They arrive at LAX and I heartily welcome them to the city of dreams. I dream Jim will soon be dead. Then I will be free. Sheilds and her boyfriend will be staying on the small boat that I live on illegally in Marina del Rey while I will be crashing with Jonesy. We all go to the Baja Cantina on Washington Ave. for a celebratory margarita. Jonesy is captivated with my mate from home.
As I am responsible for getting Sheilds and Jim back to the boat safely I avoid touching the drink. I do keep an eye on Sheilds and her consumption. I have seen how messy things can get when someone gets a little tipsy and old feelings start finding their way to the surface. Don't want her to embarrass herself. At some point in the evening Sheilds comes over and asks to talk to me in private. I knew it. Still harbouring feelings. Couldn't avoid it if I tried. She is nervous. Come on dear, it has been ten years, four months, and six days since your last flirtatious attempt to kiss me. When will she get it into her head that I have moved on?
Get stuffed the lot of you - part 2
Sheilds tells me that she wants to talk about the night at the party. Despite having barely any recollection of that night, and the softness of her lips against mine, I agree. This poor girl has been burning the torch for me for so long that if I don't extinguish it now, I most likely will have to feel some level of responsibility if she ever feels she can no longer live with herself.
'Do you remember the party in first year, when…' she starts.
'Yes, I remember. It is not like someone can forget that.'
'About what happened…'
'Listen mate. I don't want you to feel bad,' I tell her honestly.
'I do. I have been thinking about it for ten years.'
Poor girl. She really has been suffering. If I wasn't such a bloody nice guy, now would be the time to turn the screws and make her pay.
'It was just one kiss. It meant nothing to me. There is nothing I can offer you now,' I calmly tell her.
She looks stunned at the rebuke. What can I say? Welcome to Los Angeles love. That is life in the big city sweetheart, sorry to tell you.
'What the hell are you talking about?' She exclaims.
'The party in first year. The night you kissed me.' I explain.
'In your dreams. I never kissed you. You tried to kiss me then I punched your lights out.'
At this point my mate Jonesy, who has been secretly listening in, leaps out from behind a pot plant. 'How could you mate. Try and kiss this wonderful human being?'
Great, now my mates are on her side. But are we all talking about the same night? 'Sheilds you kissed me. I remember it clearly, 4.6 seconds.'
'You were drunk. You were flat on the ground for like two minutes. I felt so bad, it was an instinctive reaction. I never apologized,' she says. It seems women and kangaroos are blessed with a common denominator, they both like punching me in the face.
'So, you aren't still in love with me?' I blurt it out.
'What????'
Jonesy drunkenly chimes in, 'how could she be mate. You have a glass chin.'
'Never mind. I think our wires are crossed.' I stutter.
'So, are we good?' Sheilds asks.
'Better than good. We are great. I am so happy you came to stay. That you had a chance to clear the air of this horrible, horrible, stupid misunderstanding.'
Ten years after a still hotly disputed event at a first-year party, Sheilds and I get our friendship back on track. Life is always easier when not confronted alone. Like a bear attack. Your odds are better for survival. Well, I don’t know that our mateship was ever off track, just that one of the two of us didn't remember the events of one night correctly. It's weird. I won't ever be able to convince her that her remembrance of the story isn't true.
Two days later the three of us drive down to San Diego for the day. San Diego rates in my top ten cities world-wide for every category except for two. Cost of living and distance from Mexico. The city has a rich history of bouncing back and forth between being first a Spanish colony, being claimed by a newly established Mexico, and finally liberated by the Americans from German occupation in 1848 after the First Boer War. After so many wars across so many countries they all start to look alike.
I personally have a rich history with this particular city. One trip there I was travelling with some executive friends from the Fox studios in Sydney. It was a personal trip, so they weren't travelling on Uncle Rupert's credit card. Jonesy made a booking for us at the most reasonably priced hotel we could find in the city. It still wasn't anywhere near cheap. To top it off the place was located above a homeless shelter/soup kitchen in a very undesirable part of town. Well it was desirable for people who didn't own real estate and liked soup. Before we went to bed that night we jimmied a chair from the hallway under the door handle on the inside of our room. Maybe tonight was the night they ran out of croutons and the customers all went barking crazy. No one slept. The smallest sound would keep us awake. And there was plenty of sound because drunk homeless people were yelling at each other all night on the street. Don’t the homeless sleep at night like the rest of us?
On another trip down to experience the famed gas lamp district with other mates from Australia we stayed in the Hilton San Diego Gaslamp Quarter. The gas lamp district is an historically listed entertainment center for this Southern California city. Streets lit by gas lamps are crowded with bars, nightclubs, and trendy restaurants. This area of the city was not always a haven for shopping, dining, and tourism. For many decades gambling and prostitution flourished in the heart of San Diego. Famed gunman Wyatt Earp, enjoying semi-retirement after his efforts at the OK Corral, operated several gambling halls in the district. This is not surprising to me. Is there a city anywhere in America that didn't have brothels and casinos as the main economic drivers for their downtowns for most of the 20th century? As late as the 1970's the area was known as the 'sailor's entertainment district,' with the highest concentration of porno theaters, massage parlors, and peep shows outside of the world's largest naval base at Naval Station Norfolk in south-eastern Virginia. Because let's face it, no one knows how to party like young sailors!
