Tijuana
Ron Mullis at Sandi’s: “They sold him a 5-year-old gelding, but what he took home was an 18-year-old range stud. Next morning he came out with a halter, and the horse threw him like a rag doll.”
The cover story in the February 24 issue of U.S. News and World Report dealt with the "inferno next door," the narco-corruption in Mexico. In the story, reporter Linda Robinson wrote that "trafficking has become …
Jessie has a smile that doesn’t agree with his fierce black eyes. Take care,” says Oscar. “This area is dangerous.” He leans over the bar, brings his face close to mine. “The police have no …
"OASIS AND PALACE," gushed Vogue in 1930. "A place where blossom and brilliance have been coaxed from sterile desert as though by super-human witchery. Lavish green gardens, dazzling white walls, and acres of red tile …
The crowd’s roar sent my blood pressure pounding when, seated at ringside in the press section, I saw a giant green sombrero floating down the aisle, in the center of a group of moving heads. …
Visiting the Tijuana dump is no different from visiting a friend at work. It is, after all, a factory. And the trash-pickers are busy — too busy to worry about lazy gringos wandering about.
Sitting at tables with cocktails while watching half-dressed boys and girls mime to Liza Minelli songs as they wade through a miasma of dried ice is a concept of entertainment that has died out elsewhere
In mid-August, American customs agents stopped a southbound car at a checkpoint near the Mexican border. The car belonged to Jorge Hank Rhon, owner and operator of Tijuana’s Agua Caliente racetrack. Hank’s driver was at …
He flicked on the siren. It whooped satisfactorily, sounding like a television show. "Muevete, pendelo" muttered to the cars that blocked his way as he maneuvered the Rio de Tijuana thoroughfare. I glanced at the …
His name is Andres. He awakens with the sun. He lies in bed as long as he feels like it, picking the crust of glue off his upper lip. It’s white and vague as milk …
Families appear whose fathers have gone across the wire, not to return. The mothers can be seen, later, hauling the gifts and the food and the candy up the steep cliffsides, their children yelling and laughing.
One of the most beautiful views of San Diego is from the summit of a small hill in Tijuana's municipal garbage dump. People live on that hill, picking through the trash with long poles that …
“The policemen who arrested me were not the ones who hit me. Of the ones who hit me, one of them was short, fair-skinned, wore a lot of gold, a lot of necklaces.
It had been five years since I had toured the bars, discos, strip joints, and dollar-a-dance whore emporiums of Tijuana. I had been writing a novel back then, and I wanted to walk in the …
Zona Norte hasn’t changed. It is still the wild side. Desperate; sure of itself. Dark-skinned guys from the interior still come here for one last sinful evening before crossing to the other side.