1980 | Tijuana, Baja California
To find more of life in the streets, I would drive eighteen miles south to Mexico, another country in every way, with a different way of living, much of it out in the open. I would park and walk across into a new world of direct expression and experience.
The international border is distinct across the two Californias; in spite of the blurring names of towns like Mexicali and Calexico, it’s more than a line on the map. Even before the fences and walls were erected against friends and neighbors, you could see the hard line from the air, with settlement pressing north and big agriculture pressing south, alternating regions of hope and opportunity.
The year before this picture, I drove the length of Mexico with my pal Alberto Lau. All the way to Guatemala, it seemed every few minutes, a northbound bus passed us with TIJUANA on its headsign – everyone in western Mexico was heading there! Later, back home, when I wanted to see more of life, I just dropped into Tijuana, open and engaging. Even as a norteamericano with a camera, I could fade pretty well and even feel nondescript as I feigned inattention. Every day there was a carnival for my open ears and eyes.
Although I had chosen this particular frame early on, I am finding many more pictures on the old contact sheets. They confirm that I had been in the right place, at the right time, doing the right thing.