September 27, 2006

A lot of people asked if I actually did go back to Tijuana to get more medicine after they had been stolen. I did, and it was another adventure that I have had to think a lot about. I think I did something kind of foolish to get back, but nothing bad happened to me and at the time I felt desperate. I have spent this past week mulling over the whole ordeal.

Wednesday, September 20th I had to stay home from work because the migraine that started the night before was being pitbull-ish and not letting go. When I woke up, I really tried to get ready for work but I just couldn't get dressed. My head was pounding. After realizing that there was no way I could drive because of the pain and disorientation, I called in to work, took Fiorecet and went back to bed. A couple of hours later the pitbull-headache loosened its bite. By 3:00 p.m. I felt much better, just very tired. I am doused in exhaustion every time a migraine lifts. I decided to drive to the doctor's to get my medicines.

It was an easy trip down. I crossed the border and found a parking place right in front of the doctor's. The receptionist had the medicines ready for me (but no apology). Crossing the border into Mexico, I noticed that the line going back to the States was longer than the eye could see, which was very discouraging. On the main thoroughfare next to Dr. G's there is a sign pointing in the opposite direction of the San Ysidro/Tijuana border for another border crossing, called Otay Mesa. It is known to have shorter lines and is used as an alternative border crossing. I decided to follow the signs and try that one. That was mistake number one: thinking I could follow the signs. There were no more signs, except sporadically, but none that led me to the border.

I drove for several miles on a thoroughfare that had three lanes of traffic going in each direction. At least it had three lanes going in the direction I was travelling; the other direction was on the other side of a big dirt wall, so I couldn't see it. It seemed like a long way, but I reassured myself that every time I drive somewhere that I have never been, it seems like a long way. Some guy honked at me and flipped me off. I am not sure why, except maybe I was going too slowly. Finally, I saw that most of the cars were exiting and decided to follow them, hoping it would take me to the border. It didn't. I got completely lost, making several U-turns until I found myself going back the way I came. When I saw after several more miles that I was headed back to the busy San Ysidro border crossing near the doctor's office, I found another sign to Otay and decided to follow that. It took me in a completely different direction, which I registered as strange. Why would one sign take me one way and another for the same place take me in a direction 90 degrees different? I climbed a huge hill and passed a lot of slow, noisy trucks that spewed exhaust, ending up in a completely new part of town. There were some signs that said "Otay", some that said "Otay de Mesa" some that said "Linea Sentri" or something like that. Nothing said "Frontera" (border).

I ended up in a new neighborhood, that was a mixture, as most of the neighborhoods are, of commercial businesses and residential. It was not a neighborhood that I wanted to get out of my car. Again, I followed traffic and tried to find vehicles with California license plates, hoping they would know the way to the border. Now I was completely lost and completely frustrated. I stopped at a Pemex gas station and asked a couple of guys where the border was. This was fruitless, since I couldn't understand their answer. I could ask the question in Spanish, but could not follow what they were saying. The only thing I could read was their hand signals, which to me said that I had to go the other way.

I pulled another U-turn. At a red light a girl about 10 years old came up to my driver's side window and squatted down on her hands and knees in the street next to my car. Another smaller girl climbed up on her back and juggled two dirty balls for a few seconds, then jumped off. Both of them begged for some money for their little trick, but (and I am not proud of this) I was too mad at having driven around for over an hour and a half to give them anything. Maybe I already felt so used, or so used up that I had nothing to give. I was not generous, just angry. Now those girls haunt me. If I had just given them something, I probably would never think of them again.

I finally found my way to the border and rolled up to the line. Ahead of me there was a sign that said Permits Only (in Spanish). I had seen at the San Ysidro border a car having to back out of this type of line and cross a cement median to get in the right lane. The car actually got stuck on the median because it was so high. The border patrol is very strict about only letting cars with permits in these lanes. Not wanting to risk it, and being able to see the lines I should be in just on the other side of a cement barrier, I made another U-turn and, going against traffic, drove out. Ten minutes later, after finding what seemed like the right way, I was again in the Permit Only lane. A homeless looking man came up to my car and said I was in the wrong lane and had to turn around. He asked if he could get in the car and show me the way. It was tempting, but I thought better of it and said no. He ran ahead and motioned for me to follow him. I did and as I was driving, I took out $5.00 and wadded it up in my hand to give to him. After a block he got very winded and came up to my window again. He asked if he could get in to show me the way. I agreed and opened the passenger door. Now, I know this may have seemed like a stupid thing to do. We hear all the time about innocent people trusting a stranger and something bad happening to them. These stories are always newsworthy. But all the times people do trust strangers and nothing bad happens or something good happens never gets in the news. I knew at the time that this was probably not a smart thing to do. The guy was skinny, with bloodshot eyes. He looked very poor and was too tanned, like homeless people are. But he seemed willing to help me and I was desperate to find the border. I rolled down the windows as we drove. It made me feel safer.

The man did help me. I never would have known to go right, get in the far left lane, make a scary U-turn in front of some big aggressive trucks, go on an on-ramp in the opposite direction and turn left to ride across an overpass that led me to the lanes I needed to be in. When it was obvious that I was now on the right street, he told me to pull over and demanded $20.00. I told him that I didn’t have it, which was true. I only had $17.00 on me. I gave him the crumpled up $5.00 bill. He tried to demand more, but police with their sirens were coming the other way and stopped right across the street from me. This was all I needed, was having to get into an altercation with the infamous Mexican police. The guy jumped out of my car and urgently told me to go. I took off, hoping that I could just get across the border before the cops wanted to talk to me. The line was a lot shorter, but it was still a crawled. I felt relieved when cars started to line up behind me, hoping I would just blend into the sea of cars. After about fifteen minutes the homeless guy knocked on my glass, startling me with his look. I rolled down my window a couple of inches. He told me that the cops took his money and tried to prove it to me by pulling out his pockets. He again asked for $20. Again I told him that I didn’t have it. I reached into my purse and gave him two more dollars, and rolled up my window and locked my doors. He stood at my car for several minutes, giving me an intimidating look. It was uncomfortable.

Two hours after I had left the doctor’s office, I crossed back into California.