Street vendors who do not create a public nuisance (26USC1400E)

I've been in Mexico for almost a year, and yet, I have written very little about cultural differences, as I normally tend to discuss in my blogs. Part of the lack of the observations comes from the fact that Tijuana, being on the border, is quite Americanized. I actually get to speak Spanish a lot, but many Tijuanenses are happy to switch to English when you are struggling linguistically, as I discovered when we had issues with our Internet service. After I spent a grueling 15 minutes talking my way around computer terms I didn't know in order to explain the problem to a technician, he looked me dead in the eye and asked, in accent-free English: "So your computer recognizes the network but won't connect?" Consequently, I still don't know the Spanish word for modem.

Another reason for the dearth of personal insights is that it's only fun if the cultural nuances are worth complaining about, and generally, they're not. Driving in Mexico is drastically different than in the States; in fact, I have to remind myself once I cross the border that I'm "California drivin'." But frankly, I like the way Mexicans drive, and I say that even after being in a fender-bender. Their roadway motto could be: Go, as long as you aren't going to hit anybody or anything. Stop lights and signs are merely suggestions, blown at will when no one else is in the area. Lanes switch between turn and straight depending on the needs of traffic. The only exception is their ability to merge. In low-speed situations, there's no problem -- drivers graciously let other nose in -- but when it comes to the highway, there is no concept of matching the flow of traffic -- they will turn in without adequate space to get up to speed or, even worse, flat-out refuse to accelerate even though cars are barreling down on them.

But to be honest, what is most interesting about operating a motor vehicle in Mexico isn't the other drivers, but the other people on or in the roads. I'm sure most people know that while waiting in the border line, you can buy just about anything from your car window: coffee, clamatos, churros, burritos, tamales, tortas, and respadas. You can even call and place an order for duty-free liquor, cigarettes, and perfume. Of course, the the local "products" are more interesting purchases; frequently seen items include Mexican flags, Xolo jersies, and Last Supper paintings.

But street-side vendors can be found at every mass of cars in the city, not just in the border line. At any given intersection, a woman with a baby strapped to her chest weaves between bumpers to peddle magazines, Trident, and candy. Another crossroads staple is the local produce of the season, including nopal, strawberries, and tangerines. By far, though, the salespeople that most catch my eye are the ones on "puppy row," which springs up on Sundays in whelping season along one of the main roads to our neighborhood. The only way I can resist their pitiful pitches is to avoid eye contact.

Others pound the pavement offering services instead of goods. When puppy row isn't in full swing, the street is lined with makeshift signs advertising all manner of handymen, from electricians to plumbers, willing to follow you to your breaking-down house. Other entrepreneurs know that cars are like home to some people, so hoards of men show up with smudged cloths hoping to wipe the dirt off windshields (or spread it around, at least). But the prize for calle capitalismo goes to the agents at the border who can sell you car insurance and even print out your policy car-side right before you enter the States.

Some services target a less results-oriented consumer. The boulevard buskers comprise diverse nationalities and talents. Backpacking youths from the States and Europe perform dance routines by twirling balls and tossing hoops that go well with their dusty dreads and baggy pants. Hopeful migrants from Central America inexpertly juggle tennis balls and blow fire, to the point that you want to pay them to stop. But the ultimate busker has become a local, if he wasn't to begin with, considering how long he has been known around town. The word on the street, literally, is that he's been busting a move as Michael Jackson, complete with the signature sparkly glove and smooth moonwalk, at the same streetlight for years.

The people who seem to get passed the most pesos, though, are the charity cases. The Mexican equivalents of the Salvation Army (Ejército de Salvación) and Red Cross (Cruz Roja) seem to have the same collectors posted at the border every day. Among the other frontera regulars are amputees and cancer patients, one of whom wears a mask to accentuate the pathos appeal and brings her daughters to maximize the market saturation. But my favorite street-corner charity is the animal-welfare organization that occasionally sets up a drive-up rabies-vaccination clinic near our house.

Some companies can't really get feet on the street so they plaster the thoroughfares with billboards. This type of publicity is no surprise, of course, but sometimes it's shocking which celebrities they manage to convince to endorse their businesses. Did you know that Elisha Cuthbert (top left), who played the daughter of Kiefer Sutherland in 24 and went on to star in The Girl Next Door, supports one of the strip clubs on Avenida Revolución? In a huge stretch of suspension of disbelief, Kim Kardashian (top right), self-promoter extraordinaire, really wants you to attend a local university. But for an Ohio native like myself, the best testimonial comes from LeBron James (bottom), shown supporting a sporting-goods store -- in complete Cleveland Cavaliers gear.

 

Apparently, Mexicans don't hold any grudges about him jumping ship to Miami. So maybe there is a cultural difference I can complain about, huh?

