Mexican Nightmares

Joel had teased me years ago when he was staying with me. His son was over from Ontario for the weekend. One night, I was having some kind of crazy nightmare, and was yelling like a frantic Mexican "Ya ya yayaya". I don't recollect what I was dreaming about, but I scared the hell out of him and Isaac. This morning, in San Diego, I couldn't fall asleep for the longest time, but when I did, I was dreaming of all sorts of people in my room, stealing things and extorting me for money. It was a relief to be in a hotel and realize the door was locked, but the bedroom was separated by a doorway from the living room and kitchen.
I was expecting to camp, and found the KOA in Metro San Diego. The city had literally engulfed it. There was a queazy feeling in my stomach about the cost of this place, yet I was fascinated by the idea of campgrounds in the middle of the city. I postulated about what I would say if someone asked me where they could camp in Vancouver. Stanley Park? Langley? I was at a loss. The young, exuberant man who drove up on his golf cart jumped off and had his clipboard in his hand within seconds. He told me the price: $49. That's right. $49 to pitch my tent. I said "Forget it". A 10 minute drive away, and I had a $44 hotel room with a kitchenette, and especially warm shower. This journey is turning out to be long stretches broken up by warm showers. I'm ok with that for now.
The Mexican border came and went. It was so fast, I ended up getting a bit lost in Tijuana trying to find it. I ask a police officer on a motorbike, and he tells me to turn right. I end up at the back of a several mile long wait to get back into the states. I get hassled by a man on the side of the road in a wheelchair, and I give him a buck for some really bad advice. I elect to ignore him, and back my way up. A woman with a few blemishes on her face, but excellent English, directs me backwards, and over a cement barrier to get going the right way. Now that's help I don't mind shelling out for.
Soon, two white police vans in the opposing lanes put on their sirens, and I thought "shit, I've illegally entered the country and they're going to put me in a Tijuana jail." I put on the gas. The first of 3 toll booths come up, and I ask the guy "habla ingles?" "A little," he sheepishly replies. "Where is the border? Why didn't I have to give up my passport?" He told me that until you enter another Mexican state, you do not have to show your passport at Tijuana. I couldn't believe the months of worry over the state of the Mexican border at Tijuana ended up to be so easy. There were two armed guards with massive guns at one point, but they simply waved me through, and nodded their heads when I gave them a big smile.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVpKCfot6xc

So, here I am, in Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico and my back is starting to really hurt. A cup of every piece of seafood known to man, bathed in a briney liquid set me back $5. Is this really 80 pesos? Well, it's definitely healthier than a McDonald's burger although my stomach is acting up a bit. I will be trying for Mulege, a town on the eastern side of the Peninsula, on Joel's suggestion.