Here’s my review of the Adelita Club in Tijuana, Mexico. I wish the details could have been more salacious.
I was visiting San Diego for Comic-Con International, the world’s biggest comic book convention, which is probably worthy of a mini-review itself. Much like at E3, the world’s biggest video game convention, vendors know this simple formula:
Sexy models + revealing superhero outfits = lots of attention from us geeks.
Now, I know we have a few big fans of Tijuana action on the board, but, for the life of me, I do not see how you guys can stand that brutal drive to San Diego. I left the house at 9:00 a.m. (from the San Fernando Valley) and the traffic just crawled all the way down there. Then, when I got into town, you couldn’t find parking within miles of the San Diego Convention Center. I don’t think I finally stepped out of my car (except for a gas station break along the way) until 2:00 p.m. I could’ve made Las Vegas in that kind of time!
Anyway, I finally left the convention around 7:00 p.m., thinking I’d swing South and check out the Adelita Club after dinner, having previously researched the club with a great FAQ about legal prostitution in Tijuana’s Zona Norte on the following web site:
http://www.worldsexguide.org/WSGMainPage...
Pretty much everything I encountered seemed to be dead-on from the FAQ, all the way down to the Mexican taxi driver trying to talk me out of that club in favor of one of the “clip joints”.
Now, I had every intention of having a drink, watching some girls dance, and then, umm, hooking up . . . but, frankly, the environment sabotaged me. First of all, both Adelita Bar and the Chicago Club are in a fear-for-your-life kind of neighborhood. No cover charge, surprisingly, which might explain why it is wall-to-wall jam-packed with people. For some reason, the locals seem to insist upon coming here to drink instead of . . . well, you know. They’ve got a stage with a pretty attractive girl dancing, but you can’t get anywhere near her. That also eliminates your ability to preview the girls on hand, forcing you into a situation analogous to “blind laps”.
The bar seems to have a “caste” system (of sorts) with girls of similar body sizes and attractiveness levels standing together certain areas. A couple of 3’s, most of them 5’s to 7’s. Surprisingly, many are dressed in a way that it not especially provocative, as if they were going to the mall. For the most part, it seems to be up to the customers to walk around the room to see who interests them. This leads to a lot of groping (by the girls) and shoving (oddly enough, often by the girls). The drink hustle must be international, as I found a couple of male waiters confronting me about not having a drink in my hand, seemingly ready to ask that I leave, when I had just finished with something moments earlier in another section of the bar.
Anyway, I quickly found myself not very much in the mood for this place. I was a little sunburned from the drive down to San Diego and my feet were in agony from all of the walking at the convention. There was cigarette smoke everywhere, which was starting to take a toll on my contact lenses, and the music . . .! Oh my God, how do people listen to that shit?! (Try to imagine the keyboard elements from a Mario Bros. video game combined with plaintive singing and maybe an accordion, and I think you’ll get the picture.) Like I do in most strip clubs, I find myself obsessing over one or two favorites, but they were both busy. So, you may call it chickening out, but basically I said, “Fuck it,” and left. Surprisingly, it didn’t even occur to me that I should have checked out the Chicago Club around the corner until I was already back over the border, but I think that had more to do with worrying about the drive back to L.A.
Like I said, the details weren’t too juicy, but I thought I’d share my experience. |
