Burning Through III - TJ Dreaming

Burning Through

Surely with my Greyhound ticket I must be one of the privileged. This thought is dashed soon after, when wading through the sleep deprived crowds, I realize I am but one of the minions. A potential bum in the seat for one of the 15 Mexican bus companies operating out of Tijuana Central, all whom are over booked with passengers, short of busses, short on drivers, short on civility.

I am the first from our greyhound into the station. The shock comes when all of the signs are in Spanish. Dugh – I’m in Mexico bright boy, what did you expect? I have achieved my goal, to make it to Mexico from Vancouver by bus. Now what?

With that thought comes the faint memory and realization that the bus I was on did not stop at the Mexican border. For a moment I am slightly confused. Is Tijuana actually in Mexico?? Yes, yes, I am in Mexico. But I really don't remember passing through customs. This cannot be good. So the anxiety arising from not understanding what I am supposed to do with the Greyhound ticket I have builds with the thought that I am now in Mexico - Without a Tourist Permit.

I scan the scene. The “international area” is jammed to over flowing. Little blue couches are filled with travelers sleeping or glazed eyed starring off into space. I make my way through luggage and legs towards the bus company counters. I see a Greyhound logo and head over there. Approaching the desk I recall some traveling Spanish I learned 16 years before and attempt to ask the blank face on the other side where I need to go to get my connecting bus. She motions to the counter beside us, where there are now 15 people from the bus I was on, all of whom are now ahead of me. Damn - and nobody is behind the counter. Esperar. Wait. I am now one of the waiting crowd.

There is a counter and behind the counter a computer and a door. We all stand there waiting - watching the door. Some of the people I was on the bus with speak English. I feel we are brethren. We stood in line in LA waiting for 4 hours and now we are standing in line again. It’s us against Greyhound. Surely my English speaking Mexican brothers and sisters will advocate for me – Dream on. We are all in this Mexican bus terminal nightmare together. “What do we do,” I ask. We stand here and wait for somebody to come one of the young girls says to me. We stand, we sit on our luggage, we watch the door.