Imperial, Coachella, and Mexicali Valleys into the Salton Sea (25USC1778)

Typically, something during our travels guides me toward a theme for each of our trips, but for our Memorial Day weekend, I am at a loss. The best I can think of -- and it's a definite stretch -- is hot and cold. After I weaseled my way out of riding the motorcycle the four hours to Salton Sea State Recreation Area, just south of the more popular Joshua Tree National Park, I tried to make up for it by planning to drive, in the car, to Mecca Beach to camp in the desert heat for the weekend. 

But despite some temperatures pushing the 100s, it was a pretty chill weekend. Our first full day, we started off staying cool with some famous date shakes from Oasis Date Gardens, in the Coachella Valley (left). Even Sage got in a few licks of what was basically date paste mixed with vanilla ice cream (right).

Since we were so close, we decided to beat the heat by driving up to Palm Springs through its suburbs (Palm Desert, Rancho Mirage, and Cathedral City). We had the dog with us, so we didn't get out and look around too much, but from what we could see in our drive-by, it wasn't our scene. Instead, we headed back to the West Shores of the Salton Sea. We stopped at Johnson's Landing in Salton City for a cold beer (left) and a hot walk along the shore (right).

In nearby Desert Shores, which TJ declared prime real estate for novel-writing seclusion, we picked up some dinner supplies at a little Latino market. We got back to camp just in time to walk along the beach before sunset. Well, "beach" might be too strong of a word. I expected the shoreline to be sharp because of dried salt, but I hadn't counted on a beach made of fish skeletons (left). Apparently, so many fish die that the Salton Sea Authority organizes regular shore clean-ups to clear away rotting flesh. Even the lingering smell of fish wasn't enough to make Sage want to stick around on the sharp "sand" too long (right).

But apparently, the crumbling carcasses didn't bother a lot of people. There were a couple fishermen casting from the coast (left), and we saw at least one guy take his pole out in a raft. Judging by the activity at the fish-cleaning sinks later in the evening, I'd guess they had some success. But for us, we forgot the pisces graveyard we were sitting on as we watched the hot sun go down (right), leaving a cool evening perfect for al-fresco dining.

Poleless, we didn't catch any fish to cook over the grill, but we had brought a good steak, and TJ picked up fajita chicken and shrimp cocktail at the market. I mixed up some guacamole, while TJ tended to grilling onions, steak, and chicken (left). With all the meat and veggies cooked, I constructed most of them into quesadillas, which TJ toasted over the fire. We had a full spread for dinner (right) with plenty of fixings left over for breakfast quesadillas and bean and meat burritos the next night.

The next day, we truly dove into the heat as we headed to the Imperial Sand Dunes Recreation Area, which were pretty impressive at least in terms of providing a sandy vista of crops burning in the Imperial Valley (left) and of macho men revving buggies. In cooler seasons, we might have visited the wilderness area, designated just for hiking, without the noise and exhaust of OHVs. Then we drove west to check out the northern part of Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, which we didn't get a chance to see when we camped at Agua Caliente County Park in the southern part of the desert. Within an unprotected pocket in the middle of the park lies Borrego Springs, kind of a poor man's Palm Springs; in other words, another town right up our alley. One of the small community's main attractions is Galleta Meadows Estate, huge swaths of land where owner Dennis Avery has contracted sculptor Ricardo Breceda to build larger-than-life creatures, from prehistoric to modern, from imaginary to historical. My favorite among the 129 pieces was the Chinese sea serpent curving in and out of the desert (right).

After a large loop of driving, we got back in time for TJ to do a short run around the campground (while I did Sudoku at the campsite) before another brilliant sunset (top), which started out with the warm tones of yellow and orange (bottom left) before slowly fading to the cooler shades of pink and blue (bottom right).

Luckily, the hottest day of the weekend was the final one, when we would be mostly on the road back to Tijuana. On our way, we stopped at the Sonny Bono Salton Sea National Wildlife Refuge (left) before we headed due south to Mexicali, where we crossed into Mexico. On the highway west to Tijuana, we passed another salt lake, Laguna Salada, which is now mainly a dry bed (right), the likes of which the Salton Sea community is trying to prevent. 

To get out of the sweltry desert, we had to follow La Rumorosa, a section of highway famed for its dangerous curves. It didn't seem all that scary to me, except for the propensity of Mexican drivers, who tend to maintain shorter following distances and higher passing speeds than I would prefer. At the top of the winding road, you reach the city of La Rumorosa, which actually can be snowy during the winter months. From there, it was a short and fast trip down to Tijuana, where it was almost as hot as our first day in the desert. Since we had no date shakes on hand to cool us off, we settled for a different frosty beverage instead.