.
Then we crashed. I was working on two hours sleep plus assorted airplane naps.
I caught a little of the NBA Finals; the Hotel Jatay gets ABC’s San Diego affiliate. But alas, no ESPN. It’s not on the hotel cable system, and ESPN streaming isn’t available across the border. So there will be no softball watching this week. Bummer.
But that’s OK. I’m here to get out of my comfort zone, even if Tijuana seems determined to make me feel at home.
Berry Tramel: Berry can be reached at 405-760-8080 or at btramel@oklahoman.com. He can be heard Monday through Friday from 4:40-5:20 p.m. on The Sports Animal radio network, including FM-98.1. Support his work and that of other Oklahoman journalists by purchasing a digital subscription today.
This article originally appeared on Oklahoman: Tramel's Tijuana Travelblog: Red-Light District alarmingly normalized
