Rosarito Beach: A One Night Stand
You have to visit San Diego at least once in your life. A lot of people who visit California can’t resist the charm of Los Angeles, Las Vegas and San Francisco, maybe thinking that down there – between the south-western projections of the rocky views of the States, where huge pick-ups zip along highways almost as large as soccer fields – the American Dream is less visible. Surely, San Diego doesn’t possess the arrogance of Los Angeles and the hip style of San Francisco, but to the eager tourists hunting the Californian landscapes this city will offer beaches crowded with surfers, lovely shops on the seaside and a perfect climate all year long. And it is exactly in this American portrait, shining like a line of fire, that you will discover also another feature: The border of Mexico.
Within a few miles you can pass from the glitzy luxury of La Jolla, the seaside resort in the North of San Diego, 40 miles away from Orange County, to the provocateur transgression of Tijuana. Landscape changes like by a curse: big colonial houses turn into hovels and Cadillacs into wrecked cars. Big supermarkets, little by little, become family owned businesses. Beyond border – the most crossed one in the whole world – groups of young people looking for fun make a rush for old taxicabs, anxious to get to the party. Tijuana, described by Manu Chao as the city of tequila, sexo y marihuana is not the only destination for the tourists and Californians. Rosarito Beach, one hour drive from San Diego, is commonly less known, but competes with Tijuana for the wand of Mexican Mecca of transgression.
In summertime, nights in Rosarito Beach are long and sweltering. Groups move from one disco to another, while on the streets some people seem like coming out from a Tarantino movie, offering discount entries to clubs. Liquor stores are filled up with young boys and girls. Music gets louder on the dancefloor and the night starts burning to the sound of commercial rap and the screams of the party people. When the dawn glisters in the horizon, walking between boxes in which some homeless and foundlings live, the people of the night come back, moving towards the customs. Under the rising sun, between turnstiles and gates, caravans of dazed young boys and girls are heading for home, leaving Mexico after the one night stand of fun.
