Sadly, I worked all weekend—alone, nonetheless, as Tom traveled to a wedding in Durham that I was forced to miss. While Tom was reveling with his college friends, I was reading up on the conditions of drug-war-torn Mexico. During the course of my research I stumbled across this article.
“Tijuana club scene revs up as drug-war fears ease”
Several months after the capture of cartel boss Teodoro Garcia Simental, this Mexico city is looking more like its old, vibrant self. Police no longer patrol neighborhoods in four-vehicle convoys. Kidnappings are down, and late-night crowds are way up at clubs and bars.
“Look at all the single ladies here,” said Juan Carlos Eguiluz, taking in the bustling scene at his Cheripan restaurant in the Zona Rio dining district. "Single lady. Single lady. Single lady. They know they're safe and respected here."
Four months after the capture of the notorious crime boss Teodoro Garcia Simental, this border city is showing glimpses of its old, vibrant self. Like survivors of a Category 5 hurricane of crime, residents are emerging from their homes, wary but hopeful.
I have to say, I got a bit nostalgic after reading this. The article invoked fond memories of spring break 2005. That year, I traveled to San Diego with “Yoanna” and “Christy” (I use pseudonyms on the off chance that these individuals wish to remain anonymous) and another friend to visit Yoanna’s older brother, “Jarett,” who was stationed with the Navy at Coronado. One of the highlights of this trip was a voyage into Mexico’s vibrant city of Tijuana. This was before the drug lords took over. The excursion into Tijuana itself was extremely enjoyable. We ate delicious Mexican food and drank margaritas, went salsa dancing, ordered "cerveza," and got spun around in the air by a waiter running around with a bottle of tequila.* But, I do recall that I also did one of the stupidest things I have done in my life. Granted, at the time, it did not seem all that stupid.
Walking back toward the U.S. Border to get our car after our night of revelry, Jarett and I were leading the pack, and the others were trailing behind us—although not by far. For some reason, Jarett and I decided to race. I forget whose idea this was. It was not a good one. Decisions made after midnight usually never are. Regardless, we took off sprinting toward the car. I don’t remember how far away we were or the route we took, but I know that we were not close to where we parked, and I believe there was some sort of winding staircase involved. I also don’t know how I knew how to get back to the car. I think I was actually just following closely along Jarett’s heels, in the belief that he knew where he was going.
Not surprisingly, I lost the race. Why I though I might actually be able to beat a Navy-Seal-in-training in a footrace, I will never know. At any rate, when we arrived at the car we both stopped to catch our breath. And we waited. And waited. And, after a few minutes, we realized that no one else was coming. And that the others might, perhaps, not know the way back to the car. Then it hit us: we had just deserted three 21-year old females in Mexico.
I don’t recall exactly what happened next. Clearly, all worked out well, because Yoanna and Christy are, thankfully, still alive and my friends to this day. I believe there was a lot of unsuccessful cell phone calling (there was no cell phone service in Mexico, so we could not get ahold of the others because they had not crossed over onto homeland soil). I could be wrong, but I think that Yoanna eventually found a pay phone in Tijuana, called her parents in Georgia, and had them call her brother. The happy end to this story is that we were all safely reunited. (Should Christy and Yoanna read this and decide to comment, they may have some additional insight into how that harrowing ordeal was resolved.)
To return to my point: Tijuana became extremely unsafe to visit following our trip, after the Mexican drug lords embroiled most of the country in its territory wars. I am glad to know that the city is relatively safe again, and single ladies can party without fear of being shot. Just like the good old days.
*I also feel as though I need to highlight one more incident that happened on our trip. Before dinner we walked through the streets of Tijuana , which were lined with vendors selling everything imaginable under the sun. We saw what was either a mule or a donkey painted with black and white stripes. Yoanna yelled out to all of us, completely sober and with complete sincerity, “Look! It’s a zebra!” The mule was half the size of a zebra, and its gray coat could clearly be seen under the paint.
No comments:
Post a Comment