A SubGenius Homecoming - Part 3

From: shinpath@my-deja.com

Date: Mon, 05 Feb 2001 06:34:09 GMT

(See Parts i and 2 for context)

Ideally, one should approach the Mexican border at top speed, like you were on the lam form the law. You drive past your standard Southern California scenery; coast, Eucalyptus trees, strip malls and the like but then the brownish hills covered in shacks appear looming in the distance, marking where megabucks America runs smauck up against the Third World. And if you still uncertain, a massive Mexican flag flutters defiantly from the other side of the so-called 'Tortilla Curtain.' Perhaps it was the sight of this flag that convinced a van of returning Mexicans to stop in the middle of the land and check their papers; I had to lock brakes and burn rubber for nearly 200 feet before coming to a complete stop a hair's length from their bumper. I pull around and give the driver an "inch away" gesture as I pass and cross through the border gate. Once many years ago I drove in a group of four to Rosarita Beach with loud Nortena mariachi music blaring from the AM radio as a bottle of Cuervo (pronounuced Swervo) was passed back and forth. The car was a rental and we had sufficient pesos to bribe a cop if that situation came up. At a roadside reststop I hurled cheerfully ( an integral part of the tequila experience) and one of the crew videotaped it for posterity. This time it was me driving sober in Dad's Toyota but at least I still had the music. I spent the evening at a place straight out of Jimmy Buffet song- the gringo owned Alamo trailer park. The crusty but friendly proprietor offered me a bunk in the guest trailer for 10 bucks, and, much obliged, I proceeded down to the wied beach with a six pack of trex XXXs to watch the sun go down. For dinner I skip my usual lobster for the traditional Mole Poblano, roast chicken smothered in a bitter chocolate sauce. The rest of the evening is spent watching drunk gringo chicks dance on bar tops as the men fight over them. For a nightcap I get a plate of ceviche, raw fish maritnated in a clear salsa. I tell the waiters stories about life in Japan in my barely pasable Spanish. when I get back the trailer master is still awake and we have a smoke and talke about the border life. And it's not a bad one either. The next day is 3rd stage purgatory as the holiday crowds have jammed the main border crossing and the Federales are diverting traffic to the secondary crossing at Otay Mesa. By animal instincts alone I am able to finde the poorly marked turn off and get into line. An hour later I'm still there, the car surrounded by hawkers selling plaster Bart Simpson busts and beggars in wheelchairs. In front another van has overheated. The traffic inches towards gringolandia. But eventually I reach the nice Border Patrol man who once ascertaining that I'm carry8ing nothing more dangerous than my brain, permits me to pass into the Estados Unidos.

to be continued...

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Original file name: A SubGenius Homecoming - Part 3 - converted on Thursday, 20 December 2001, 03:25