Day 1: Sunday, December 28

This morning was quite nice. Rob and I did a 9 mile run in the safe, posh suburbs of San Diego. Our 8:26 minute pace even took us into San Diego proper. Quite a contrast from our life this afternoon. We arrived in Tijuana about 2:30. Crossing the border was cake; no lines, no passports. Plenty of patrol, though. There are hills to the east as you come in…barb-wire fences zig-zag across the desert, border patrols cruise up and down the dirt roads and there are towers every few hundred feet. I can only imagine the arsenal of the people up there, manning them. Overwhelming sites, to say the least. We arrived at the clinic just a short time after crossing into Mexico. I was actually on the phone with Anj when I lost the connection and we entered another lifetime. It was just like an episode of the Twlight Zone I would watch as a kid. As we got into town, the entire scenery changed. Gone were the nice cars and well-dressed people lining the roads. Gone were the fashionable stores, beckoning you to come in with their marvelous sales and sophisticated items. It was all replaced with unkempt streets, cars moving at dizzying speeds, small shops with bar-covered windows and people dressed in dark clothing trudging along the uneven sidewalks. It was noisy, breathtaking and very different. I felt out of place. John and the driver, Sergio, were chatting about how to say “black dog” in Spanish. En nuestras casa, tengas una perro negro. “We have a black dog at home.” We made three right turns and there we were: Home, Sweet Home. I couldn’t even tell it was a clinic until I saw the small Red Cross sign posted on a telephone pole outside the buildings. Close to your experience, mom, of the Red Cross flag you saw in Zhuatano (however it’s spelled, you know what I mean). The apartments and the hospital here, however, are a lot nicer than what you described. We live (well that came out easy!) in a small village-type place. There is a stucco wall around the entire compound, which takes up about a half a block. Think the size of Target. There are about nine apartments, and I mean just that: apartments. They are one level. Two are tiny houses, one is attached to the cleaning lady’s house and the rest are conjoined, just like a unit. Three on each side of a small path. The path is lined with beautiful Mexican plants, one near each doorway. Our unit number is 302: my first college dorm number. 302 Drake Hall. How funny. The apartment is small, but big enough for us, plus maybe 2 more. You enter into the living room complete with two lazy-boys, a couch and TV. There are windows all around. To the right is a short hall. Immediately to your right down the hall is a small bathroom with a stand-up shower, sink, etc. Down the hall about 2 more steps on the left is a small kitchen. There’s a tiny table with four chairs, a dorm-size fridge, sink, cupboards, microwave (which I find interesting, given their alternative view of food here) and ironing board closet (something I won’t be using!). There’s a door leading out back with windows on either side of the door. And just one more step down the hall, right at the end is a bedroom with a double bed and nightstand. The floors are all hardwood, with the exception of linoleum in the kitchen.

Sergio gave us a small, quick tour of the facility before turning us loose in Tijuana. We were able to meet two other families: one Amish and one conservative Christian. After our tour was finished, John and I decided to walk up and down the main road around the corner to the clinic. Wow. Culture shock.