Archive for the ‘Mexico’ Category

Old Town Anew

Monday, July 6th, 2009
Fiesta de Reyes

Fiesta de Reyes

Strolling around Fiesta de Reyes the other night, I found it easy to believe that it’s poised for rebirth. Back in the early 1970s, San Diego businesswoman Diane Powers created the Bazaar del Mundo here (in the northeast corner of Old Town State Historic Park ), and for more than 30 years it drew hordes of happy locals and free-spending tourists. But in 2005, the State of California terminated Powers’ lease and gave the concession to the Delaware North corporation. The hospitality and food-service monster promised to make the place more historically accurate, share more of the revenue generated in Old Town with the state, and plow big bucks into various park upgrades.

Problem was: the changeover angered and alienated many long-time fans of the Bazaar, and as the re-named Plaza del Pasado grew drabber, tourists also stopped putting it on their Must-See list. After almost 4 years, with revenues a fraction of what they had been under Powers’ direction, Delaware North had had enough. Although Powers couldn’t be enticed back, Chuck Ross, the San Diego businessman who agreed to run the concession, has been faithfully restoring her winning formula.dancers-edited

Hence the brightly colored umbrellas that once covered the open-air tables at the east end of the plaza are back, along with mariachi music, folkloric dancers, and some of the well-loved local merchants (Geppetto’s, La Panaderia, Designs in Shell) who left under the managerial carpetbaggers. The Plaza del Pasado moniker is out. (The new name, Fiesta de Reyes, means Festival of Kings). Ross has also renamed the Jolly Boy Saloon; now it’s Barra Barra Saloon, which he translated for a recent visitor as “Bar, Bar.”

Other merchants in the complex include the Temecula Olive Oil Company, Hacienda de las Rosas (a tasting room featuring local San Diego wines), a Mexican spice shop, Mexican jewelry and pottery. It feels a lot like the old Bazaar del Mundo, and that in turn always reminded me of a sanitized version of Avenida Revolucion in Tijuana — one that was closer to central San Diego and didn’t require spending hours in border-crossing traffic. With drug-related violence now driving away an estimated 90% of the tourists who flocked across the border in 2001, Ross and his Fiesta de Reyes seem perfectly positioned to capitalize on all that demand for happy Mexican shopping and dining experiences. They may even be joined by some genuine Tijuana refugees. One of the San Diego Professional Tour Guide Association members just sent out an e-mail mentioning that a well-loved silver merchant named Flavio, who used to operate across from the Tijuana bus station, has opened a stand across from O’Hungry’s on Old Town’s main drag.

Border Tourists

Wednesday, May 20th, 2009

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The US-Mexican border is so many things to so many people, it’s easy to forget you can go right up to it and touch it.  Sort of.

It wasn’t so many centuries ago (less than one) that it was only an imaginary line in the dirt, and folks on both sides could cross at will.  Today not one but at least two daunting barricades stretch virtually the entire length between the ocean and the San Ysidro port of entry, with the most formidable construction having occurred during just the last year. Seeing what’s been done isn’t all that easy. Although Border Field State Park is situated at the westernmost section of the border, automotive access to the park is now limited to those hours (usually weekends from 9:30 a.m. to 5 p.m.) when the state park managers deign to staff the entry gates and collect the $5 parking fee. Pedestrians, bicyclists, and horseback riders usually can get in even when the car gates are closed. But it’s a long way from the park entrance to the actual fence. harris-at-the-monument-edited.jpg

So Mike Harris’s tour company makes a lot of sense, if you’re curious about what it all looks like. Harris is an almost-native (his family moved here when he was in grade school). He grew up in Imperial Beach, went to work for the Border Patrol, and after 26 years, took an early retirement. That was two and a half years ago. Since then he’s started Edgeline Tours, guiding curious visitors on a three- to four-hour adventure on the line.

A friend and I found the outing engrossing when we ventured out with Harris one morning last week. We started at the beach, where the increased fortification that’s taken place over the last 25 years is pretty stunning. The new 15-foot-tall steel mesh fence appears to block access to the charming old border monument, but Harris pushed open a gate and we were able to walk right up to it, almost in the shadow of Tijuana’s old bullring by the sea and the lighthouse that stands next to it. When we piled back into our vehicle, Harris drove us eastward, following the line as much as possible through the rugged terrain (which the tens of millions of dollars of recent government investment has made considerably more hospitable to the Border Patrol vehicles.)

The Tijuana River estuary, which adjoins the park, is considered to be a wetlands area of international stature, so Harris’s tour also provides glimpses into that natural richness, as well as the small community of sod and vegetable formers, stable owners, and other long-time residents who live around the park. But Harris, who’s a jovial and likable cicerone, is at his strongest providing insight into life as a Border Patrol agent.

We got more of that toward the end of the tour, when we stopped for a bathroom break at the aging facility that the agency rents at the San Ysidro port of entry and visited the gate where illegal aliens are ushered back into Mexico (usually to make another immediate la-linea-east-edited.jpgattempt to cross over). The tour wrapped up with what for me was the highlight — a drive down into the nearby Tijuana River bed.  It’s a wide, concrete channel here, dry as dust at this time of year and filled with an ugly assortment of discarded beer cans, styrofoam cartons, rags, and other unidentifiable jetsam.  A wide stripe of yellow paint angling down the concrete demarcates the border on one bank of the sometime watercourse, and another one mirrors it on the other side. But in the riverbed, the border can’t be seen. We stood on the mythical line, moving back and forth between the two sovereign nations with impunity. It felt exhilerating.