At various times the local government tried to clean the area up and improve its image. In November 1912, police officers raided the bordellos and packed 138 young women onto trains leading out of the city. There, that solved the problem. People always blame the hookers. Those young ladies must have gone somewhere else with their career skills. Did the city father's think that by packing them off to another part of the country they were suddenly increasing their chances for gainful employment in another field? What of the vacuum in entertainment options left by their absence? I know when a hurricane hits Honduras and their banana crop is destroyed the price of bananas goes through the roof. I am guessing the price for female companionship over the 1912 Christmas holiday season in San Diego broke an all-time record. Simple economics. They could attempt to take the debauchery out of the gas lamp district, but they just moved it somewhere else.
Finally, in 1970 there was a concerted effort to push through a revitalization project for downtown. Out went the XXX bookstores and the pimps, in came Restoration Hardware and Barnes and Nobles. This is how the city fathers repaid the young naval servicemen for their years of dedication and service to the freedom of the country. By taking away the one thing they could enjoy on a Saturday night. It was urban renewal at its finest, unless you worked as a San Diego hooker. This drove many young men to seek entertainment and affection across the border in Tijuana. In Mexico the standards for human behavior are much lower and so began the urban myths of what $20 could purchase a ticket to watch in TJ.
On my trip to the gas lamp district, myself, my rugby mate Con, and Con's work mate enjoyed staying in a decent hotel courtesy of their corporate account. We are close enough to ditch the car and walk to the strip of bars and clubs. Of interest to me is that the historic vibe of a downtown area lit by gas lamps is so 19th century Jack the Ripper. Gas lamps were not even the original lighting of these
streets during its Victorian era construction in 1860. They used arc lamps. Gas lamps were simply the marketing strategy of the urban renewal gurus in the 1970's trying to come up with something catchier than, 'sailor's entertainment district.'
The three of us stop in at the Tipsy Crow on 5th Avenue, enjoy a hearty pub meal then settle in till closing for the live music. We leave the bar happy but not in, 'hey, let's have a late-night trip to Tijuana,' type condition. On the way back to the hotel Con decides he must have a late-night feed. Neither the other guy nor I are interested so we keep walking and Con will get his way back on his own. He has a key to the room he will share with me so there is no drama. This is where the story takes on a new dimension. I go to bed and am fast asleep. After previously sleeping in a hotel room in San Diego with a chair wedged against the door for safety, I feel extremely secure that nothing will scare me or wake me tonight. Con's mate goes to his room and decides to take a shower before bed. Then things get weird.
Somehow, and it is only conjecture at this point, by the time Con returns to our hotel floor his mate has locked himself out of his room, stark naked, and is pounding his fists against my door for all he is worth trying unsuccessfully to wake me. The assumption is that he turns left instead of right coming out of the bathroom. Then for some reason lets the towel drop before he proceeds to open the front door to the room before walking outside. The only thing he knows for sure is that with the sudden realization he is in the corridor he immediately sobers up, only to hear the latch click as the door locks. You can take the debauchery out of the gas lamp district, but you will just move it somewhere else.
So, my trip with Sheilds and Jim is to be a day trip, down and back. This avoids the pitfalls of a hotel stay in this neck of the woods where my track record has been woeful. They both have an unnatural desire to visit Mexico. By visiting Mexico, I mean walking across the US immigration and border patrol station at San Ysidro and stepping foot in Tijuana. They could register the same experience by ambulating across a street overpass and visiting a public toilet. But if they want to go to Tijuana then who am I to say, 'I don't want to go to TJ because the place is a festering dump.'
Get stuffed the lot of you - part 3
I park the car, then before we get out I confirm we each carry the proper identification to regain entry to the US. Ensuring we have no issues at immigration is a trifle matter, but then so is having to make a living as a male prostitute if I get stuck in TJ for the rest of my life. I prefer to live without the stress to be quite honest. Conveniently located right at the border on the US side is an Outlet Mall. This safe guards that anyone who was unable to buy enough cheap crap in Mexico could quickly stock up on more cheap shit at the mall before they got back to their car. I suggest that we can do some shopping at the Outlets instead of crossing the border, but my mates are determined to get to Mexico.
When I hear people fly into an uproar over Donald Trump proposing to build a wall on the border it makes me wonder what people think is there now? There already is a wall. Has been one since at least as far back as the first time I visited Tijuana in 2001. There is also a wall at the border with Canada south of Vancouver. If there wasn't a sea between the US and Cuba, I bet there would be at least a few corrugated iron sheets tacked to fence posts separating the two of them as well.
The border with Mexico has a rather interesting anomaly. Google maps has the border line with the US dissecting through the middle divider of the Tijuana Ensenada Road that runs right alongside the border on the Mexican side. According to Google, if you are driving in the westbound lanes you are technically in the USA, if you are driving eastbound you are in Mexico. I guess Google can screw up many things other than merely a head mounted optical display in the shape of reading glasses. The next time one of my Mexican friends, of whom I have many, complains that California was stolen from Mexico I will respond that the USA gave you some of it back to build a road.
