Los gringos

A simple footbridge over a freeway toll plaza connects the US and Mexico. We crossed from one side to the other without incident, and were about to pass through a revolving gate into the Tijuana side when we realised nobody had stamped our passports. We back tracked to a small immigration office to get the Mexican tourist card and passport stamp, but we still have no record of leaving the US.

For all of the hype, the US-Mexico border crossing is a piece of cake - far less of an ordeal than customs at any given airport. Tijuana itself was easy to avoid. After entering the Mexican side of the border, we walked straight to a bus station down the street and hopped on a bus bound for Ensenada, a large town around 100km to the south.

The backstreets of Tijuana were a stark contrast to the tidy, palm-lined suburbs of San Diego on the other side of the border. Slums lined the hilltops surrounding the downs, and rubbish-strewn front yards were littered with bombed out cars.

Many local roads were gravel or poorly paved, but the freeway to Ensenada was freshly sealed and snaked alongside the ocean. Almost every type of house was visible from the road - from makeshift shanty to boxy McMansion to fancy Spanish-style villa.

Ensenada provided us with the first real test of our Spanish skills. Despite being told to expect English in towns near the border, we were always addressed in Spanish. Early experiences in Tijuana were encouraging - I managed to ask for a one-way bus ticket and ask what time the next bus was leaving - check.

Arriving in Ensenada was a different story. We had to find the right bus stop for a mini bus to take us 5km out of town to our hostel. The minibuses were roaming all around town. I asked somebody how to get to the place, but didn't quite understand her answer. Ditto the second time. Eventually we found the right bus stop, and yelled our destination to every bus driver until one said yes.

Fortunately the bus driver knew where we needed to get off - we didn't have a clue - and we found our way to the hostel, a tiny place with a lovely cactus garden up the hill from a fishing village called El Sauzal, with panoramic views out to the ocean.

We survived ordering dinner - I mean, "dos tacos por favor" is kind of hard to screw up, but we let ourselves down in the beverage department.

This was our first "gringo fail". We somehow managed to purchase non-alcoholic beer from the supermarket! We were so distracted by the cheapness of this six pack of Sol that we neglected to notice that it said sin alcohol - you don't have to have a masters degree in foreign languages to work that out.

It wasn't until we were munching on our steak and bean tacos that we realised!