SOUTH OF THE BORDER, DOWN MEXICO WAY

Hundreds of Irish J1 students make the trip to Mexico every summer.  Despite warnings of drug trafficking and kidnapping, the Irish just can’t get enough of Tijuana, recently listed as one of the most dangerous cities in the world.  Kevin Fagan was one of them

On the US/Mexican border, Hollywood Ray, our tour guide of sorts, is tackled to the ground.  Three burly Customs Police men pin him to the deck. As he struggles and squirms, one of the officers takes out his tazer gun.  A shrill buzz and ‘Hollywood’ is still.  We continue on, a little perplexed.  We pass through a turnstile. “Welcome to Mexico,” reads the sign.

It’s a Wednesday night on the J1 Summer in San Diego.  Wednesday night means Tijuana night here.  200 crazed young Irish people will cross the border and enter into another world.  The event manager is known only as ‘Hollywood Ray’.  A shady figure, Ray provides the kind of service the J1ers crave.  For a mere 30 dollars, he will safely transport you to and from the border via party bus.  He then guarantees you entry to Tijuana’s Club Kiss, which is Irish Only on Wednesday’s.  He has only one warning: leave the club and wander off at your own risk.

Mexico is one of the most dangerous, drug-filled countries in the entire world. Tijuana is one of Mexico’s most notorious cities.  Yet each and every summer, hundreds of young Irish people flock to this dark paradise.  In the summer of 2011, I was one such person. 

Even before arrival in San Diego, we were warned. “Don’t go to Mexico.”  Go4Less, the company which arranged our visas, pleaded with us to avoid the place at all costs.  On arrival in San Diego, many J1ers visit the Irish Outreach Centre in Oldtown, San Diego.  Here, the perils of Mexico are spelt out for every Irish reveller. 

Bernadette Cashman has been running the centre for 12 years.  She has seen thousands of J1 students come and go.  She warns each and every one of them of the perils of Mexico.  From lost passports to sexual harassment, if there is a horror story, she has heard it.  Every J1 student who arrives at the centre is lectured about the danger of going south of the border.  Cashman is oddly cagey when asked about the subject of border crossing and Hollywood Ray. “I am not sure I can break the confidentiality of our client/student relationship,” she warns. “I can tell you of the drug cartels who rely on demand of the U.S. consumer to traffic their drugs. It is a common occurrence to find drugs of large quantities hidden in various ways by Border Patrol agency.”  In her entire correspondence with me, she seems intent on distancing herself from any mention of Irish students in Mexico.  Off the record, the younger employees of the Outreach Centre do mention Hollywood Ray. “Stay away from him,” they warn, “he’s dodgy.”

Perhaps some students take heed of these warnings.  Perhaps they have a wonderful summer enjoying San Diego and its many delights.  If these people did exist, I met none of them.  Each and every Irish J1 student I met couldn’t wait to go to Mexico.  Were they apprehensive? Yes. Would that stop them? Not in a million years.  The one thing the people at the Outreach Centre didn’t understand was that all these warnings would only entice a rebellious Irish spirit.  Dare an Irishman not to go somewhere and he will go there that very evening, laughing on his way.

As if to prove that point, of the numerous J1 students asked to comment, none heeded the Outreach Centre’s warnings.  “You have to go to Mexico, its one of the main reasons to go to San Diego on the J1,” says Dave Kinane, a 23 year old from Rathfarnham.  “Its just a different buzz, yeah its obviously a bit dangerous but if you don’t act the maggot you’ll be grand.”  Ciara Geraghty, a 22 year old from Lucan agrees. “There was no way we weren’t going down to Tijuana.  We knew people who had gone last year and they said as long as you don’t leave the club and wander off you’ll be fine.”   

Paul Russell, an Engineering student from Palmerstown, explains that the warnings were futile.  “In fairness, some stuffy aul one telling you to avoid Mexico is only gonna encourage people to go.  Were here to have the best summer of our lives.  The fact that it’s a bit dodgy makes it better.  All these dodgy places, Thailand, Turkey, whatever.  Anyone who’s actually been there says its unreal.  Ill take their opinion over some embassy aul one.”

Finding Hollywood Ray was simple.  The man was known by almost everyone in the city.  He was like an enigmatic superhero of San Diego, coming to the rescue of the J1 student in need of a trip down south.  Someone inevitably knew someone who had his number.  He came to the hostels in the afternoon, selling dozens of tickets with ease.  When asked about the warnings about Mexico, he would laugh. “Don’t listen to that bull***t man, these people just wanna keep your money here in the States, they hate seeing you spending it down there.”

Down there indeed. Club Kiss is a sight to behold.  Garishly coloured seats, chipped wooden benches, creaky outdoor dancefloor, and a beach-like smoking area. A bit like Krystle but with a classier clientele. The drinks are free by the way (included in the 30 dollar ticket price).  The only money you pay is to the waiters.  These middle-aged Mexican men will hurriedly fetch you as many drinks as you like in exchange for a crumpled dollar bill.

Following the fracas at the border, Hollywood Ray arrives in the club an hour later to loud whooping and hollering.  He explains that the Border Control have been looking to shut him down for years. “They still don’t know that I’m the main man,” he smirks, “I just told them I was Hollywood Ray’s photographer.”

The actual night passes like any other Wednesday in Copperface Jacks to be honest.  Drunken, loutish Irishmen from Skibbereen to Skerries, totally out of their minds.  They dance wildly to “Cotton Eye Joe” and “Galway Girl,” singing along like they haven’t heard them in years.  Equally sloppy Irish girls join them, many with streaked mascara from having a cry about some petty injustice, which will be forgotten in the morning.  Inside the club there is little evidence you are in another country at all.

Following a 4 dollar taxi ride back to the border, (everywhere in Tijuana accepts U.S. dollars by the way) the increase in security was immediately noticeable.  Getting back into the US, is far, far trickier than getting into Mexico.  Whereas entry to Mexico was simply through a turnstile, getting back into those United States was another question.  Po-faced customs officers check every last detail of your passport and documents.  Inevitably, a few drunken J1ers have lost theirs.  Which probably means a few hours in a Mexican holding cell until the embassy can be contacted in the morning.

A few hours in a Mexican jail…..Now THAT experience would be the subject of an interesting feature.