A Tijuana weekend


Beautiful Basura by Kinsee Morlan

I went to a wonderful house party, I checked out a brand new Radio Global-sponsored club — LF on Sixth between Constitucion and Ninos Heroes in downtown Tijuana, if you’re interested — I hung out with two of my favorite Tijuana artists (Charles Glaubitz and Foi Jimenez) and I watched some movies. But the most memorable part of the whole weekend was walking alone through the Sunday open markets. I got a lot of great shots and my senses were stimulated. I don’t know if I can ever live in the US again…it’s just too sterile.

When you walk through the streets of Tijuana you smell carne asada mixed with bleach. You see live crawdads being sold next to chopped nopales, fresh flowers next to headless chickens and clams beside homemade Jesus candles. I walked into a church service so crowded that some people were forced to kneel on the floor. I got lost and ended up on a street lined with vans offering cheap massages — you just climb in and lay down in the back, they lather you up and 10 minutes later you’re as good as new.

About Kinsee Morlan

Arts and web editor at San Diego CityBeat. Interested in art and the Tijuana/San Diego border.
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3 Responses to A Tijuana weekend

  1. kia says:

    so did you get a massage?

  2. Frank Pruett says:

    Massage… vans? I lived in Playas for two years and never saw that (perhaps I did not notice it). I, for one, would be leeeeerrrrry.

  3. Sixto Lezcano says:

    That’s one way to look at the street fair. Another is ending up at a strange apartment, God knows where at 7am with an “employee” of the Honk Kong Club on Callejon Coahuila. You find a padlock on the front door and a padlock on the gate to the street, so you gotta wake her up. Of course, she freaks out because she doesn’t remember you either. Then you scrimp together enough ingles y espanol so she understands what the hell is going on and you’re on your way. You sort of recognize the area once you hit the street and then begin the walk of shame as the only gringo out and about in this area. And, oh yeah, they know why you’re there. You grab your stuff from the dingy hotel room on Coahuila, begin the next walk of shame to the border and hop on the trolley hungover as hell. You get home in time to watch the Chargers get beatdown by the Chiefs. That’s my memory of Tijuana Sunday Morning Coming Down.

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