It’s a quiet Friday night, a few minutes before midnight. An elderly gentleman approaches me and asks “Ud. habla Español?” “Si” I reply. He then tells me “los taxistas llevan droga en el volante.” He proceeds to explain how the taxi drivers hide drugs where the horn is in the center of the steering wheel. I suppose he thought I was a reporter; one tends to stick out like a sore turistic thumb slogging a camera/bag/tripod up and down Avenida Revolución.
My guess is more than ninety percent of those on Avenida Revolución on a given night aren’t from México. Manu Chao’s “Welcome to Tijuana” is fitting for these visitors, but there are several million more people who actually live in Tijuana but never visit Avenida Revolución. They’re good people, quite tired of corruption and the violence of rival narcotraficantes. And as I walk down this street with a target on my back, I actually feel quite safe.