When people boast they have been to Tijuana and visited Mexico what they are really telling you is that they crossed the border and walked less than a kilometer to Ave. Revolution, to what passes as the downtown of this shanty town. There is no reason to go any deeper into the city unless you have a death wish, an extreme fascination with sheet metal construction, or have set up a meeting with 'El Chapo' Guzman. You don't need to know anything of the violent history of this favela to not get a sense of how, if you went missing here, not only would you never be found it is more than likely no one would even bother to look.
In the movie The Shawshank Redemption, Morgan Freeman receives a postcard from Tim Robbins to show the place where he crossed the border to get into Mexico as a fugitive from justice. This gives the impression that it must be difficult for escaped prisoners or criminals to get out of the USA. Nothing could be further from the truth. There are no border controls for leaving the USA. Osama bin Laden could walk into Mexico without being stopped. Whitey Bulger, the one-time FBI's most wanted man, could walk into Mexico without being stopped. Kim Kardashian could walk into Mexico and the only reason she might be stopped would be for someone to help her carry her bags to get her there faster.
After crossing the walking bridge over the Tijuana River, which serves as both the city's sewerage outlet and main water supply, one enters Zona Centro. I count nine strip clubs on the first street. Ten if I include Déjà Vu Showgirls back on the other side of the river. It is my favourite thing to do when travelling - count. At least I solve the mystery of where those 138 young ladies ended up.
Within ten minutes of being in Tijuana the three of us are bored. Unless someone is crazy about buying knickknacks with a Mexican flag on them there is not much to offer here. We could have stayed at the Outlet Mall and been bored after ten minutes but been closer to the car. I make a joke that we should try and locate the legendary woman and donkey show. Sheilds' and Jim's ears pick up. What am I talking about? They are intrigued. I explain to them it is a myth most likely, but the one attraction that Tijuana is supposedly famous for is that there is a place in town where for $20 the discriminating visitor can watch a mule and a woman be intimate.
'Let's go,' says Sheilds.
At first, I am taken back that this woman, who I have held in such high regard for years, is a closet deviant. Wow didn't see that coming, I dodged a bullet 15 years ago. Her boyfriend Jim is not much better. He is keen to find it as well. These two sickos were made for each other. I try to explain to them that this is a fable: the gold city of El Dorado; the resting place of Noah's Ark; the blow job bar in Hong Kong. However, the genie is out of the bottle. They insist we must try and find it. For god's sake, why? I should have insisted they bring some common sense along with their passports.
If it is easy to find, then it wouldn't be shrouded in the veil of mystery now would it? I don't see it marked on any walking tour of Tijuana maps which means we may have to venture away from the safe tourist area. Never wise in a shit hole like TJ. This little adventure could get us all killed. Or worse yet, we could find it and I might have to sit through the matinee. The others pay no mind to the inherent dangers and are adamant. Fine, I'll go along on this doomed expedition. Unlike all great explorers who perished while pursuing their dream, I insist we have a plan. They ask what my plan is, I have no idea. Where does one start to look for a porno show starring a member of the horse family when every club doesn't look fit enough to be a stable?
We decide that two blocks off the main drag is sufficiently deep enough into the sordid underbelly of Tijuana's illegal entertainment marketplace for us to have a chance to find it. This also keeps us close enough to the tourist center to find a decent place to eat if Jim and I get hungry. As we walk down one avenue we pass a flight of stairs leading to a very dodgy looking gentleman's club. Above the door arch is painted a large mural of a unicorn.
Sheilds is the first to speak, 'does that look like a donkey?'
'It is a unicorn,' I scoff.
'I think it could be a donkey,' says a half-convinced Jim.
>
Jim buddy you need not always agree with your girlfriend.
'I think it is meant to be a donkey,' states Sheilds.
'It is not a bloody donkey. It is a unicorn,' I say.
Jim is not sure what to think. 'It could be a hybrid. Half unicorn, half donkey.'
Mate you really need to learn to not just agree with every stupid thing your girlfriend says.
'Two out of three say it is a donkey. Let's go and see,' states Sheilds gleefully and trotters down the stairs.
'Let's try and get seats near the front, but not in the first row. That is too close,' says Jim and follows her.
I am now regretting ever having spent those three minutes waiting for Mum in the beer garden in Brisbane. I should leave the pair to their twisted fetish and go on by myself. But this is TJ and I am scared shitless to be left alone so I follow them down the stairs.
We walk into a bright fluorescent illuminated club and sit down at a booth. There are no other customers in the joint, which is semi reassuring for lunch time on a Wednesday. I would imagine that prime time for bestiality shows should be more of a weekend thing. There are three scantily clad Mexican grandmothers meandering around the room with serving trays. The sight of the one who comes over to serve us, as she leans down to take my order making a point of exposing her cleavage, is enough to either turn me into a heavy drinker or put me off drinking forever.
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