In my old age, I am becoming a cross-breed of agora- and claustrophobic, the kind of person who can't be bothered by negotiating compacted crowds in expansive spaces, especially when it involves finding a parking spot. So when TJ suggested we check out Tijuana's festivities for Mexican Independence Day, I wasn't immediately on board, especially because it meant I would have to forgo our planned pizza night, which was to include a tryst with my new lover, Netflix.
But, because I love my husband more than video streaming, I relented. At first, I was hardly impressed by the set-up at the traffic circle known as
The Scissors. Officially, the structure's name is Monumento Mexico, but it is also called the Iron Monument, for the material of the two blades, and the Monument to the Californias, with one blade as Baja and the other the U.S. state. The plaque says one blade represents the colony and the other liberty, giving the sculpture its other nickname: Independence Monument. All in all, it was a fitting spot for the main stage of the celebration, but I was more interested in what lay in the surrounding streets.
As always, I was attracted to the food. We took a swing around the entire grounds, to check out the offerings, before stopping at what seemed like the most family-run operation. Our first pick featured one main meat: shredded pork. TJ took the torta, while I opted for two tacos. Somewhat satiated, we played -- and lost -- a few rounds of the gambling version of Mexican bingo, kind of like the Keno form of American bingo.
Luckily, we held back enough pesos to afford a second round of food. For this turn, we found huaraches, a sort of open-faced burrito built atop a sandal-sole-shaped masa base. This time, there was a variety of meats, so I switched from pork to beef, with carne asada. TJ decided to go vegetarian and selected
huitlacoche, or corn fungus, which tastes similar to portabello mushroom. We washed them down with
agua frescas, in two of the colors of the Mexican flag: jamaica red, for the blood of the rebels, and horchata white, for the unity of the army. The third color -- green, for the hope of the country -- was represented with limon agua fresca.
By the time we had finished eating, the entertainment was in full swing. The band Aguacaliente was drawing a crowd, partly because of its smooth music, but also because of the smooth moves of their accompaniment: the Tecate girls. A good show deserves some good chow, so we sought out some dessert. I couldn't pass up what appeared to be butterscotch pudding in a plastic cup, actually flan-like
jericalla, which Tim held as I tried to capture the signature Tecate sway on the big screen. Not one for sweets, TJ de-kerneled an ear of corn that had been coated with butter and hot sauce.
By the end of our third course, the grounds -- and more importantly, the porta-potties -- were getting packed, in preparation for
El Grito, also known as the cry of Dolores, named for the village in Guanajuato state where a priest called on his congregation to revolt against colonization in 1810, leading to the first battle of the Mexican War of Independence. Each year in cities across the country, the speech is replicated, with the mayor or other official honoring war heroes then leading the audience in shouts of "¡Viva México!"
The outspoken padre,
Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, became known as the father of the country, so his likeness has been cast in numerous statues, including this one by Tijuana's Palacio Municipal. The next morning, we caught a glimpse of a parade passing by Mexico's main man as we headed to the backed-up border (because of a
scaffolding collapse the day before). Apparently, some Mexicans celebrate their independence by liberating lower-cost items from American Wal-Marts.
But, because I love my husband more than video streaming, I relented. At first, I was hardly impressed by the set-up at the traffic circle known as The Scissors. Officially, the structure's name is Monumento Mexico, but it is also called the Iron Monument, for the material of the two blades, and the Monument to the Californias, with one blade as Baja and the other the U.S. state. The plaque says one blade represents the colony and the other liberty, giving the sculpture its other nickname: Independence Monument. All in all, it was a fitting spot for the main stage of the celebration, but I was more interested in what lay in the surrounding streets.
Luckily, we held back enough pesos to afford a second round of food. For this turn, we found huaraches, a sort of open-faced burrito built atop a sandal-sole-shaped masa base. This time, there was a variety of meats, so I switched from pork to beef, with carne asada. TJ decided to go vegetarian and selected huitlacoche, or corn fungus, which tastes similar to portabello mushroom. We washed them down with agua frescas, in two of the colors of the Mexican flag: jamaica red, for the blood of the rebels, and horchata white, for the unity of the army. The third color -- green, for the hope of the country -- was represented with limon agua fresca.
By the time we had finished eating, the entertainment was in full swing. The band Aguacaliente was drawing a crowd, partly because of its smooth music, but also because of the smooth moves of their accompaniment: the Tecate girls. A good show deserves some good chow, so we sought out some dessert. I couldn't pass up what appeared to be butterscotch pudding in a plastic cup, actually flan-like jericalla, which Tim held as I tried to capture the signature Tecate sway on the big screen. Not one for sweets, TJ de-kerneled an ear of corn that had been coated with butter and hot sauce. By the end of our third course, the grounds -- and more importantly, the porta-potties -- were getting packed, in preparation for El Grito, also known as the cry of Dolores, named for the village in Guanajuato state where a priest called on his congregation to revolt against colonization in 1810, leading to the first battle of the Mexican War of Independence. Each year in cities across the country, the speech is replicated, with the mayor or other official honoring war heroes then leading the audience in shouts of "¡Viva México!"
The outspoken padre, Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, became known as the father of the country, so his likeness has been cast in numerous statues, including this one by Tijuana's Palacio Municipal. The next morning, we caught a glimpse of a parade passing by Mexico's main man as we headed to the backed-up border (because of a scaffolding collapse the day before). Apparently, some Mexicans celebrate their independence by liberating lower-cost items from American Wal-Marts.
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